“Glad to see you’re awake,” he says over his shoulder. “I’m anxious to get back and fuck that girl of yours. Was her pussy tight? She looked like she’d have a tight pussy.”
My hands clench, fingers digging painfully into my palms. “What did you do with her?”
“She’s being taken care of. For now.”
I wince as I watch him try to decide on a tool to torture me with first. My head pounds from where they hit me and my vision is blurry, but even the pain can’t distract me from the throbbing hatred and rage threatening to boil over at any minute. I strain against the ropes behind my back. The knot is tight, but I swore I would never be victim to the same shit I went through during the war and I trained my body for this. I press my thumbs to my pinkies, narrowing the size of my hand and then use the rope to dislocate the joints in my hands. The pain is blinding, but I push through it, pulling up as hard as I can until both my hands are free.
My calves are tied together at the base of the chair still, but knowing my hands are free gives me some hope of escaping. I’m in some sort of a basement and the only exit seems to be at the top of a small set of stairs. I have no idea how many men could be waiting on the other side, but I learned a long time ago to tackle impossible situations one possibility at a time. Right now, all I need to focus on is the possibility of getting out of this chair and stopping Liam from killing me or crippling me to the point that I can’t help Makayla. More importantly, I need to try to gather some kind of information from him about where she’s being held, which means I need to stall as much as I can.
He picks up a meat cleaver after deliberating for a while, twirling it in his hand as he approaches me. I try not to think about the damage that knife could do, or what the blunted blade would feel like hacking through my flesh. Just think of Makayla. Think of how I’ll make this up to her when I get out of here and find a way to free her. Think of how I’ll never make the mistake of letting her go again. I clench my teeth together, fighting the urge to reach out and snatch the cleaver from Liam as soon as he’s within my reach. I need to get information if I can.
“I was thinking I could start with that famous cock of yours. You know the women you fucked and left for us to grab the sloppy seconds on always talked about how big it was. It would almost be worth letting you go, cockless and neutered, just knowing Jesse fucking Slade would have to live out the rest of his life without a cock.”
I glare at him. “Where is she?” It’s not the most subtle line of questioning, but I don’t have much time.
“Oh, don’t you worry. She’s on standby. They may have scarred the shit out of me after you left me for dead, but they did leave me with a functioning cock, which is more than I can say for you if you make it out here.”
He lifts the knife, looking at it curiously. “You know, I’ve heard a man can easily bleed out from losing his cock. Maybe I should chop you up a little before I risk losing you. That can be the finalé. I’ll bring Makayla a piece of you every day to remind her how pathetic you were in the end.”
So she’s within twelve hours of where he’s keeping me if he thinks he could bring pieces of me to her every day and get back here in time to keep it up. It’s not much at all, but it’s something. Assuming the psycho sleeps, that means she’s within more like six or eight hours. If she’s that close, chances are she’s really close. Still, I’m going to need a hell of a lot more than that.
“So you’re keeping her at your place?” I ask.
He laughs. “You’re still trying to gather information? It’s sad, really. I don’t think you’ve ever really experienced what it’s like to lose. You don’t realize it’s over. You still fucking think you’ll find a way out of this and save her?” he leans in close, pressing the blade of the cleaver to my cheek. I can smell his hot, sour breath as he breathes the words in my face. “Everybody loses eventually. And now it’s your turn, Slade.”
His phone rings from his pocket. He holds my gaze for a moment before sighing and stepping away to answer it. “This had better be fucking good.”
A pause. I see his knuckles turn white as he grips the phone. He raises it over his head and slams it on the ground, shattering it. “Fuck!” he yells, kneeling and clenching both fists. “Fuck!” He holds the cleaver to my face. “Your fucking bitch girlfriend escaped. Change of plans. I was going to take my time, but now I’m going to fuck her and then bring you the pieces of her day after day.”
I realize this is my last chance and I act. My hand flashes out, grabbing his wrist and squeezing. I rip the cleaver free while he’s distracted and slam it in his chest. It all happens in a split second and he has no idea it’s coming. His eyebrows dart up and his eyes widen as he looks down at his chest. Blood drizzles from the wound, splattering to the floor. I rip the cleaver free and he falls to his knees. I bend, using the edge of the blade to saw the ropes holding my legs in place free. Once standing, I look down at Liam. Blood is seeping from the corners of his mouth and he’s still looking down at his chest in shock.
“Where were you keeping her?” I ask.
He finds the strength to laugh, but the sound is cut short as he coughs up more blood. “Fuck you,” he says.
“I made the mistake of letting you go once,” I say. “Not again,” I growl as I slide the cleaver’s blade across his throat, bathing my hand in hot blood. My face contorts in disgust as I search his spasming body, finding car keys and a Glock. I leave him, gurgling and bleeding to death.I climb the stairs and cautiously step out of the door, surprised to see a grassy field and a gravel road. His BMW is parked a few yards from the door. I turn to see a bunker-like entrance to what must be his torture cell. Sick fuck.
I search through his car. I’m surprised when I open his glove compartment and my phone tumbles out. I tap the home button and frown in confusion when I see a text from an unknown number.
931-555-2133 (4:31 p.m.): It’s Makayla. I’m with Kennedy. Got out. Called cops to find you. Hold tight. I love you.
My eyebrows draw down in confusion. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t just heard Liam admit she had escaped, but how could she already be with Kennedy? Maybe his men were afraid to call him when she first escaped and waited until they were sure they couldn’t find her? Shit. I don’t know why, but my heart is hammering in my chest. I want to believe it’s true so badly, but I’m afraid of latching on to the fantasy and finding out it’s false.
I throw the car in gear and look through my phone’s memory for Kennedy’s address. I stored it when I first took the job, always getting as much information as I possibly can has paid off in the past, and it looks like this time is no exception. It’s about fifteen minutes away, but I plan to make the drive in half that time.
42
Makayla
I’m pacing around Kennedy’s kitchen, phone clutched in my hand and blanket draped around my shoulders.
Kennedy leans against the sink, watching me nervously. “The police are going to do all they can, Makayla. Why don’t you take a shower and get the blood out of your hair?”
I shake off her suggestion. “He’s out there right now and all I can do is walk in circles in this fucking kitchen,” I snap. “I should be doing something.”
“You have no idea where they took him,” says Kennedy soothingly. “The police are going to do all they can. The smartest thing you can do is stay here where you’re safe. There are half a dozen cops out there in the hallway and more still in the lobby downstairs. No one is going to hurt you here. If you do something stupid and go driving around to look for him, the bad guys might find you again. Think about it.”
I don’t want to think about it. I just want to do something. I’m trying to sift through the tangle of emotions. The confusing, absolutely incomprehensible emotions. I must have mental whiplash by now with how many times my feelings for Jesse have changed. The truth is I’ve never really believed he wasn’t right for me. I’ve always known, but I’ve spent so much energy trying to convince myself that he wasn�
�t. Hell, Jesse has tried really hard to convince me too. But behind all of it is the way he makes me feel. When I’m near him my heart sings and my head feels light. I know he’s the one. I know it with so much certainty that it’s a wonder I’ve deluded myself into thinking I could live without him until now.
I just wish I had come to my senses before it was too late.
I’m about to yell something incoherent when the phone in my hand buzzes. “Oh my God. It’s Jesse,” I say breathlessly.
“What does it say?” asks Kennedy, rushing to my side.
Jesse (4:42 p.m.): Coming.
“How?” I ask.
Kennedy shakes her head. She smiles up at me a little uncertainly. “You did say he’s kind of a badass,” she suggests.
I feel tears well in my eyes. “How do I look?” I ask.
We both laugh as Kennedy gingerly lifts some of my hair. It’s stuck together by dried blood.
“Take a shower,” suggests Kennedy. “It’ll help you calm down. He’s okay. He’s coming,” she says, smiling and gripping my shoulders. “It’s over.”
Not completely, I think. If what Liam said about my stepfather is true, he’s still out there and he still wants me dead. I told the cops what I knew, but so far everything is circumstantial. Unless something concrete turns up, it’s unlikely they will be able to do anything about him. Kennedy’s right though, everything may be a blur of confusion right now, but I know one thing for certain. I’m going to throw up again if I let this blood sit in my hair any longer.
I strip my filthy clothes and turn on the shower. I pointedly avoid the mirror before stepping into the steaming water, sighing with relief as I work the clumps of gore from my hair and skin. I may be able to wash it off my body, but I have a sinking feeling the memory of what I did and saw isn’t going to scrub away as easily. I have to avoid closing my eyes because I keep seeing the way the hole opened up in Rosenthal’s forehead when I shot him. I see the way Edwards’ body jolted with each impact and the way blood sprayed behind him, splattering the floor.
I breathe deeply, wishing I could forget it all, trying to focus on the positive. He’s okay. Jesse is okay. He’s coming here.
I hear a commotion outside but can’t make it out over the water. Kennedy says something loudly and a door slams. There’s a thud as the door to the bathroom opens and I see Jesse storming in. Kennedy follows close behind him.
“I tried to tell him to wait!” cries Kennedy. “But he just… oh,” she says, turning and shielding her eyes when he pulls the door to the shower open and steps inside with me, fully clothed.
His hand is covered in blood and his face is bruised and bloody. I’m so happy to see him that it takes a moment to register that I’m standing absolutely naked in front of him and he’s completely clothed. The water rushes over his face, softening the blood caked there and rinsing it away. He looks into my eyes so intensely that I feel heat spreading through my body, and it has nothing to do with the steam from the shower. The suit and dress shirt he wears are getting soaked.
“You’re going to ruin those clothes,” I say distractedly, reaching to strip his jacket.
He starts to undo his tie, still not looking away from me. “I thought I lost you,” he says.
I bite my lip, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “You sure as hell tried to lose me, but you never could,” I whisper.
He threads a hand through my soaked hair, squeezing and pulling me toward him, crushing his mouth against mine in a kiss.
“I’ll never let you go again,” he whispers, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak and then pressing his lips back to mine.
I feel all the passion and regret he has built up for me in that kiss, as if his thoughts crackle across our skin and enter my mind. He never wanted to do anything but keep me safe, and he was just a good man put into impossible situations. A weaker man would have stayed with me and spared me the immediate pain at the cost of the long-term pain. Jesse has never been weak.
My fingers clumsily struggle with the buttons of his shirt.
I get too impatient to bother with his buttons and pull his shirt wide, snapping the last few. I reach for his belt, unclasping it and pulling it free. He helps to undo his button and lets his pants and briefs fall to the floor wetly. He kicks the pile out of the way, never taking his lips from mine. His wide hands splay over my lower back, spanning the entire width of my waist. I love how good it feels to be wrapped in his arms, how small I feel and how safe I feel.
I thought I would never feel this again. I thought I might never feel anything again, and now it’s all so much at once. I can’t get my footing, as if I’m floating just a few inches above reality, watching everything happen in slow motion. His tongue swirls against mine and I rub my hand down the hard shelf of muscle covering his torso. The smooth curve of his chest and the perfect lines of his abs and the diagonal crease of muscle leading down to his massive, throbbing cock.
I circle his length with my hand, stroking him and loving the way his powerful body shudders against me. I can’t seem to stop biting my lip as I barely control the urge to wrap my legs around him. My thoughts race. Half of my brain is fixated on the sight of his perfectly hard body glistening as rivulets of water run down the valleys and peaks of his muscles, on how good his stiff cock feels in my hand, and on how I could lose myself in those fiery eyes. The other half is trying to come to terms with everything. There has been so much change in such a short period of time, but the last week feels more like a lifetime.
I don’t know if having sex with him again is going to change anything, but it feels like it will, like it’s a commitment, a promise. Maybe I’m being hopeful, but I can’t shake the feeling. One thing I do know for sure is I want that commitment from him more than anything right now. I let my anger blind me to what was right in front of me. I’ve wanted to forgive Jesse since he stepped back into my life, and I’m not going to be happy unless I’m with him. It’s scary placing that much power in him, but there’s a contentment that washes over me as I admit it to myself. For better or worse, I’m placing my heart in his hands again. No reservations.
His hand on the inside of my thigh snaps me from my musings. He slides his middle finger down over my mound and across my clit, making me shudder and grip his cock more tightly. I begin moving my hand up and down his length, kissing him deeply as he sends shockwaves through my body with the slightest touch. His hand between my legs has me gasping so hard I have to pull away from the kiss. I’m transfixed when my eyes find his. I can see so much in those eyes, more than he would likely ever voice to me. I see hunger, lust, power, but through it all I see love. I can’t take my eyes off him, and the torrent of sensation builds until it reaches a breaking point.
“Fuck,” he mutters, gripping my hand to stop my movements against his cock.
Knowing I almost made him cum with just my hand pushes me over the edge I’m teetering on. I squeeze my thighs together, wrapping my arms around his strong, wet body and holding on tight as I’m racked with bliss.
He presses my back against the tiles, giving me a momentary shock of cold until my skin heats the tile. He takes me by the hips, kissing me deeply and lifting me effortlessly upward. My feet hang in the air, as I’m pinned to the wall by his arms and body. He somehow manages to find my entrance with his cock. With one hand, he grips both my wrists over my head and uses his other hand to explore my body, leaving chills in his wake wherever his calloused fingers roam.
His cock slides inside me easily, stretching my walls. He takes me slowly, almost tenderly. I never thought a man like him could show tenderness, but he moves against me like I’m something precious, like he’s worshipping me. I watch his face with fascination, transfixed by the way his forehead creases with concentration and effort, by how his shoulders tense and cord with thick muscle, and by the way I’m completely at this man’s mercy right now and wouldn’t have it any other way.
My hands might as well be bound in stone. I’m his. He ca
n do whatever he wants to me and Christ he’s doing it, now taking me fast and hard . I can’t keep from moaning and gasping as our bodies meet and my world melts away into a blur of friction, pleasure, and absolute comfort. It’s not a feeling I would expect to feel during sex, especially not sex like this, but I feel comfort. It’s like when our bodies are joined, everything is okay, like nothing can happen to me and like there’s nothing I need to worry about.
My fingernails dig into my palms and I lift my legs to wrap around his hips, leveraging his hold on my wrists to pump myself against him, desperate for him to fill me deeper and more fully. A guilty, completely crazy desire slips into my mind, shocking me with it’s intensity. He’s not wearing a condom and I want him to cum inside me. It’s ridiculous and unrealistic, but I suddenly want it so badly. I want him to claim me, to put a baby inside me and make me his completely. The thought of it drives me up the fucking wall and I cling even tighter to him, rocking against him like my life depends on it.
He tenses and I can tell he’s close. He’s going to cum. God, I know somewhere distantly that I’m being insane, but I can’t get a logical thought through the haze of sensation assaulting me. I just want his cum inside me. I want it so bad I don’t care how crazy it is. I sense him about to pull back when he cums, but I don’t let up on my grip, squeezing tight to him. I meet his eyes and see the question there, unspoken but clear as daylight.
You’re sure?
I bite my lip and don’t stop rocking against him, working his cock relentlessly, begging for his cum.
“Fuck,” he growls, grip tensing on my wrists until it almost hurts.
His cock pulses inside me and I feel the heat of his cum spreading deep inside me. Holy shit.
We don’t speak about what just happened in the minutes that follow, but the echoes of it don’t stop replaying in my head. We step out of the shower, kissing when we’re close and never quite taking our hands off each other.
Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 30