by Pamela Ann
Fuck her.
Fuck him!
River and Willa.
Willa and River.
Those sons of bitches! How long had this been going on?
The question terrified me. The memories—the only good ones I had—they tainted it, too.
How could I have been so blind? How? How! Willa’s free pussy buffet since the beginning of time—of course he’d bite. What man wouldn’t? It was not as if they cared if her breasts were lopsided. A pussy was a pussy, and men loved to fuck pussy. Any pussy would do when mad, horny, drunk, high, or out of their minds.
They’d been close. It all made sense now—how River always cared for her, always protected her from me. Oh, she was good at playing the good girl card. He fell for it, so he fell for her, too?
Jesus.
From the eviscerating pain lacerating through me, penetrating into my soul, I could scarcely breathe. My lips wobbled as tears slid down my face. There were random people milling about, throwing me weird, questionable looks, but I couldn’t care less about what they thought of me.
I was in my own world of pain, and it threatened to destabilize the very core of me, the very heart of me … the only thing I had left. I could feel it, like a pressure cooker, simmering, boiling until it was about to explode, to shatter.
How could he do this to me? Had I hurt him so badly I’d inflicted the deadliest poison of all? Willa …
Wiping my tears away, I continued to retrace my steps back to the main house. Just as I passed the villa where I’d met Jason earlier, I heard someone calling out my name.
I walked faster.
“Cara! Let me explain.” His voice kept getting closer … and … closer. “Cara!”
I ran.
I dashed.
I zoomed out of there as if the hounds of hell were chasing me. I sprinted in my four-inch stilettos and white micro dress, hoping I’d outrun him as I darted toward the backyard of the main house. The selective lighting did little to help me find the back entrance to the house. And when I did manage to find a white door, I instantly yanked it open, only to find myself trapped in a dark empty space. It was so dark I couldn’t make out anything at all. Fuck. Just my luck.
All right. Breathe.
Just breathe…
My heart hammered deafeningly hard against my chest as I weighed my next move. Just as I was about to head back out the door, the lights turned on, flooding my eyes with blinding brightness.
Squinting, I had to gradually open my eyes as I adjusted my sight, only to find myself on a basketball court.
Great. Was there another exit? Preferably one leading to the house?
Then the door opened behind me. The wolf huffing and puffing his lungs as he halted his stride. “Cara.”
Cara.
That’s me. Oh, little ole me.
Me … He spoke to me, addressing his toy. His idiot. His stupid puppet. His sex doll. His damn prisoner.
Chapter 21
River
Cara.”
Why did I chase her? And why the fuck did I feel so damn guilty? We weren’t together. I answered to no one. A free man, free to do whatever I wished, yet I found myself running after the woman who’d broken me so many damn times I lost count.
But here I was.
In the middle of a basketball court, shirtless and barefoot, with only my jeans on with Cara set and ready to murder me on the spot.
When those big brown eyes turned around to look at me, I felt their fury stab me straight to the heart, gutting me dry.
“Did I fuck up your night again?” she mockingly drawled. “Oh, wait. Did you come after me to announce your relationship with Willa?”
“There’s nothing going on with Willa—” I was about to explain myself when she unexpectedly chucked a gold purse toward my head. My hand caught it right in time.
Thank fuck for some good reflexes. And damn, she could throw. Her training for the assassin movie had sure paid off. Great as that was, I’d rather she didn’t show just how well she had prepared for the job.
As I threw her a glaring warning, my nostrils flared while I tried to check my temper. “Settle down, woman! Listen, I don’t even have to do this, but I came after you because you looked hurt. I feel obligated to explain myself to you.”
The seething Cara crossed her arms, regarding me like a crazed person ready to rock and rumble.
“You feel … obligated?” she mimicked my words. “He feels obligated. Uh-huh, yeah … um … let’s see … um … How about fuck you, too, River!” she shrieked before spitting at me.
It landed on my chest. The exact same spot where the lovely vase had landed. It was sore, but it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe I deserved the vase. Who knew?
“Stop acting crazy, Cara!” I took a few steps, ready to yank her by the arm and hold her down until she’d heard everything I had to say, but she elbowed the very same sore spot on my chest before she speedily kicked my gut. Her heel dug into my skin so deeply I wondered if it stabbed through it. I’d have checked, too, if Cara wasn’t about to use her left foot to kick me again. My reflexes saved me for the second time tonight. Another second more, it would’ve landed on my chin.
God damn her. “What the fuck, Cara! Have you lost your damn mind?” I watched her warily as she took her shoes off, dispassionately shoving them to the side. A long tousled mane framed her face. A very beautiful. Angry. Crazed. Face.
“Fight me,” she snarled.
My eyes bugged out. “What?” I stared at her, openmouthed. Completely dumbstruck. “I’m not into hitting women, and I’m not about to start now.”
“Fight me, you bastard!” Her growl echoed throughout the court. “Fight me like a man!”
She wasn’t messing around. The woman was dead serious. She was out for blood, and she wanted all of mine. “The fuck I am, Cara. I’m not going to hurt you!”
“Hurt me? You’re not going to hurt me.” She threw her head back and cackled an eerie, cruel, evil laugh. “Oh, newsflash for you and your whore of a dick—you’ve already hurt me enough!” While she flexed her head from side to side, stretching, I could hear one vertebra crack before the newly honed focus set in. Eyes cold. Frighteningly calm and determined ... and they were dead set on me.
Oh. Fuck.
“Cara.” My forearm blocked her first blow. “Christ, stop it, you crazy woman!” Her arms were so fast she simultaneously used them with her legs. It was like one of those movies, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. She was hella fast, and she wasn’t stopping anytime soon. “Cara, fuckkkk!” I shrieked as I felt her foot target my shin. Then she went for the other.
If it wasn’t for my rigorous workout and the training as a Viking in the films, she’d have shredded me by now. Holy mother of fucks, she was lethal.
“Fight back, you faggot!” she shrilled as her eyes found something.
My gaze followed where hers was. I watched her take a few steps back to the side of the ring, where a rack of basketballs was lined … and a dribble stick.
Cara didn’t waste a second. She quickly dismantled the darn thing, taking only the stem before successfully twirling it over her head before she geared into a fighting position.
Martial arts. She’d obviously trained well. Damn. I should be terrified of what she could do to me …
But fuck, she looked hot as fuck.
“Let’s see who’s going to hurt now, eh?” She advanced toward me, looking like a hot warrior in a tiny dress, looking bloody lethal and just downright sexy as hell.
The moment she tried to hit me with the darn pole, I swiftly caught up with my right hand while using my left and the legs to block when she used hers as I pressed the pole between us. Then I used my entire upper strength to push her farther up against the damn pole of the basketball ring until she couldn’t fucking move.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” I roared into her face the moment I had her trapped against the pole. It wedged between our bodies.
From the shallow
rapid breathing, wild fiery eyes, and the acute way her lips pressed together, Cara obviously wasn’t done yet.
“Afraid to fight me, huh, little faggot?” She spit on me. Again.
“Do that one more time, and so help me God, I’m going to—”
She did it. Again. This time, it landed on the tip of my nose. Snarling, I quickly swiped her saliva with a thumb.
Cara had pushed me over the damn cliff. The woman had better be prepared because I was taking her down with me. Freefalling into the void, into the bottomless ditches of oblivion.
With the use of my left foot, I managed to drag one of the meshed equipment rolling carts. Doubling the pressure on my right hand so Cara wouldn’t get away, I used my left to jerk the delicate net, successfully ripping it off. Her sharp gasp made me giddy as I started to wrap the netting around her abdomen, throwing it in a quick swerve around the pole to properly secure her in it. I did this several times until I was confident the hellcat was confined with no means of escaping.
“Now, will you listen to me?” I took a step back, both hands on hips, gazing at her as if she’d put me through the wringer—well, she fucking had. She’d almost had me crippled. If I let her, she’d have properly chopped my dick off with one swift swing off that stupid pole.
But none of that mattered—well, not anymore.
“Nothing’s going on with Willa. I never touched her. It was Petra and … well, Willa’s idea, too, I guess. Both came on to me … and well …”
“And you couldn’t resist them?” she added hatefully.
I glared at her. “I know what you’re thinking, and no, I never cheated on you with her. Ever. I’ve done a lot of shitty things, and I own up to all of them. I’m telling you the truth.”
“You’d have fucked her tonight, though, right?”
I opened my mouth then shut it. “I don’t know…” Petra had wanted a threesome.
“You do know. Why spare me the truth? Who gives a fuck?” she sneered. “And since we’re confessing and shit, I cheated because I couldn’t resist Juan. He fulfilled me in places you couldn’t fucking reach! Not only was he—”
“He’s what?” I fucking lost it. I went from angry to full-on schizo. Mode. In a heartbeat. Cupping her chin, I glowered down on her. “He fulfilled you? In what way, Cara?”
“Untie me. Now!”
She’d had her fun. It was my turn. “Is this where he ‘fulfilled’ you?” My hand parted her tensed legs. Oh, she tried to resist. Her strength was admirable. Too bad I was far too strong for her. Wrenching the thong out of the way, I dropped it on the floor before sticking my forefinger into her opening. The bitch was wet. “How often did he enjoy you, huh? Was it before or after you called and told me how much you loved me?”
She shook her head, heavily panting as she tried to fight her aroused body’s response to my finger.
“Now you choose to be silent?” I pinched her clit. Hard. “Answer me, you fucking slut!” I pinched again, making her hiss between her teeth. “Answer. Me!”
“River … please,” she sobbed. “No … more.”
The broken cry had me. The tears had me undone. And I just couldn’t fight her anymore. “Cara…” Her name came out as a grunt while my eyes took her in. All of her. Seeing her. The old her. The new her.
Overpowered by this overwhelming feeling of loss, my lips dove for hers, kissing her breathlessly, endlessly. The taste of her tears—the very essence of her—sent me into a downward spiral. Her lips responded to mine, kissing me as passionately as I kissed her … I felt heady. Delirious.
“River…” she moaned against my lips, panting as my finger withdrew from her hole.
My hands rapidly unzipped my pants. It felt like forever before I became one with her. The euphoria running through my veins moments before thrusting into her body—Lord Almighty, she was my addiction.
My drug ...
It was the last thing I remembered before capturing her lips once more. With her body tied up, thrusting into her wet depths made the angle more acute since she couldn’t slide upwards to ease some of the pain my engorged cock inflicted by pummeling into her tight core. Her muffled cries and moans made me thrust harder as my lips devoured her whole.
Cara … my Cara …
I love you. Forever. Until my last breath, I will love you.
The pain in my heart magnified tenfold. “It’s okay…” Breaking our kiss, I whispered against her lips, one hand lovingly cupping her cheek as I drove into her depths, stretching her wider, farther. “It’s okay. You can say his name and pretend I’m him … I’m Juan.”
She couldn’t. She was too choked with tears to even say anything. No words could describe how much it had taken me to say those words, but I had. I loved her enough to even grant her that. A way of saying how much she meant to me that would sacrifice my pride—my ego—to make her happy.
Juan had.
This was my gift to her. My one last labor of love. In freeing her, I was freeing myself.
I love you, Cara Quinn.
Chapter 22
Cara
Two Months Later
Cara? I’m coming in.” Anton’s upbeat voice broke through my dreary thoughts before I heard the key turn in the lock. The heavy thud of his footsteps came next. “I brought some cupcakes and cappuccino,” he announced as he trudged toward the living room where I lounged, weary and sleepy-eyed. “Holy smokes, it’s hot in here. Oh, shit! You have the heater on during one of LA’s hottest summers? It’s a hundred degrees outside. You might as well throw on a bathing suit, some sunscreen, and lay it all out by the beach. At least you’d get a great tan to speak of instead of sulking in this hotbed you call a couch. It’s been a week since you got back from Toronto. You sure you’re okay, babes?” Geared in black and white polka dots from top to bottom, he looked like a walking connect the dots.
I couldn’t help but smile at him. It was impossible not to. The guy just looked too damn cheery and bright. It ached to move, yet I shifted, trying earnestly to wake up. The intoxicating combined notes of chocolate and coffee filled my nostrils. My stomach growled right in time.
“Thank you, thank you. The smell of chocolate always makes me hungry.” God bless him for being such a good friend. “It’s your Coming Out birthday. I’m supposed to be bringing you presents, not the other way around!”
“Whatever … it’s not like I’m the one hopping country to country. Sweetie … you look pale. You sure you’re going to be okay? Is it because of River? That man’s a lost cause. I love him and all, but too much water under the bridge, babe.”
River…
I hadn’t spoken about him. I couldn’t. I didn’t have the courage to even speak his name. How could I? Not after how things had ended between us. The ache in my chest only intensified if I thought of him, yet not a day passed by where I hadn’t thought of him since.
Work had been a great diversion. Distance helped a great deal, too. But when the lights shut off and the camera stopped rolling, I was alone in my bed, haunted by the past. It was when I was the loneliest.
For the first time in so long, I hadn’t gone on dates, nor had I gone out partying, dancing the night away like I had before. This time, my break-up with River, if one could even call it that, the irrational feeling where I had to prove to him, to me—hell, to the rest of the world, even—that I was wanted, available, and oh so desirable was absent.
I had waited for that particular feeling to kick-in over the past eight weeks, yet it had never arrived.
I could only deduce that it was due to how things had ended between us. Not only had it been abrupt and undeniably unexpected on my part, but it was unequivocally … tragic.
It was the culprit of my incapacitated state. And, well, Juan, of course. How could I forget the bastard? The fucker wouldn’t grant me a day of peace. He fucked with my head like clockwork.
My life hadn’t been the same since life had handed me the gift of meeting Juan Torres. But these days, it was beyond debil
itating … punishing. It had been unbearable to be consumed by River in the morning and with Juan when my consciousness shut off. Juggling both cruxes had been strenuous. It was no wonder I was beyond fatigued. My mind rarely got a moment’s peace. It was like burning a candle at both ends. Pulled apart by two opposing forces, draining my battery, imprisoning my mental and emotional capacity, leaving me worn-out, robbed of any normality, fleeced of any happiness from the littlest of things I used to adore, like cute little puppies. I used to indulge in watching videos of them on Instagram, but these days, I found it pointless. How was that even possible? Everyone loved cute, tiny fur balls hopping about, acting all cute and shit. I’d become so desensitized by everything nothing affected me any longer.
Even my spiritual guru appeared to have given up on me, and he had the patience of a saint. I even called him Brother Teresa because nothing could anger the poor guy. At one point, I even questioned his mental maturity. No man living in Los Angeles was capable of being saintly. Acting saintly, yeah. Millions of them. But to be the real deal? That was like trying to find water on Mars. Probable but near impossible.
But as they said, the show must go on, no matter how shitty it was. So, this shitty show called Cara Quinn: Life is Still Shit must keep on rolling. Endure it, I shall.
“You know how it is…” I lamely said as I gladly took the box of cupcakes from Anton and set it on the coffee table. The moment I opened the box, my mouth salivated uncontrollably.
This.
God, I needed this. “You’re my savior. I love you to the hundredth power.” Giddy with pleasure, I plucked a double chocolate on chocolate and immediately licked the tip of the icing. “Ahhhh,” I moaned with pure unadulterated joy, “mazing.”
Cute puppies wouldn’t cut it. But cupcakes worked like magic. Chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate. Yum.
My nutritionist on the set of Clover had put me on a Keto diet, and after weeks of being deprived of yummy goodness, I planned to annihilate these little chocolate cups of heaven before the sun set.