by J. L. Beck
Her lips stayed slack, her hands fisted in her lap. Her hair was styled around her face with light curling at the bottom. I wondered if it was nearly as soft to the touch as it looked.
“Hmm, while this place will be just like home then.” There was a hint of anger in her words, but I dismissed it. I had no time to listen to her melodramatic attitude. She wasn’t worth the time or energy. My job was to protect her, and I would try with all my might to keep it just at that.
Protection. Keep telling yourself that.
A bubble of laughter formed in my throat.
Funny how my subconscious was a bigger asshole than I was.
“It will be better than where you came from, I can tell you that much. Stay out of my way and all will be good.” Making myself move, I headed for my bedroom needing air away from her. I had never expected someone so dark, compelling, and tempting. I knew it would be a woman, but I didn’t know she would be attractive or nearly as alluring as she was.
I walked into my room and straight out onto the patio, slamming the glass door with so much force, I worried it might break. The air seemed to be the only thing that could calm me down. I strained to get more oxygen in, forcing myself to take in a couple of deep breaths of fresh air.
Space and time—that’s all I needed. I could do this. It would just take some time. I could push her away if she thought even for a second she could weasel her way inside of me. I would build the walls up around me as high as I possibly could.
That’s all I needed. Space would save us both. It didn’t help that every time I muttered her name, I would be reminded of the woman I lost. I would have to get over it. I had made it this far without her memory. I wouldn’t allow it to haunt me now.
That woman in the other room had no clue the kind of chaos she was causing inside of me and she never would because I was locked up tighter than Fort Knox.
No one could penetrate my walls.
Chapter Five
Isabella
Rules.
They weigh the heaviest on me. They are what keeps me trapped here. Never being allowed to go anywhere alone or to make any phone calls. Not that I would even want to do that. It’s just knowing that if I wanted to, I could freely. The mere thought of being able to do so is nice.
The freedom of it all. Yet, I can’t.
This place should be my sanctuary, a place where I feel safe, and in a way, it is. I don’t think Jared would try to hurt me. I don’t think he would ever lay a hand on a woman. I can tell in the way he carries himself. But the fact that these walls around me feel like a prison, as if I traded one cell for another makes me feel like I’m suffocating and there seems to be no chance at surfacing.
“I’m making dinner.” Jared’s deep voice wraps around my thoughts, pulling me from my mind. I lift my eyes to meet his face but am greeted with air. He had already walked away before our eyes even had the chance to connect. A deeper coldness seems to shadow me as I start to feel more alone now than ever.
Today marked the third day of silence from him. He only talks when he has to, and even when he does, his sentences are short and straight to the point. It’s obvious he doesn’t want me here, nor does he want to be my guard.
My safe haven.
“Great,” I mumble under my breath to myself. Insanity was on the verge of taking over. At least, when I was being kept as a hostage, I had something to feel. Fear. Here I feel nothing but silence. He’s heavily guarded all the time in every way. Not giving me one chance at knowing who he is. He gives me no option, no chance of escaping the memories that cross my mind each day.
I can hear him in the kitchen, pots and pans being thrown around hastily. As he curses under his breath, it causes a spark of energy to form inside of me. Without hesitation, I cross the living room floor and come to a stop at the threshold of the kitchen as my eyes wander up and down his body.
I love the way his muscles move as he walks around with his back to me, his hand gripping the pan he just grabbed from the stove. I should be scared of men–of him, cowering somewhere in a corner in fear. I suppose in some ways I am scared, but something about Jared makes me feel free. Safe even. There is a compelling nature to him that causes me to be drawn in, like a magnet to their polar opposite.
I shake my head and try to remove myself from my inner thoughts. He hates me. I could see it in his eyes and feel it in his words. My time in the trade showed me things like this, not only that, but it showed me things I never would have wanted to see in my life. It exploited me to very real pains, fears and hate that I never would’ve experienced had I continued to live a normal life.
“Why are you staring at me?” His voice was gruff, reminding me that I was in fact ogling him. Not just that, but I had been caught doing so. I casted my eyes to the ground and swallowed down the words I desperately wanted to say. When it came to my own emotions, talking did me no good. I needed to work through them on my own. However, it would’ve been easier to speak my mind openly if there was someone that wanted to hear what I had to say.
I knew that living inside my head was bad, and eventually, it would eat away at me if it wasn’t already. I needed to talk to someone, to express myself, but Jared wasn’t that person. He wouldn’t be there for me when all the stones fell.
The room grew quiet except for the sizzle of chicken in the frying in the pan. When I finally got the courage to lift my head, our eyes met. In his eyes, I saw pain mirroring my own. Then, just like that, the invisible wall that separated us fell in place once again as he turned his attention back to the stove. For the remainder of the time, I stood there silently, afraid talking or asking questions would be overstepping some sort of unseen boundary.
He pulled out some plates and situated them on the counter, gesturing for me to make my own plate. My feet refused to move as I questioned the possibility that this could be a trap. It had been forever since I had been allowed to get my own food. I stared at Jared, trying to figure out what it was he was thinking as his facial expression reflected mine.
“Are you hungry?” he questioned. I nodded my head yes, causing a flurry of hair to shift forward. Why was I feeling shy like he could see right through me? At first, things felt casual, but now they felt heated—as if someone had taken a blowtorch to the two of us.
“Then get some food because I don’t know if you know this or not, but in America, we men like to eat.” His remark wasn’t meant to be hateful or mean, but I couldn’t help the jab that I felt to heart because of his words. I wasn’t American. Technically, at least not fully. My father was an American on vacation in Russia when he met my mother who was a native of our country.
A tinge of pain formed in my chest. I missed my parents—my family. Even if it was their fault, I was in this situation. To me, the love you had for those who created you would never go away, the void of losing them would never be filled. No one could love you as unconditionally as a parent could. I liked to think my mother still loved me and that she realized the choice she made was wrong. I knew when she sold me, it was because our family needed the money. I had brothers and sisters who still needed to be taken care of. Being the oldest put the responsibility in my hands.
“Right.” I stepped forward, unsteadily. I was a bundle of nerves, still unsure of how to handle all the open space and other options. I reached for the plate, gripping it like a lifeline as I placed some salad, chicken with white sauce, and noodles onto it. Grabbing my silverware, I headed for the table. There was a pitcher of water and two glasses sitting on it already. I poured myself one and then Jared one, setting his glass near the chair he had sat in the last three nights.
We both took our seats, cleaning our plates in a matter of minutes. A full belly was foreign to me as was getting my own portion of food. To me, it was a treasure that never seemed to last long enough.
“What was it like?” he asked out of the blue as I got up to place my plate in the sink.
“What was what like?” I countered turning around, my eyes meetin
g his.
He looked at me with a dumbfounded expression before answering. “When you were being held hostage, what was it like?” I gripped the counter wondering why he would even care to know, let alone ask. My body felt as if it was stripped bare. His eyes seemed to see deep inside my soul—to my fears and sadness.
“Why do you want to know?” I narrowed my eyes for the first time ever at him. I had a fire burning inside of me. No one asked questions like that. He got up, shoving himself away from the table and crossing the room with his glass of water in hand. His grip was tight matching the same tension in his jaw and I understood it, the feeling as if you were being pulled tight.
“Because looking at me as you were earlier is a good way to find yourself back in a situation you don’t want to be in. I’m not a good man. I’ve told you that. Don’t look at me as if you want something when your mind isn’t even in the right place. I’m strong, but I’m not a saint. Remember that the next time you look at me.” The brown in his eyes turned dark and his voice was nothing but complete rawness. He was attracted to me. He felt the same pull I did, but he didn’t like it. His feelings, the desire to want something yet hate the very thing you wanted were feelings I too felt.
“I’ll look at you however I want to look at you.” I piped in without thinking. My hand going up quickly, covering my mouth. I waited for him to lash out, to talk down to me, or to hit me. I had never spoken to a male in such a horrid manner before. My blood turned cold as I waited for him to react.
A small smile pulled at his lips as he placed his own glass in the sink. My heart rate picked up again, unsure of the motives behind his smile. “You’re free to express your opinion, Izzy. Never think that I would harm you for it. Just know I saw the fear in your eyes after you spoke and nothing bad will come to you here.”
Everything he was saying was giving me whiplash. He pushed me away and then told me it was okay to stand up for myself. He feared my touch and my closeness but loved my courage and my bravery. He was an enigma that I wouldn’t ever be able to figure out.
Unable to muster up a word, I stepped away from him and headed into the living room thinking maybe if I put some distance between us things would cool down.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” I heard his voice behind me and it caused me to stop right in my tracks. He was lying. He wanted me scared. It would be easier to push me away when all of this was over. I knew that better than anyone did. Hell, it was my one and only true vice when it came to others.
“Yes, you did.” I shot back, still facing away from him. I could feel the air between us thicken. I wondered if he would walk behind me and wrap his arms around me. Worst of all, I wondered what it would feel like to be loved and cared for by him and to feel his heartbeat against my chest.
“No. I really didn’t mean to scare you. I know you have been through a lot of shit, and I don’t want you to—” His words cut off and a sigh filled the air. “It was a really big dick move to say that to you.” Was he apologizing to me? He couldn’t be.
Turning on my heels, I attempted to put some more distance between us not realizing how close he truly was. He must’ve crossed the room while I faced away from him. My eyes glided over his chest, arms, and shoulders before meeting his face.
“But you did, because just like me, you’re afraid of allowing someone to get close to you. Everyone leaves in the end, right? So, while I accept your apology, I know you meant every word you said. Fear causes us to speak words we normally wouldn’t.” I was astounded and a bit shocked that I had spoken out in such a way, yet I understood his emotions as much as he did. He might be able to hide it from everyone else, but he couldn’t hide it from me. His very emotions were something I dealt with daily.
His face fell, the shock showing in his eyes. He had to have known I could see right through his bullshit. Agent King did as well. There was no way he could assume he had fooled me.
“This was a mistake.” He sneered, baring his teeth. Anger is the second thing to rear its ugly head right next to fear when you don’t want to admit your faults when you feel trapped. Instead of calling him on it, I allowed him to think he had won and watched him turn his back to me. His footsteps were heavy with annoyance as he walked away from me.
I heard him mumbling under his breath but never stopped to focus on what it was he was saying. Instead, my eyes stayed trained on his body, watching every step he took away from me. Desperately wanting to reach out to him but knowing it would do no good, we were both two very different people on a crash course with reality. Our vices were the same.
When two people fighting the same battle collided, it would be like gasoline and a match waiting to be struck. It wouldn’t take much to cover everything that made us who we were as we burned with fire.
Chapter Six
Jared
My throat felt tight as I begged him to let me see her. Where was my momma? Why wasn’t she home? Something inside of me said there was something wrong.
My dad hung up the phone, tears falling from his eyes. He never cried. He was strong. Why was he crying? Dads didn’t cry.
“What’s wrong? Where’s momma?” I screamed, my voice filled with panic.
“She’s gone, son.” Three words that changed my life forever. Pain radiated through my body in a way that made me feel as if I was being ripped apart. I could feel a piece of me being pulled away. That piece being my momma.
I awoke covered in sweat, my hands gripping the sheets and my eyes squeezed closed as tight as I could make them. It wasn’t real if you didn’t see it with your own eyes. That’s what I always told myself as a kid when the memories hit me full force.
It took three to four deep breaths before I released the sheets and popped an eye open.
My brain failed to catch up with my ears because, as I allowed the fear to slip away, a scream broke through the house. I waited a moment to see if it was merely my mind playing tricks on me or if it was Isabella.
When another scream filled the air, this one much louder than the previous, I felt compelled to get up from my bed, hardly realizing what I was doing. My feet stopped just short of her bedroom door. My stomach was in a knot. I didn’t know if I should go in or not.
I went through the motions of feeling her pain, understanding, and knowing the nightmares wouldn’t go away no matter what you did. It was up to you, the person going through them, if they would continue to plague you. My father always told me, your dreams are your biggest fears played on the big screen in your mind.
“No… please, no…” she cried out. Her voice was filled with so much sadness my heart seized, stopping in place for a brief moment. I pushed the door open a little bit, just enough for me to push in through the small opening. My eyes glided over her body, and I knew I had to do something.
She was laying on her side in the fetal position, one of her hands was clutching her chest, and the other was gripping the bed sheets as if they could hold her to this world. An ache formed with me and I found myself walking toward the side of her bed. Knowing that I would never be able to fall asleep with her fighting her biggest fears right down the hall from me.
My body caved, recognizing the pain she was feeling as its own. I looked down at my flannel sleep pants and my naked chest knowing I would regret this in the morning. Lifting her just barely off the bed, I placed her softly against the pillows on the other side of the mattress. The bed was a queen, but looking at it now, somehow it seemed so much smaller with both of us in it.
“Fuck,” I whispered. My body was telling me it was okay to be attracted to her. After all, she was a woman, and she did have a killer body, but it was more than that. I was drawn to her darkness. I craved it.
I slipped into bed next to her without another thought, knowing if I didn’t move now, I never would. The sheets soft against my skin, my body began to calm.
In a moment’s time, I was lying on my back facing the ceiling as she rolled over snuggling into the side of my body. I wanted to sigh into
the air above. It was going to be an extremely long night. I was so wrong to think I could fight off her demons by being here, though.
I was about to become the biggest, meanest, realest monster of all of her demons. My fists clenched tightly, my teeth grinding together to keep me from reaching out and touching her. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to feel drawn to someone. Especially her. She had more baggage than American Airlines. Yet I found comfort in her pain, knowing for once, I wasn’t alone in the darkness anymore.
Slowly but surely, my body relaxed, allowing my breaths to come in slower and my mind to drift off to something I had never thought would come—sleep.
* * * * *
Warmth covered my body in a blanket. A blanket that moved and was soft to the touch and had a nice pair of tits attached to it. My eyes popped open, panic seizing me as I tried to figure out where I was and why the fuck I wasn’t in my own bed.
As I got my shit together and the panic washed away, I could hear Isabella’s shallow breaths. The events of last night coming back to me, reminding me of how I comforted her. I wanted to curse myself, yet I had never felt so refreshed.
Her body moved against mine as if she wanted to embed herself into my skin. We were spooning, her back to my front. My cock was stiff and had found his own home right between her ass cheeks. I wanted to apologize or at least say something, but what was there to say? All I knew was it was much more than morning wood.
Her breaths stayed calm telling me she was still asleep, so I took that moment to take her n completely. To look at her the way I had caught her more than once looking at me. I watched the movement of her body as she took every breath, staring at her full lips that were parted, her dark skin reminding me of mocha. I was growing harder and harder by the second. What was wrong with me? This was so wrong, yet it had never felt so right.