Beautiful Things Evil People Do

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  His trust in the girl trusting the untrustworthy never deviates.

  Deacon is an outlaw; Jynx is a stalker; I am a college student.

  “You let me return to the club, and I’ll learn to do this,” he offers, laying down the agreement as Deacon winds the threads round and round. “Let me have the family I know will protect us with their blood.”

  Deacon says nothing but glances over at him.

  My respect for him becomes infinite in that second.

  Respecting Jynx and Deacon, and even myself—often forgotten and overlooked—arrived without warning. With my deference, they promised I would recover from my self sabotaging ways, healing the blighted emotional wounds, as the scars that remained were nothing more than reminders for lessons learned.

  Beautiful scars.

  This scene thrives between Jynx and me as the artist practices his craft.

  I would’ve said no to his reuniting with the club a week ago, but things have changed. His cousin is as impressive as he is, and I trust him.

  Deacon licks his lips and backs up, scrutinizing with an assessing squint. I smile at him, and he catches me. “Say something.”

  He snickers, “What do you want me to say?”

  “How am I doing?”

  “You remind me of my favorite,” he confesses with a smirk and a twinkle in his eye. “She’s small too. It’s a lot easier to tie up someone more substantial. Small people, smaller knots, less space to work with—the entire process weighs on precise skills. I could do amazing art with you in my studio at home.”

  I bluntly question, “You tie-up, Sal?”

  “I do.”

  “Often?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever tied up Jynx?”

  “Not yet,” he chuckles, and Jynx laughs. “But I could. He’s huge, though. I could tie you together.”

  “Oh, my God!” I squeal, wiggling my toes. “The possibilities are endless!”

  Twitching his lips, he affirms, “Yes.”

  With a trembling fear in my voice, I ask, “… Would I be welcome?”

  “In my club?” He peeps up with his ocean blue eyes. They’re brighter than Jynx’s, startlingly so, with an almost translucent quality. Jynx’s are saturated with majestic admiral blue. “Absolutely.” His brows tighten as he scans over me. “Where’d you get the scar?”

  Jynx tilts his head with innate curiosity. “What scar?”

  “This one,” Deacon points out, lightly running his finger over the length from under my right breast to my hip. I shiver, not from Deacon’s touch, but Jynx’s penetrating stare that announces his staunch vow to protect me at all costs. “It’s pretty.”

  “Pretty bad.”

  “No,” he corrects, bestowing a sensitivity. “Pretty—a pretty scar symbolic of a past trauma that you survived.”

  “I was attacked,” I confide, not expecting rope bondage to result in a much-needed therapy session.

  I notice the upsurge of worry in Jynx’s expression as he questions, “By who?”

  My eyes dampen, and Deacon pulls out his handkerchief, blotting my eyes. “My brother was fourteen, and he was messed up bad on dope. He wasn’t all there and pulled a blade attempting to kill himself. We struggled; I lost or won, depending on how you look at it. The next thing I remember, I was waking up in the ICU. I found out they had taken Brandon to juvie, and I lost my sanity.”

  Deacon mumbles, “You’ve seen some shit.”

  “I have,” I whisper, acknowledging the heartache and not running from it. “It’s not all been pretty.”

  “Beautiful things evil people do. Evil things beautiful people do,” Deacon whispers. His words prick my flesh like needles as the time in his care darns the damage of the past. “There is always a balance.”

  “Light and dark,” I whisper as a single teardrop falls from my lashes and splashes to his sneakers. “Good and evil. Beautiful and ugly. We cannot have one without the other.”

  “To eliminate one destroys both,” he suggests, leaning in and kissing my cheek. “It has been a privilege to do this piece and a great honor to spend time with you. You’re a precious soul. Thank you for your patience. This one was a challenge. We’re in a constant state of metamorphosis, changing and evolving, do not hinder what is meant to be.”

  “A constant finger on the pulse of life,” I answer, heeding his shamanistic narrative and regurgitating the exercise. He presses his hands together and slightly bows as I pass his test. “I’ll never forget this.”

  With a silent step over to Jynx, he says, “If you need any help getting her down, come and get me. There are release points on either side, but she’s light. I don’t imagine you’ll have any trouble.”

  This is his religion.

  “Thanks, Cuz.”

  And like a performer, he exits the stage. “Make memories. Goodnight.”

  “Thank you so much, Deacon!”

  He turns and nods from the doorway. “The pleasure was all mine, Echo.”

  He departs, and I glance up. “How good is it?”

  “He’s fucking insane,” he proclaims with joy. “Why didn’t you tell me about the scar?”

  I counter, “Why didn’t you tell me about being a dirty biker?”

  He smiles. “Getting to know one another takes time.”

  “Yes,” I concede, lightly swinging from the rafters. “Lucky for you, Mr. Monroe, I have all the time in the world.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Mhmm,” I reply, grinning. “Will you take pictures?”

  “I’m about to,” he says as a down feather glides to the floor. “Who knew why I was collecting all of them.”

  I giddily ask, “Am I a beautiful peafowl?”

  “Like you cannot believe,” he admires. “Innocent. Pure. Unstained. This is a defining moment for you. Thank you for trusting your Masters.”

  “I cannot thank you enough for the opportunity to surrender all that I am.”

  “May you find freedom in your rebirth.”

  Jynx

  “How are you?” I ask, after snapping hundreds of pictures. “Getting tired?”

  “I’m amazingly high.”

  I stare at all of the virgin white peacock feathers interlaced amongst the rope. “The finite intricacy and meticulous detail are incredible,” I marvel, appreciating his live art from the chair. “I’m not sure why he isn’t doing more with his skills.”

  “The magic in his gift would be lost.”

  “You’re the gift,” I whisper. “Do you want to talk? Meditate? Get down? Tell me what would make you happy.”

  “I forgave my brother.”

  “I know,” I reply, tucking my fingers under my chin. “I haven’t traversed over your naked skin enough to know all of the markings, but I have every intention of memorizing each and every one.”

  “What are the ones on your left arm from?”

  “Bike accident,” I inform, glancing at my rippled bicep in the shirt. I have concealed most of the scars with ink. “I had two. The first one was when I was sixteen. I broke my left wrist. It was a fairly easy tumble where I hit the pavement wrong. The other one at twenty-seven put me in a medically induced coma for three weeks. I busted almost every bone in the arm. I believe the words the doctor used were—crushed and mutilated. I punctured both lungs, shattered my knee cap, and my blood pressure shot up because of the stress from my injuries. I tried to have a heart attack on the table before surgery. I almost died.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah,” I say, recalling the months of rehab. “It was not a good time.”

  “How long before you were riding again?”

  “It was a good year or more before I was up and going.”

  Her lips pout as she stares at the floor. “How important is the club for you?”

  “Not as important as you,” I honestly say. “If you gave me an ultimatum, I would choose you.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” she replies, glancing up through the intens
e conversation. “Ultimatums bring resentment unless it’s for your own good.” Her air shifts to a lightheartedness as she boldly declares, “I like him.”

  “My cousin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Deacon’s a good guy.” I clasp my hands together. “Loves his family like a warrior doing battle with the world.”

  She takes a deep breath. “If you ever call me your old lady…”

  “I would never call you that, bitch.” I wink, and she giggles. “Seriously, I have no desire to cause harm or even piss you off. Now that I know there are extenuating circumstances and you have a bad history with bikers, I’ll watch myself and be cautious of my behavior.”

  “Are you a bad boy, Jynx?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” I confirm without hesitation. “I am.”

  “No cheating. No baa-baas. No drunken and disorderly excuses either.”

  I laugh. “You wouldn’t be here if I planned on cheating. I’ll take one precious peafowl riding my cock for the rest of my life if she’ll have me. I’m loyal like a fucking dog.”

  “I’ll have you, but you’re still an asshole.”

  “Filthy fucking gentleman.”

  I walk over and gently pull a feather out of the harness. I brush it over her breast, arousing the bud to a peak. “Jynx…”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you,” she whispers, crying as her mascara runs black trails to the white ropes. The pounding ache in my dick encompasses how my entire body yearns to be connected to hers. “Stalker.”

  I snarl and lower, flicking my tongue against the hardened nipple trapped between the ropes. “This is cruel.”

  “Because you can’t get to me.”

  “Yes,” I admit, wanting to touch her. “I never knew how intimate this could be.”

  “We should restrain me more often,” she suggests as I slide my hand over her belly. The contrast between the rough ropes and her supple skin sends a sudden bolt through my spine as my hand slides low between her thighs. I dip my finger into her slit, mounting pressure against her clit with small circles, tighter and faster, until she gasps my name in praise, “Jeremiah, make love to me.”

  “That’s an improvement!”

  “Reflected by the love you give to me,” she whispers, weeping. “You’re going to make me come.”

  “I should stop.” Her mouth gapes open with a frown as I gently scold, “Don’t be disobedient now that you’ve come this far. There is pleasure in restraint.”

  I unzip my pants, pulling my dick out and stroking with dedication. With her eyes glazing over, she moans, “And the ropes have left you with none.”

  “Smartass.”

  “I have an outstanding teacher,” she mutters with enlightenment. “If I were out of these right now…”

  “I would throw you on the floor and have my way with your body for hours,” I charge, pumping harder. I tighten my grip. “I would mark all three holes, claim you as mine, and leave you breathless and begging for more.”

  “It’s too late for that. You already have, Jynx.”

  21

  Acceptance

  Echo

  “How are you?” he mutters in the bathroom as I stand in the pile of ropes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve never been better, Sir,” I reply as he turns off the water brimming to the edge of the tub. “Are you getting in with me?”

  “Into your bubble bath?”

  I nod, smirking. “Please.” Lifting his arms, he tugs the shirt off from the back of the neck, revealing his body that I don’t deserve. Well-defined muscles, sculpted with the blessing of an artist and kissed by Gods, urge my toes to curl beneath the blanket of bubbles. “You work out.”

  “I do now,” he says, unfastening his jeans. “I was a fat little kid.”

  “You were?”

  “Pre-puberty, I was,” he confides, letting his pants fall. “I ended the sixth grade, no taller than you are and round as a ball. By the time school started in the fall, I was half a foot taller. And going into ninth grade, I was over six feet.”

  He steps into the other end of the antique clawfoot tub and lowers with my eyes glued to his body. His feet and legs ease around my bottom. We’re facing one another with nowhere to run. “You’re more than I ever imagined.”

  “I’m the bad guy.” He smirks, extending his hand. I take his fingers in mine, and he tugs me on top of him. Sudsy water splashes out onto the floor, soaking the towels, clothes, and rope. Every bit of his wet, naked body wedges against mine. Our lips meet with slow, soft licks until they become too intense, and his tongue delves deeper into my mouth. I conform to his will, his body, his mastery. “We should not be in this position.”

  His growing erection rams against me, and I breathe in his kiss. “Too dangerous for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want me?”

  “More than I can express in words,” he growls, rolling my body over like I’m nothing more than a twig. He sets me between his thighs and pulls me in close. His hardness is pinned between our flesh. I gasp.

  “This isn’t any better.”

  He groans from deep in his throat, “No, it’s not. But at least you don’t have to see the villain in me.”

  “What you can see, or what I can see, matters that much?”

  “Yes,” he hastens, lifting his hands from the water and letting the tiny droplets hit my shoulders. “It’s the only thing that matters.”

  “We’ll never have morning sex.”

  “No,” he cackles, resting his lips against my shoulder. “I have limits. I was born in the dark. I live in the dark. Light exists for others.”

  “I will always be on the other side.”

  “Unless I sway you into the foreboding recesses.”

  The truth bites as much as the reawakening sensation in my skin. “I didn’t belong where you were in the underground on the Gray Market. I was nothing more than a white peafowl set amongst a green landscape. I was easy pickings.”

  “You were,” he admits, running the back of his hands over my hourglass curves. “But don’t ever think I saved you because I didn’t.”

  “No, you seduced me with the gentleness in your tone. You could talk me through anything. I could perform surgery with the expert guidance of your vocal cords. They resonate with a comforting strum. I fell prey to a monster with a good voice, kindness, and sexy window dressing. I bought the merchandise.”

  “There is no return policy,” he confirms what I already know. I’m stuck—caught between titillating desires and the reality of wants and needs. We aren’t real. He isn’t real. This is lust in a costume of fake love. “I was afraid you would never figure it out.”

  His hands coast over my breasts as he gropes the fullness in his palms. His fingers graze over my aroused nipples as his other hand shoots toward my slit. I should’ve realized weeks ago that this was his skewed version of an acceptable crime. My voice quivers as I ask, “Why did you never rape anyone?”

  “I never found the right one.”

  I fall into the trance of his sweet touch as my body betrays everything that my mind believes. His fingers circle the bud. My heart lies. And my body blossoms with every pass. This isn’t love. His wicked garden entices with glorious splendor. This is so fucked up. His fingers twist my nipple, burning hot, as his vampire taunts the sun. I buck against his hand.

  He’s got me…

  For fun.

  For challenge.

  To see if he could get away with it—how far he could push his boundaries before giving in—withholding sex to prove to himself that he’s not capable of the violent sex acts. But with every kiss, caress, and intimate moment past, it’s getting harder to resist the needle hitting the vein.

  I know it; he knows it.

  We’re traveling up a deviant elevator with turbojets beneath our feet, rocketing to the skies, faster than I ever dreamed.

  From I wasn’t submissive to on my knees with his cock immersed in my throat, I plead for his plunge.
I beg for his addiction. I solicit my body for his unruly consummation, and I will not protest. I will not fight.

  “Fuck me, Jynx,” I beg, gripping my nails into his thick forearm. His fingers slide inside of my unused sheath as his grinding rubs my ass against his hard cock. “Make your home in me.”

  He lifts my body like a feather and penetrates the departing gateway like a predatory animal with a vitriolic attack. His feral thrusts to my ass damper my resolve as his courting ways restrict my cognizance. “There is no exit.”

  With tears quietly streaming over my cheeks, I whisper, “When I leave, I’ll escape through the entrance.”

  Jynx

  I listen to the sound of her breathing in my bed. Her fingers rest on my chest. I do not know how much longer I can restrain myself from having my way with her body. I have her mind, but it isn’t enough. I’m a greedy son of a bitch. Her malleable, vulnerable side wraps to my will, but I long for her thighs to do the same.

  I will break her spirit if we don’t stop, switching off the light and forcing her to trust my hands in the dark, where I reside like a vermin in murky tunnels.

  There will be nothing she can do to stop my advances. We’re not riding the highs and lows of a roller coaster but spinning loops and waiting to fly off the tracks.

  This love won’t survive the accident.

  But I don’t give a fuck what she wants.

  I will lose the girl I’ve fallen so hard for—yet, I want to accost her. And I’ve yearned to do such since I first saw the ad. My self-discipline is running out. If I give her what she wants, she will take my heart. So I lie to myself, still believing I can escape—unscathed.

  It’s too late; I lapped up the poison of her love.

  I close my eyes, wishing I was drunk to the point of blacking out. I would awaken, and she would be long gone before I had the chance to fuck this up and hurt her beyond repair.

  It’s too late; she swallowed the toxicity from my sword.