Dancing with the Devil

by Marie James

  The knife and his mouth disappear, and I don’t bother opening my eyes when he shifts his weight. The clank of his belt hits my hardwood, and I expect him to pounce on me and slam his thick cock inside of me, but it doesn’t happen. When I open my eyes, all I see is his back disappearing into my bathroom.

  Then the lock flips into place.

  Chapter 20

  TJ

  I taste her when I close myself in the bathroom.

  I taste her when I climb into her shower.

  I taste her when I grip my cock.

  And I can still taste her on my lips when it only takes five punishing pumps for me to coat the wall of her shower with my cum.

  I could’ve fucked her. How easy it would’ve been to just ram inside of her as the last convulsions of her cunt distracted her.

  Yet, I didn’t, and fuck if I don’t feel like I deserve a gold medal for my restraint.

  The rough towel I drag over my body after stepping out of her shower is a harsh contrast to the silkiness of her pussy against my mouth and the delicate flesh of her thighs under my fingers.

  “In due time,” I promise myself in the mirror before I unlock the door and step out into her room.

  The covers are tucked under her chin, probably giving her a false sense of security, and as I suspected she would, she avoids looking directly at me.

  “I didn’t use all the hot water.” She hurries off the bed when I bend down to grab my jeans, and then the bathroom door slams.

  I go to settle on her bed, and the wet spot left from her orgasm taunts me. She came so fucking hard it left me with spots in my vision.

  Nothing will ever be the same. How can it? What she showed me tonight is only but a glimpse of what we could have together. Sure I’ve cut women before, and they’ve enjoyed it. I’m like a fucking surgeon with a knife, knowing how deep I can go and where to cut to minimize pain but maximize blood loss. Never, not fucking once have I leaned over and licked any away. I’m not thirsty for it. I get off on it coating the skin, not ingesting it. That changed tonight, epically.

  Kaci stays in the bathroom for over an hour, and by the time she opens the door, I can tell by the look in her eyes that she expected me to be gone.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  She gives me a weak smile before grabbing some clothes out of her dresser and disappearing into the bathroom again. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that I came over to try the going out thing with her again. Unless she’s left without her cell phone, she hasn’t stepped out of this apartment since she was attacked three weeks ago. As much as I like the idea of her not going anywhere without me, I also know it’s not good for her head to be stuck in here day after day.

  Knowing she isn’t going to want to leave now, I pull out my phone and order delivery. Just as I’m submitting my credit card information, the door opens again. Her damp hair hangs in clumps over her shoulders, wetting her t-shirt and making the furl of her nipples more prominent.

  I swallow down my need and give her a quick grin. She settles on the other side of the bed, and it rubs me the wrong way. I purposely situated myself on her side of the bed so she would come to me, but stubborn as always, she keeps her distance.

  “I ordered subs. Should be here in thirty minutes.”

  She nods in response before pointing her remote at the TV. The laughter of the audience on a sitcom serves as a distraction until the food arrives. Without a word, we eat and pretend there aren’t a million words we should be saying to each other right now.

  I hold out my hand for her trash when she balls the paper up. She places it in my hand, making sure her skin doesn’t touch mine. I can tell she needs the space, so I’ll give it to her for now.

  We go back to watching TV, but the silence is eating away at me. I’m feeling like Dr. Phil before the words even come out of my mouth, but I want to help her get over what happened to her. The destructive path she’s hell bent on walking is dangerous and a risk I’ll no longer allow her to take.

  “I know what happened in Honduras and Venezuela.” The confession is low, and she doesn’t respond immediately, which leaves me wondering if she even heard me over the raucous laughter coming from the TV.

  “You don’t know shit,” she says long moments later.

  She continues to watch the TV, and I continue to watch her. To anyone else, others who hadn’t spent days watching as her face transforms with each of her emotions, she’d appear calm and unaffected by my words. I know differently. It’s in the slight crinkle in the corner of her eye, and the almost invisible tremble in her chin. She’s hurting, probably being tortured with what happened every day since she returned home. I can relate, and as much as I don’t want to talk about my fucked-up past, I know I can use it to try to reach her. Maybe if I show her my gaping wounds, she’ll do the same.

  “I killed my mother.”

  She doesn’t move, doesn’t turn her head in my direction, or ask me to clarify, but she’s listening. I just know she is, so I continue.

  “My dad was a real bastard. He started the Ravens Ruin MC in Miami, but after he fucked the cartel over and got Lynch’s mother killed, he hauled ass to Sutton, and laid down roots. My first memory of him is walking in to see him plowing into some chick while my mom sat in the corner and watched. She wasn’t happy. I remember that much, but she wasn’t doing anything to stop him either. He was cussing her, using words I didn’t even know the definition of at the time, but the gist was easy to understand. He’d take what he wanted from whoever he wanted because he was the king, and no one went against the king in his castle.

  “I was two, maybe three at the time, but I knew from that moment that men were allowed anything. As a little shit, I used it to my advantage. I got extra ice cream, more time at the park, even permission to stay up later than normally allowed, all with simple little manipulations I learned from my father.

  “I think I loved her. I remember the serenity I felt when she’d hold me to her chest and rock me to sleep as a little boy. I also remember the fear in her eyes when I’d repeat things to the women around the clubhouse I’d heard my father say.”

  I don’t look at Kaci as I speak, but I watch her hand as she lifts the remote and powers off the TV.

  “I thought I was a bad motherfucker, and the guys in the club loved me. They’d laugh their asses off at my antics. Apparently ‘come suck my cock, whore’ is hilarious to bikers when it’s said by a four-year-old kid.”

  “That’s not funny at all,” Kaci whispers.

  “I know it’s not. I mean, I know that now, but back then I wanted to be just like him. He yielded so much power from the men around him. I was his pride and joy. I think it was hard for him to look at Lynch, and it wasn’t until the day he died that I realized why.”

  Kaci settles her back against the headboard, but I hate the distance, so I pull her against me. She doesn’t fight it. With her head on my chest where she belongs, I continue.

  “My father never loved my mother. I’d always thought it was because he didn’t have a heart or the cocaine he snorted like it was his job fucked him up, but honestly, he never got over Lynch’s mom. He’d bought me a toy gun when I was six, and I knew in my soul I was a real Raven then. I was a badass with this little cap gun.”

  ‘That looks great in your hand there buddy, but you won’t be a real man until you have hair on your nuts.’

  “That’s what he told me earlier that day.”

  Kaci snorts a laugh, but I can tell she’s appalled by my father.

  “Seriously, I couldn’t fucking wait to get hair on my nuts. I wanted to be a man exactly like my father. I idolized him. Later that day, the DEA raided the clubhouse.” Her hand flexes against my side, but I ignore it and push forward. “They rushed in. At the time, I thought there were a hundred guys swarming into our home, but police didn’t scare me, because I remember my dad saying he wasn’t afraid of them a million times before. I lifted that tiny cap gun with steady hands at those fuckers, yelled ‘die p
igs’, and pulled the trigger.”

  Kaci tenses against my chest, and I allow my hand to trace down her spine for a few seconds before I begin again.

  “My mom must’ve predicted what was going to happen because she jumped in front of me, taking three bullets to the chest.”

  Kaci gasps, and her hot tears soak through the front of my shirt, but she doesn’t placate me with empty words.

  “My dad was wailing, yelling at the police, losing his fucking mind, and seeing him lose it made me lose it too. I was bawling like a baby, trying to tug my mom into my lap, like holding her would stop the red stains from spreading across the front of her shirt. It wasn’t until my dad looked in our direction and realized my mom was dead and not me that he stopped crying. He didn’t bother to wipe the tears from his eyes, but the sobbing stopped like someone had flipped a switch, and he smiled at me. His lips turned up in a proud smile as I sat there with my mom’s dead body on my tiny lap.”

  Kaci’s shoulders shake with silent sobs, but the comforting hand on her back is all I can manage right now. I’ll fucking lose it if she raises her head and gives me any kind of fucking sympathy. I don’t deserve it. I live with my choices every fucking day.

  “After the dust settled, Lynch, he’s eight years older than me, came to my room to talk to me. He told me that one day this club would be his, and what happened to my mother wouldn’t happen in the club then. I believed him. Even when he went to prison, and things got so much worse, I held out hope that things would be better, eventually. Now they are.”

  “No more violence?”

  I chuckle at Kaci’s soft-spoken question.

  “We are the most violent fucking people you’ll ever meet.”

  She doesn’t stiffen in my arms or pull away like I expect, but not looking into her eyes right now is killing me, so I cup a hand under her chin and urge her to look up.

  “I’m sorry about your mom,” she whispers, and her sincerity is almost enough to make me break.

  I clear my throat and press my mouth to hers instead. She opens on a sigh, her tongue sweeping over mine with sweetness. I groan, but don’t deepen the kiss. When I pull away, she’s looking at me like she’s never seen me before in her life.

  “Kaci?”

  “I want you to leave and never come back.”

  She pulls out of my grasp and locks herself into her bathroom. I do the only thing I can manage at the moment. I shrug on my jacket and my cut and get the fuck out of there.

  Chapter 21

  Kaci

  I’m torn in two directions.

  On one hand, I feel free for the first time since TJ pulled me from that guy’s arms at his clubhouse. He hasn’t been here in two weeks, and the freedom has been much needed.

  On the other hand, I miss him more than I would ever admit out loud. I miss the sound of his voice, the feel of his body against mine in bed, and if I let myself think about it long enough, I miss what happened the last time he was here.

  It was his story, and the way he looked in my eyes like he was in pain and I was the only one who could ease that for him that has kept me from reaching out to him. I can’t be that person, even when deep down, I know he’s the only person who can ease my own pain. Two broken, fucked-up people together will only mean more agony and heartache for both of us. Damaged people don’t heal others. Trying to put someone back together with your broken pieces only leaves you with less than what you started with. It only causes more problems.

  Even though I’m different now. Even though the thought of leaving my apartment at night literally makes my skin crawl, I can’t bring myself to go to him.

  I’ve only left once in the three weeks since TJ carried my battered and bruised body home. I walked to Tito’s yesterday in broad daylight, and I looked over my shoulder and shook the entire way to the restaurant.

  He did this to me.

  Before he came along, I was always the commander of my own destiny, and I hate him for taking that from me. Just like I hate the sureness in my finger as it hovers over his name in my phone.

  I press call and cancel just as fast.

  “I don’t fucking need him,” I grumble, but I never drop my phone. I never toss it to the side and get up from my bed. I don’t rush into my bathroom and tug on slutty clothes and pile a pound of makeup on my face. I simply hold the device in my hand and wait until I have enough courage to let the call go through.

  My bruises are gone now, and it physically makes me sick to look at myself in the mirror. Without the injuries, the only thing I can focus on are the circles under my eyes from night after night of restless sleep, and the girl staring back at me urging me to find happiness.

  What I need is a distraction, and if I’m too chicken shit to leave my apartment, there’s only one recourse.

  I hit call on the phone, and rather than end it immediately, I hold it to my ear. It only rings twice before the call is connected, but TJ doesn’t say a word, and for that I’m thankful.

  I didn’t know what I was going to say to him. I’ve been going back and forth between begging him to come over and ripping him a new one for what he’s already done to me. When the situation arises though, I don’t do either of those things.

  “I was wearing a one-piece swimsuit and a cover-up the day he took me.”

  TJ doesn’t speak, but I know he’s still there from the static on his end of the line. His clothes rustle as if he’s moving, and either the wind or his breath comes through the microphone.

  “His name was Deo.” I clear my throat, unsure if I can get all of this out, already knowing I will regret it. “He told me he could tell I was a virgin by the way I walked. I remember thinking, even through my fear, that there was no way to tell if someone was a virgin that way, but then again he found me and his speculation was true.”

  My tongue slips out, wetting my bottom lip.

  “He said virgins were the cream of the crop. They brought the most money at the auction, so he was always excited to get one. Virgins were what he sought out, and I just happened to catch his eye on the beach that day.

  “Ten thousand dollars. That’s what the guy paid to rip into me. He left me broken, bleeding, and begging for death. Before he walked out, he pressed his lips to my forehead and assured me the experience was worth every penny.”

  He doesn’t speak, but his breaths are now rushing out, echoing in my ear. I inwardly wonder what his reaction would be if he knew the full truth. He shouldn’t be angry on my behalf. The effort is lost on me. I don’t deserve it.

  “I was eighteen, and even though I thought I knew it all, much like most kids that age do, I realized I didn’t know anything. I was guarded, protected every day, reminded how good girls behaved because my dad had political aspirations and didn’t want me to ruin his chances. When Deo came in later, he praised me for making his customer so happy. I was certain he’d gotten what he wanted, and he was going to let me go home. I knew it in my soul that the worst was over, and even as horrible as it was, I would heal. I would move past it.

  “I don’t know how long I’d been there, but Deo came to me every night. He used me, and even though he was rough, he had never raised a hand to me. He didn’t strike me the first time until I asked when I was going to be returned to my family.

  “According to him, I was ungrateful for the life he had given me. He was raging on and on about pets biting the hand that feeds them. The next night Deo didn’t come, but other guys did.”

  I try to clear my throat again, but the lump doesn’t dislodge. I haven’t even been able to discuss these things with the therapist my mother insisted I see when I got home. I have no clue why I’m spilling my guts to the man who threatens me with a knife and forces himself on me as well. I shake my head, clearing it of those thoughts. TJ is nothing like Deo and his band of abusers.

  “I don’t know how much or if he even charged the guys that came to my room night after night.”

  I hear growling coming through the line, but TJ doesn’
t speak a word.

  “Deo’s punishments got worse. He didn’t come to me often, but when he did, he beat me for having sex with the men he allowed into my room. The first time I told him I didn’t have a choice. I learned after he broke my wrist that night it was just better to take what I was given than disagree with him. I’d never win in a fight against him.

  “Every day I’m reminded that had I only worn a two piece that day, had I looked less innocent, things would’ve been different.”

  “Kaci.”

  I hate the sound of my name on his lips. It’s nothing but a reminder of the way Deo used to say it when he was hurting me.

  “Please,” I beg. I’m unable to explain to him. As hard as it is to give him the larger details of my time in Venezuela, there’s no way I can break it down for him.

  “Don’t say my name.” It’s all I can manage.

  Silence once again fills the phone.

  “Now I get to choose,” I continue before all my courage dries up. “I get to choose the party, the guy. I control my life. No one understands. Not that I have anyone who even gives a fuck.”

  The growling gets louder, but I ignore him. This conversation isn’t about saving his feelings or acknowledging his misplaced emotions.

  “I don’t have any friends. My parents might as well not even exist. I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself. Going to those parties, deciding whether or not I tilt a cup up to my lips, it’s the only thing I have. I choose my path. Of course, the guys think they’re smarter than me. No one in their right mind would go to a party and intentionally have themselves drugged to the point of incapacity, right? Who’s crazy enough to do that? But I know who’s in control. Even drugged and unable to defend myself, I’m the one in control.”

  Just hearing the words out of my own damn mouth makes me realize how psychotic that is.

  “I’m on the shot. Wouldn’t want to get knocked up, you know? Nothing ruins a party like people staring at the pregnant girl snorting coke.” A humorless laugh rushes past my lips, but I know nothing about this is funny.