by Barefoot, LW
The contrast between our skin tones is beautiful. The clash is not only in the way he holds me pressed to him. Well-defined abs and dark hair lead down his lower stomach to his perfect cock. I willingly push my legs as wide as I can to fit his masculine body between them. His nostrils flare and the vise grip he still has on my thighs tells me he was going to make it work no matter what.
The pressure through his fingertips move and push my inner thighs down, completely opening me up to him. I watch with fascination and fear as his dick disappears where I need it. I have to break eye contact and moan when he finally sinks fully into me.
“Evan,” I growl while he lazily thrusts and I don’t recognize the voice that escapes me.
“Harder, Evan, please.”
I try to lift my hips up and force him deeper, but his hands bear down on my thighs. I doubt he will let me get by with making demands on him in the future. He must have known to follow through this once, witnessing my spiral to someplace else. Recognition flickers across his features as he holds himself still and then he shoves so deep I gasp for air and cry out. He holds me pinned to the bed. His punishing erection hits all the right places.
“That’s right, Harper. Let me hear how much you like getting fucked.”
That’s right, Harper likes getting fucked, and I’m someone else. This new name in this battered body likes to be fucked by Evan and only him.
I throw my head back as if I can shake off my train of thoughts and close my eyes. My head falls to the side and I focus on the blissful possession and those broken pieces stitch themselves back together. Cruel fingers lock around my chin, jerking my face to look at him. The action sets something familiar off. He grows larger, his tempo faster. His fist goes to my throat and squeezes.
“Eyes on me, Harper. I’m the one fucking you. I’m the one claiming you.”
I come undone and shatter as he finally loses control. It’s a tight, tangible break and there’s nothing nice about it.
His hands grab my hips, using them as leverage to push and thrust deeper. Primal and relentless, he takes and takes and takes. His cool facade vanishes.
I have no delusions of this being sweet or endearing. I need him to drive me over the edge. I need him to hurt me to keep me here with him. I tremble when his climax takes over, he roots himself deeper than he has been all night. Holding himself still, I grip and bear down on him with my own waves of release.
His eyes betray him and there’s something in them that scares me. Chills erupt across my feverish skin, while unwanted emotions bubble up and threaten to choke me. Evan’s fist is tight around my throat. I’ve seen this look before in the only other person who has done this to me.
“You’re mine now,” his words are clipped and threatening. Quiet and intense, barely audible.
He pulls me into his arms as we drift off to sleep, his palm rests directly over my beating broken heart.
I dream dangerous bouts of dreams. Filled with whispered wants and promises. Impossible, intangible lies. I fall into the terrifying depths. Evan’s features twist and distort in stark contrast with someone else’s, someone I need to keep buried.
I struggle to surface as sunlight streams through drapes. It’s my sanity and nightmare’s saving grace.
Harper
I wake to Rufus snorting in my face and music humming through my portable speaker on the nightstand. I giggle and squeeze him, pushing his overly wrinkled face into more wrinkles as he wiggles closer. Every time I wake up it takes a few minutes to shake the inky fog of my dreams off.
I start to move and feel sore all over. My muscles protest and I lift the covers up and look down at myself. The events of last night come rushing back to me.
I scan the room and look for Evan. Flushing with embarrassment at how intimate we were and how exposed I was. I look at the red angry skin he tore into last night. Bloody, but healing. I’m surprised my skin didn’t stick to the sheets.
I hear voices through the closed bedroom door. As soon as Ru’s excitement calms down a little, I pull Evan’s undershirt over my head and try to hear what is being said.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Tom quietly rages.
Evan’s voice is lower and deeper as he hisses back. “The only person here to look after Harper.”
“Damn it. You’re screwing everything up. You have no right to show up here and act like you mean anything to her. She should have stayed at the gallery. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself involved with, or how far you’ve set us back. He was so close, so fucking close, and we could finally put this all behind us,” Tom responds.
“Do you think Harper’s figured it out yet? When you show her the photos and you will show her. What about you, Ryan?” Evan responds.
Silence stretches out and my pounding heart is all I hear for too long.
“She trusted you, Tom.”
Those were Evan’s words, but how does he know all that? I can’t process the multitude of racing thoughts and speculations. And I’m not going to find out standing here.
I throw on the robe laying on the end of the bed, before swinging the large doors open that separates me from them.
All three of them stop their hushed voices. I must be sight. Evan reclines on the arm of the oversized couch. His whole demeanor is dominating and confident as his gaze rakes me and he winks. I blush, almost forgetting we’re not alone.
I peel my eyes away and take in the other two that are sitting in separate winged-back chairs, looking completely out of place. They both look uncertain.
Evan breaks the silent stand off and holds his arm out to me. He motions for me to come join him on the couch.
“Harper, come here.”
God, that voice, holding an undertone of the commands he made last night. When I sit down, I make sure the robe stays together.
Evan moves from the arm of the couch to sit next to me, his arm lands across my shoulders. Like tucking me under his arm is going to prove something or protect me. His hand lazily swirls small circles on my skin. The touch is reassuring.
“Harper, how do you know this man?” Tom asks.
He sounds like what I assume would be a father talking to his teenage daughter. I’ve caught that undertone from him before.
“That’s none of your business, Tom. What are y’all doing here?”
“Cute Harper, you managed to pick up some slang,” Tom spits.
Evan’s slow southern drawl exhibits how rude Tom’s comment was. “Guard your words. Show her the photos.”
I can feel the hostility he’s trying to keep in check. Ryan studies the two of them, before he finally focuses on me.
“Harper, I’m sorry I scared you last night.”
He tries a small smile, but I’m not buying his timid behavior. He pulls out the same large envelope he had with him last night. Photos scatter across the coffee table.
The gravitational shift vibrates through my entire nervous system. My heart stops beating and my vision blurs as I look down. Tom’s been lying to me for years. My eyes shoot to him.
“You sick motherfucker,” I yell.
I try to stand in my rage, but Evan holds me to him.
“Had I seen these last night, the press would have been outstanding for you, Tom. I can’t believe you would expose me like that,” I allow acidic sarcasm to color my words.
The shock at seeing the photos is bad enough. But I can’t imagine what it would have been like to see them last night. The tiny ounce of control I have left snaps. I absolutely hate that I cry when I’m angry. It pisses me off I can’t rein the tears in. I want my appearance to scream fury and anger, not weak and teary.
I study the photos of me at different art shows. Different dresses, different locations at varying distances. Hell, one looks like whoever shot it was right next to me. Red ink marks a Roman numeral two scrawled large across my entire torso. Every single photo has one on it… ‘My gorgeous fool, I told you I would find you, that you could never be free of me.’
“How long has he been sending these?” I ask.
I look between Tom and Ryan. Evan’s here and he’s the only reason I haven’t launched myself across the table to show these two assholes these are tears of rage.
“Harper, I thought if we were in public that we would have a better handle on things,” Tom explains.
He looks to Ryan for validation. But he remains silent, leaning back in his seat, his eyes shift to me. He appears a little too comfortable. Ryan looks at me as if trying to see underneath my skin.
“You thought you could use me as bait,” I confirm my doubts.
My attention returns to Tom and his hesitation is all the proof I need.
“You’ve been in on this all along? I trusted you and you used me. I could never figure out why the FBI never tried to contact me after the move to New Orleans, but I guess they did. They had you, Tom. You told them everything they ever needed to know. You were handing me back over to that sick bastard last night.”
I pick up a few of the photos and throw them. Tom doesn’t even try to deflect, as he watches me unravel.
“That’s what the number two is for, isn’t? He’s here for me?” Tom’s face is completely closed off and unreadable.
“Answer me, Tom,” I rage, my voice cracks with emotion.
“Evan was right about you, Harper.” He looks at me with sadness etched across his face. “You’re smarter than we ever gave you credit for.”
I feel like the object and bargaining tool he sees me as.
“Is my career a lie, too? I know you peddled my art, but did people actually buy it or was that a front as well? The money in my bank account, is it mine or the taxpayers?”
I have been on and off planes all over the country with this asshole. Not to pursue my dreams, but as bait so the Bureau can account for the other murders. They kept me under wraps long enough, until the pressure to find the Sculptor was too high. What’s the price of one more life to justify the deaths of eleven others? I’m victim number twelve with a number one brand. The authorities can’t wrap their heads around what kind of sick game the Sculptor played. I guess they’re tired of waiting and he’s forcing their hand.
“Harper, please understand we would have never let him get his hands on you again, you have to believe that. Your paintings are amazing and the only thing that was false was both of our identities.”
Ryan clears his throat and adds, “We’re still not one hundred percent sure the Sculptor is responsible for these photos. But if it’s not him, then someone else has painted a target on you and knows who you really are.”
I can’t help but notice Evan stiffen next to me when Ryan spoke of someone other than the Sculptor sending the pictures to the FBI. I’m not a threat to anyone but the Sculptor, so Ryan’s exclamation makes no sense to me. Evan’s eyes are soft as I look to them, but I feel like he’s hiding something from me.
Long minutes stretch out in silence as they all watch me. There’s no amount of beating myself up that will make my tears stop. They fall and betray me. Searing anger eclipses every other emotion.
“Harper,” Tom says pulling my attention to him. “We have to take you back in protective custody. Go pack your bag, you can bring your dog with you. Jamie can pack up the rest of your things and ship them later when you’re settled.”
Those words explode the dam for the rest of my tears, the ones I was holding back. But his words have the power to force them out. A silent quack shakes me to the core. Utter desperation takes up residence in me.
The thought of having to uproot again and change my identity makes me ill. The process will repeat until someone gets what they want. The Bureau won’t be happy without justice, and the Sculptor won’t stop until he lays into me again, finishing what he started. I am nothing more than a pawn to be used and manipulated by both sides.
I was set up last night and it’s bound to happen again. Fear erupted and screamed for me to leave and I’m thankful I obeyed it. But if I leave with them it’s likely to happen all over again and they would get away with it.
“Harper isn’t going anywhere with you,” Evan says.
“No, Evan I don’t want to get you involved with this,” I whisper and try to push the relief away he has so easily offered.
Evan whispers, “It’s too late. You’re mine, remember?”
He stands, helps me to my feet, and leads me straight to the bathroom, ignoring Ryan and Tom’s protests. Evan kicks the door shut behind us.
“Get dressed and pack. You’re coming with me.”
His warm palms cup my face, fingers sweep away the tears still running down. He presses a lingering kiss on my lips, and I can’t help that it causes more tears to flow. My heart beats so much stronger than only moments before.
I take a quick shower and I swear I hear more yelling under the spray of hot water. I finish in record time and throw everything in my suitcase.
Ru’ and I are all packed and ready to leave by the time Evan opens the double doors and walks in.
“Are they still here?” I ask, hoping I never have to see either one of them again.
“They left. Do you understand what’s just happened?”
The scariest thing of all is that I have no fucking clue. It’s all too much. Everything I thought was finally falling in place, in reality was falling apart. Tom lied to me about who he was and after all we’ve been through together his betrayal hurts and could have cost me my life.
“No,” I admit.
“Then we might have hope after all,” Evan’s perfect smile sends my stomach into knots of anticipation.
A trade was made. I instantly regret not listening in on whatever Evan’s explanation to Tom was. That trickle of fear skates its unwelcome finger up my spine. Tom and Ryan want something from me, but so does Evan. I felt him hesitate and freeze when Ryan mentioned that someone else could be responsible for the photos.
Men I have never seen before walk in the room and grab our bags off the floor. They aren’t wearing hotel uniforms, but they resemble each other dressed in all black. I catch the glint off one of their belts, drawing my attention to their matching firearms.
“What about your business you had here in Chicago, Evan?”
“You’re the reason I’m here,” Evan explains.
My sweet Ru’ is excited to see whoever walks in the same room he’s in as if they’re here to see only him.
Evan waits until the men clear the room, before he approaches me.
“Wear your sunglasses. Rufus is going in a crate until we get to the airport. I have to admit your chunky little bull is growing on me.”
Evan playfully holds Ru’ up like a baby. Trying to lift the ominous feeling that’s tainted this morning.
Evan pulls me against him as we exit the building. He assures me another car would be picking Ru’ up from one of the service elevators. I somehow manage to hold in my long list of questions as we ride side by side in the backseat.
We pull into a private hanger at O’Hare airport. One by one, armed men exit a couple of SUVs. I wait as they let Ru’ out of a crate. A man scoops him up as the door springs free. My lil’ bug is so happy and licking the poor guy’s face, but instead of being disgusted the man smiles and pets him.
Evan doesn’t hesitate to strap me in my seat once we’re inside the private plane. I let his delicious scent lull me in, wanting to forget the last few hours altogether.
The men that left the hotel with us start filling in the spacious cabin. The pilot runs over the checklist, preparing for departure. Evan requests for the stewardess to bring us both a vodka press. His hand plays along the seatbelt he strapped me in.
“Isn’t it a little early to start drinking?” I ask.
“After the morning we had, I think we could both use one.”
The attendant returns with our drinks and goes to strap herself in for take-off. I watch as Ru’ succumbs to sleep. The man who took him out of his crate pets the now snoring bully.
I tak
e a long sip from my glass as Evan slides my sunglasses off.
“You need to understand I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Tom mentioned his orders were to bring you in. I couldn’t let that happen so we have to wait. By law they can’t force you to do anything you don’t willingly agree to. I kept the photos as evidence of them putting your life in danger. I will make sure you never see them again, the photos or Tom for that matter, if that’s what you wish.”
“I’m sorry, I think I’m still in shock and you must be horrified about all of this,” I stutter, amazed at how well he took control and hasn’t asked me the many questions that must be eating away at him.
I take another drink and finish the glass. Evan smirks and hands me his.
I believed Jamie would keep my secrets, but there’s no other way Evan could be this calm and collected. It comes natural to him, but this is bigger than simple confidence.
“I’ve known, Harper.” His gaze travels over my face. He answered all those questions in that one statement. “After I found out what you’re constantly trying to hide and who you’re running from, none of that mattered to me. I see you better than you think. You have a choice in how this all plays out. I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be alone in this. I know who you are and I don’t care. This changes nothing.”
“Evan, this is a mess. I’m a complete and utter mess. Trust me, I’m not worth it,” I admit and it’s the absolute truth.
“It’s worth it to me for you to have choices, for you to have freedom. We’re more alike than you think. Let me help you.”
“If I say yes, what does that mean?”
Arrogant triumph slides across his face.
“The men you see here are my private security team. Every date we’ve ever been on, they were there. Even our morning run and random outings you thought were by chance, they’ve been there. I know all too well what it’s like to need protection and secrecy. I don’t want you going anywhere without one of them.”