by A. C. Bextor
The driving need to escape what I just envisioned is suffocating.
Emma recognizes my weakened state; I don’t have to tell her or explain. She confirms this by crawling closer toward me, pushing my chest to lay me back as her leg swings over and she straddles my waist.
Leaning in to me, Emma uses both hands to frame my face. The curtain of her hair surrounds us, blocking any outside distractions—those that are real and make-believe.
“Tell me,” she insists again.
Clearing my throat before speaking, I’m careful with my words. “It was a bad dream, but it felt...” I stop and close my eyes. “I saw what was happening, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
“That’s the third time this week,” she notes. “How can I help you?”
Lifting my head from my pillow, I lean up to kiss her lips. This works to push the confusion away. As her lips part, I find my body no longer overwrought with painful images or saddened memories.
Using what strength I have left, I lift Emma from my body and position her beneath mine. Her thighs open and her breath quickens. I can feel it brushing my face—a further reminder this is real, not the nightmare.
As I move to kiss her neck, I plead without fear of exposing my weaknesses to her. “I need you.”
My mouth covers hers until I sense the pressure I’m pushing down on her is more than she can bear. My hand reaches the hem of her lace nightgown. I let the warmth from her skin seep into my residual coolness, taking away what’s been left from the confusion of the dream.
Once inside her, I find what I had been searching for.
Peace and understanding.
Chapter Three
I’ve learned no one can take away what I refuse to let them.
“Today wasn’t so bad, was it, love?” Viktor asks Casey as he stands in the door of her room, watching Cilas pick up the dishes from her dinner.
The visitor left before she was served. He was a tall, dark-haired man who was well-dressed, but this makes him no different than the others. What made him different was the way he spoke to Viktor. He was nervous and apprehensive.
They didn’t seem genuinely acquainted.
The visitor’s hands and voice shook as he carefully examined Casey. His eyes stayed focused on his surroundings. Casey had no idea why he was this way, but it caused her much of the same anxiety while under his examination.
The man hadn’t said anything directly to her, but before leaving he’d explained he wouldn’t have a need for her services. Casey wasn’t sure whether to be relieved of his statement or mourn the loss of yet another witness to her life here.
Maintaining eye contact, as she’s always been told to never look away, Casey answers, “No, sir. It wasn’t so bad.”
She continues to wonder how many more men will be by to visit and what their ties to Viktor may be. Or to her.
It isn’t out of the ordinary for Viktor to stop in from time to time, but over the last couple of weeks he’s come to visit her more than once a day; sometimes, it feels as though it’s every few hours. He asks her questions about who’s come to visit, had she seen them before, and if they were wearing the dark leather vests. During the questioning, his face tenses in anticipation of her answer.
She’s always replied with simple one-word returns. She knows by now it’s safer to not elaborate.
No one other than Viktor, Anna, or Cilas has been by, though, so there’s never much to tell them. She doesn’t miss the relief in his voice hearing her confirm his worries are for naught.
“I’m having Anna bring you a gift today, Casey,” he informs with a small, genuine smile.
She fights not to widen her eyes in surprise. The last two weeks, she’s felt she’s been given gift after gift: desserts, nice clothes, which fit her small body to a near-perfect match, and Anna being allowed to stay in her room for company.
“Would you like a surprise?” he asks when she doesn’t answer as she knows she should, the shock of his offering causing her to momentarily forget her manners. “I’m proud of you. You’ve been so good and you must be bored in here alone all the time.”
Bored, he observes. He must not realize how she truly longs for boredom. Her days, as long as she can remember, have been spent dealing with nothing less than tension and, at times, full-fledged fear as to what could possibly happen to her next.
Unless she feels guarded while being watched by Cilas or Anna, she wishes nothing more than to shed her fear of the others. She stopped daydreaming of a life back at school, making friends and doing things she always envied the other kids for a long time ago.
Boredom, in its truest form, would be a welcoming change.
“Yes, sir,” she answers dutifully, regardless of her own thoughts. “I’d like a surprise.”
Walking toward her, Viktor crouches down, bringing himself to her eye level. The tall, grey-haired man of an older age still scares her, but this is no exception as every element around her does. Personally, Viktor’s never laid a hand to her, never forced her to do anything which has made her uncomfortable other than putting her in this cell of a room. But as she always has, she waits for the worst – it’s what she’s been conditioned to do.
He reaches out to grab her small arms and warmly smiles. “You can talk to me, Casey. If you have something to say, I want you to feel as though you can tell me what’s on your mind.”
Thinking back to how she’s watched Anna converse with Viktor in her room many times before, always with respect, Casey adds to her gratitude for whatever possible gift he could have waiting for her. “Thank you for the gift. I’m sure I will love it.”
“There,” he breathes out, oddly in relief. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No, sir.”
Standing up and placing the palm of his hand to the crown of her head, she’s reminded of Max and how he’s done the same. She isn’t sure what to make of the gesture coming from the man who holds her here, but her eyes close quickly in order to recapture Max’s touch. It’s a connection she’s truly missed.
Cilas finishes gathering the dishes and starts walking toward the door as Viktor calls to him. His tone is no longer soft and gentle as it was with her. It’s direct, to the point, as he orders Cilas, “Find Anna. Have her bring Casey the items I’ve asked her for. Tell her I said it’s time.”
Cilas nods before turning around and walking out the door.
Viktor starts to follow, leaving Casey standing alone in the middle of her empty room. Turning back in place, inside the entrance of the door, he sighs. His voice isn’t harsh, but it’s distant. “You won’t be here for much longer, Casey. Whatever personal items you’ve managed to collect can’t go with you.”
Her body seems to awaken from the safety it had felt. Chills run the length of her spine as she looks up and, with courage, meets Viktor eye-to-eye.
He knows about my drawings, she thinks to herself in dread.
Her now-sullen expression loses itself further to anxiety. Her body twitches in place, wishing for him to leave so she can lift the mattress and be sure her friends on paper have remained untouched. They’re all she has to keep her company.
“You have talent, princess. I’m impressed,” he concludes before turning around and walking out the door.
The moment Casey hears the lock pop in place, she jumps and makes her way to the mattress.
After throwing the covers to the side, she carefully sinks down to her knees. She waits a few seconds to ensure he’s truly gone then lifts the mattress to find, for the most part, her stack of pictures are still in place. Pulling them out, she searches through them one by one. Her heart beats erratically against her chest when she realizes the two most precious to her are missing. They’ve been taken away.
The one she drew of Max after she first met him and the other she had planned to give him if she ever saw him again. It was the portrait of the two of them together.
Immediately, Casey realizes this is the first time she remembers tru
ly feeling an expression of anger. It’s there, and in its most aggravated state. She finds herself not worried about what Viktor will do with her drawings now that he has them, but more upset that he bothered to take them at all.
Why did he do that?
Even under all the anger, and no matter how hard she tries to deny them, tears of sadness are set to fall. I’ll draw another, she promises herself, swiping away the first of many to come. I’ll draw as many as I have to so I never forget his face.
Chapter Four
“Good morning,” I say to Emma as she stands in front of the stove making breakfast.
We both took off work today and we’re headed into town to meet with Mr. McNeal, one of the town’s decent divorce lawyers, to get the ball rolling with hers.
I’ve already showered and have been looking forward to spending the day together. “What are you making?”
Turning around to look at me, she smiles. “Pancakes.” I follow the direction of her eyes as they dart to my cell phone sitting on the far counter. “You’ve had some calls already today. You may want to start returning them.”
It could be a number of people. My mom, most certainly. Maybe Dad. However, the call we’re anxiously waiting for has yet to come.
The last I heard from Aimes was that he and Low were going to need radio silence for a few days while they worked a plan to help get Casey out of Creed.
It’s been nearly two weeks and so far, I’ve heard nothing. I’ve remained patient, but that patience is quickly starting to wane.
When I tried calling yesterday, I found both Aimes’ and Low’s phones had been disconnected. It wouldn’t do me any good to try and find them. They specialize in staying under the radar and if they don’t want to be found, they won’t.
Reaching for my cell, I find it’s Tommy who’s called. “I’ll call Tommy back after we eat,” I tell her. “He’s probably wondering where we’ve been.”
After dishing the pancake onto the plate, Em places it in front of me once I’m seated at the table. She doesn’t comment on my observation of Tommy’s curiosity because she knows where we’ve been.
Over the last two weeks, Em has grown just as impatient as I’ve been in waiting for news from those who vowed to help Casey. Neither of us has been good company to anyone but each other. Em understands the frustration and anxiety that surround our situation. When we’re not together, we feel less certain, but when we are together the anxiety of failure lessens.
“Come here,” I instruct, reaching for her wrist before she’s able to walk away.
She smirks before situating herself on my lap, her back to my front. She starts to cut into my breakfast while attempting to remind me, “It’ll get cold. We should eat now.”
My hands slide up her thighs, pulling her small, black lace gown with it. She stops preparing the plate once she feels my distraction.
Being Em, she calls me out. “You’re not hungry.”
“I am,” I answer. “But your pancakes suck.”
Feigning a gasp of insult, she turns her body slightly to mine. “Not nice.”
“No, but it got your attention.”
“You always have that,” she breathes, accepting my touch as my hand runs the expanse of her inner thigh. “We’ll be late.”
“Not if you’re quick,” I answer, finding her bare, wet, and warm underneath. “And you’re ready,” I whisper.
“I was ready when you told me good morning.” She laughs, leaning in to me and kissing me quick and hard. “I was ready when you woke me up the same way this morning,” she accuses, leaning in further to kiss my neck.
“Then we won’t be late,” I return, sliding one finger inside her warm center and using my thumb to graze her clit.
After taking in a quick breath, Em pulls herself from my hold and stands. For a moment, I think she’ll deny me. I wouldn’t press, only because with the nightmares I’ve been suffering from I haven’t given her body a break from my relentless need to use it as escape once I’ve woken.
This week especially, as the nightmares have intensified, I’ve used Em as a threshold to bring me back from the chill of those images. Without that connection, to her and her body, I’m not sure I’d ever sleep.
Rather than walk away, Em bends down toward my waist to tug at my pants. After she’s removed them, and with my hardened cock ready, she positions herself over me and places her hand between us. She lowers herself, letting me slip into her with little regard to how sore she must already be.
As she gently glides back and forth, getting comfortable as I stretch inside her, her hands frame my face before she kisses me gently, one lip then the other. “I love you,” she whispers before doing it again.
“Ride me, Em,” I voice as my hands reach to grasp the flesh of her ass. Her initiative to have me, here at the kitchen table, doesn’t allow for subtle lovemaking.
Pulling her head back, I see her lips form into a devious grin. “Say that again,” she says then bites her bottom lip as her eyes shine with humor.
I don’t take instructions well, least of all from a woman. I ignore her demand and sink the fingers of one hand into her hair, tugging it enough to get her attention. Her reaction is to finally start her body’s movement.
My mouth crashes onto hers, feeling her grip me tightly from inside. Every piece of her surrounding my cock heats with my touch. Her hands move to my bare chest and her fingers tug at my piercings with added aggression.
Em enjoys sex much the same I as do: hard and fast when the mood strikes and slow and easy if our emotions are raw. Emilyn understands me and I’m not certain anyone but she could, given the circumstances we’ve found ourselves in.
Throwing her head back, aiming her eyes to the ceiling, her breathless pants of close climax take up the area between us.
“Don’t come ‘til I’m ready,” I grind out, trying to hold her off.
“Then you better get there soon, Max ‘cause I’m close.”
My hands position at her hips so I’m able to gain control. Her small body on top of mine isn’t an obstacle in comparison to my large frame. Once she clutches my shoulders tightly in her hands, the feel of her fingernails digging deep into my flesh acts as the catalyst to my own undoing.
“Go,” I clip through clenched teeth. “Take it, Em.”
Her body slams down one last time, and she goes still above me. I feel the warmth of her release coming right before I empty into her with my own.
Once our bodies slow from the shuddering reaction to each other, she kisses my shoulder while draping both her arms around them. “I’m tired now,” she says. “And breakfast is cold,” she continues. “And you’ve got to stop touching me all the time.”
Pushing my shoulder in her direction to get her to look at me, I smile with my question. “You want me to stop touching you?”
“Yes,” she snaps between us, lifting slowly and allowing me to slide out of her. My cock senses the loss and it’s not appreciative. “Every time you touch me, we…”
“That’s all you,” I tell her jokingly as she stands fully and straightens herself.
Rolling her eyes, she turns around and attempts to act as though she’s annoyed. “I’m going to shower. You’re going to do dishes and then shower when you’re done.”
“Woman, did you just come on my cock?”
Twisting around and looking at me, her eyebrows are furrowed with irritation. “What did you just ask me?”
“You’re really fuckin’ bossy for someone who just let me inside her.”
She shrugs, tossing me the phone which I had left on the charger. “Make your calls before we go, too.”
“Not so sure I love you telling me what to do,” I explain while smiling, but it falls on deaf ears as she heads into the bathroom.
Her voice rises as she finally responds before closing the door behind her, “Then stop touching me all the time.”
* * *
I took Em’s orders. Well, only the one to make some calls whil
e she showered and got ready.
I called Tommy first, knowing he’d be worried. Tommy always worries.
“Any word from Aimes or Low?” he asks with curiosity.
“Nope, nothing. And I’m starting to get anxious.”
“Creed?” he asks next.
“Hoss has kept me away from the club. This weekend will be two weeks. I don’t have a good feeling about any of it.”
I’ve talked to Hoss only twice since last being inside the club. When he called, he’d explained the poker game was postponed due to his need to focus on club business. He then reminded me I wasn’t a member and couldn’t be included in said business, but later said he’d get in touch. My agitation grows heavier as each day passes.
I need to see or hear Casey’s okay. I need it for myself, but also for Em.
“Your mom said Em’s filing for divorce. That’s good news,” Tommy says, pulling me from my thoughts. He must’ve talked to Mom this week when he realized his calls to me were being ignored.
“She is. We’re headed out to talk to the lawyer today. Hoping it’s final in a few months. Think it will be as long as fuckhead doesn’t try to contest it.”
“He won’t contest,” Tommy assures. “I saw him in town a few days ago. He still had a limp. Aimes must have given it to him really fuckin’ good.”
“He deserved it.”
I still wish it would’ve been me who’d physically hurt him after he’d put his fucking hands on Em. From what Tommy’s explained, it sounds like Aimes got him enough for the both of us, though.
“You don’t sound as excited about her divorce as you should be. She’s free, Max,” he rightfully observes. “This is a big deal.”
“I know,” I return quickly, but with a thousand thoughts racing through my head. “It is a big deal, and I’m happy about it. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“I hate this,” I admit quietly, running my hand through the back of my hair in frustration. “Every fuckin’ minute of every goddamn day. I hate it.”