“I shouldn’t want you like this,” Max whispers over my lips, the heat from his breath forcing chill bumps to sweep over my skin. My eyes slam closed as another long breath transfers from his mouth to mine. “Tell me no,” he says, his lips barely brushing against mine.
I swallow just as his warm lips crush over mine. He climbs onto the bed, his hands still gripping my face as he deepens the kiss. And this kiss, although it’s gentle, it is somehow still brutal and raw and hard. The weight of the situation is evident with each touch, every breath, but within that is a beauty so profound, words would never do it justice. Pausing, Max groans. His fingers twist my hair as his tongue teases my lips. I savor the soft feel of his mouth like a morsel tossed to a peasant. I relish in this because it is something I have longed for, no matter how wrong or perverse. I have wanted this from him for so long. This kiss grants me a type of validation. Somehow, among the dark depths of this nightmare, I’ve found some fucked up version of love—and I believe it’s the only love language I will ever understand. I’ve given myself over to a devil, and God help me, all of the misery has been worth it for this very fucking moment.
Max rests his forehead against mine, his thumb caressing my jaw. “I can’t help it,” he breathes over my mouth. “No man could…”
And our lips join once again. I feel every piece of me begin to melt, and internally I scream at myself to snap out of it, but Max—everything he is, the parts of him he believes are ruined, tainted, the way he’s touching me like I am everything at this moment—well, I just can’t stop it. He is right. We are right, and sometimes, yes, sometimes, maybe fate has to fuck up every last thing in your life to put you where you belong because this is where I belong. I feel it in my heart even though my mind wants to deny it.
Max’s hands slide down my neck, my shoulders, my sides. He grabs me by the waist, his lips still pressed hard over mine. His fingers flinch into my sides and he groans before he tears his mouth from mine.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck.
Another kiss and our hands are all over each other, but just as my fingers graze the waist of his jeans, he tears away from me to stand, bowing his head and pacing. I push up from the bed and stare at him.
“I can’t,” he pauses and locks eyes with me. “Ava, I can’t…” he says, grabbing me and throwing me against the wall while kissing me like I’m his very fucking breath.
The air surrounding us is thick with primal energy—brutal want and passion. His hands roam over me. My fingers dig into his huge biceps. He owns parts of me he shouldn’t and I am fairly certain he knows.
Growling, Max fists my hair before pulling away once again. “What do you want from me?”
I want to shout: “For you to love me”, but I can’t say that. I am fully aware I am in love with a very bad man, that I have betrayed myself, and when you betray yourself you are truly lost. So, instead, I whisper, “Nothing.”
“Do me a favor, Ava.” He presses a finger over my lips and that intensity in his eyes morphs to worry. “If I ever ask you what you feel for me, just don’t tell me. Don’t ever tell me.”
And with that he turns and exits the room, leaving me undone and terrified that the only man my heart is capable of feeling this way about is the grim reaper himself. And even though I’m well aware I’m longing for the very thing I know may one day take my life, I can’t help it. All my heart keeps telling me is that some things are worth the risk, because without certain things you’re often better off dead anyway.
My head is spinning. I’ve lost all fucking control with her, and it is taking every ounce of man in me not to turn the hell back around and fuck her up against that damn wall. I want to mark her, taint her. I want to fucking claim her—and that is fucked up to no end.
Earl’s sitting at the table, smoking as usual. His eyes lift from the paper he’s reading. “She ’bout ready yet?” he asks, the cigarette gripped between his lips, ash falling to the floor when his lips move.
“No.” I shove past him. I’m sick of these fuckers asking the same damn question. “She’ll be ready when I fucking say she is.”
“Why ain’t she ready, Max?” he asks. I stop and slowly turn to glare at him. Anger pulsing through my veins at the thought of having to actually let her go.
“Because she isn’t.” I take a step toward him. “She had a life and it takes a hellavu lot longer to break hope than fucking desperation.” Another step. “That’s why!”
“Well, if she ain’t ready in another week or so, might as well just kill her.” He smirks, his dingy, crooked teeth showing. He reaches for his beer and I smack it out of his hands. The can hits the floor, foam spewing out. He eyes me up and down, most likely debating on how badly he’d get his ass beat if he tried to do anything to me.
“Like I said,” I say as I make my way out of the room, “she’ll be ready when I say she’s fucking ready. And we’re not killing her. I’d kill you first, you son of a bitch.”
“Almost think,” he calls from the kitchen, “that you got a little thing for that one.”
Ignoring his comment, I quickly climb the winding staircase and lock myself in my room. I pace, dragging my palms down my face. I stare at the pack of smokes on the corner of the dresser before snatching them and lighting one, puffing like a goddamn chimney on my way to the window. I grip the cigarette between my lips as I fight with the old wooden frame. It finally pops loose with a bang, squeaking as I raise it. The cold December wind whips in and my muscles tense. This is what I need, this chill. Something to bring me back to the real world, something to snap me the fuck back to what I’m supposed to be doing, but then the breeze kicks up and it lifts her feminine scent from my skin. My eyes slam shut and I inhale on a groan as I bring the smoke back to my lips. The nicotine seeps deep inside my lungs in a thick cloud.
She is going to have to leave here. Eventually—dead or alive, and right now, I am trying to decide which way is more kind. Would it be worse for her to be bartered off to some fucker or for me to kill her? I could do it without her even knowing. In her sleep. I could open the door and put a bullet in her brain and she’d never even leave the realm of dreams. But that thought makes bile rise in my throat. I wouldn’t do that. There is no need. And I won’t let her be sold off. What I have to decide: if I’m going to keep her, or if I’m going to set her free.
Two hours. I spend two hours submerged within my conflicted wants. I smoke half a pack of cigarettes before I leave my room and head down to the cellar. When I open the door, she’s lying on the bed dressed in a T-shirt and shorts, her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she’s already a quarter of the way through the book I just bought her. She doesn’t glance up when I start across the room, she just keeps on reading.
“Since I saw you.” I stop beside the bed, take the book from her hands, and toss it to the floor. “Listen to me, since I saw you, all I could think about is what your lips would feel like.”
She glances up at me, and fuck me, those eyes of hers. There is no stopping this.
I grab the back of her head, pulling her mouth against mine. My hands travel from her neck, around to her shoulders before roughly rubbing down her chest and stomach, all the while my mouth viciously kissing her.
My fingers skim beneath her shirt. The feel of her skin is so fucking warm and soft it causes a feral shot of lust to rip through me. We tear our shirts over each other’s head, the need to feel one another the only thing able to force our greedy fucking mouths apart. There’s a pause where we stare at one another, both conflicted because everything about this situation is wicked, yet, I fear neither of us are strong enough to stop it. Truth be told, neither of us want to be that strong.
Half naked, I take her in. Her pale skin, her perfect breasts and nipples. My cock swells with a primitive need to take her, claim her, while my conscious wages a moral war with me.
“Please…” she whispers and that breaks the last, thin thread of restraint I had in me.
Grabbing the waist of her shorts, I rip them down her legs, tossing them across the floor as I lay over her, pushing her exposed body into the mattress as I settle between her thighs. She fights with my zipper, her nails scratching me as she shoves my pants over my ass. I fight to kick them from my legs while I suck her nipple into my mouth. My hands graze down her sides, focusing on her curves—the indent of her waist, the flare of her hip, her fucking ass. I slap my hand over that ridiculously sexy part of her body and she gasps, the loud clap echoing from the walls. We are nothing but a jumble of skin and limbs, in desperate need to touch every last fucking inch of each other’s bodies.
I kiss over her neck, grazing my teeth along her delicate flesh before I nip at her. She squirms underneath me, her legs falling shamelessly open, her nails digging into my back. My hand snakes down her hip and across her leg to the crease of her thigh. I work my finger underneath the hem of her underwear, and the second I touch her, I lose every bit of inhibition. I shove my fingers deep inside of her and she moans.
“Please,” she says again, grabbing my hair and jerking my head to the side.
A man can’t fucking take this shit.
“Max, I just…”
“Fucking beg me,” I whisper against her ear, fucking her harder with my hand. “Beg me, Ava.” Another rough thrust of my hand and she tosses her head back against the pillow, those beautiful pouty lips of hers parting to drag in a deep, labored breath. Her fingers fist at the sheets. And when I press into her harder, she moans.
“Goddamn it, woman,” I say in a groan. My fucking cock is so damn hard I can barely see straight. One more thrust and I pull my hand away from her, sticking my fingers inside my mouth to suck the taste of her off. Fuck, the way she tastes… All I can do is groan.
She grabs my dick and places it against her pussy. There’s a moment, a fleeting fucking moment where I just feel her. Where I enjoy the fact that I have yet to take her, relish in the temptation, and then, as slow as I can fucking stand, I slide into her. The warmth and tightness make my eyes flutter shut on a groan. I wrap my arms behind her, holding onto her shoulders as I bury myself completely inside of her. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good,” I say.
And everything that happens from this moment on is instinct. Raw, uninhibited, fucking passion. I fuck her until she’s screaming, clawing at my sweat-slicked back, and then when she says she can’t take any more I flip over on my back, forcing her on top of me.
She’s panting, her eyes locked on mine as she slowly grinds over me. So fucking innocent. I grab her hips in my hands, squeezing as I force her to ride me harder, ruthlessly. Ava tosses her head back, her dark hair falling behind her shoulders as she grabs onto my thighs to steady herself. Watching her fuck me like this—it’s basically art, something so raw and beautiful. There is no way I can ever let anyone else have her. She is mine. This fucking woman was made for me. Her and her demons and her innocence—everything. It is all mine. To be honest, if I could, I would possess her because she is the first thing in this life I’ve ever found that was flawed to the point of being perfect.
My entire body tenses, and she slows her pace. “Don’t you fucking stop,” I say, taking her hips and forcing her over me as hard as I can.
Seconds later, a violent heat floods my body, every last piece of me going weak. Bucking my hips against hers, I groan. I throw my head back on the pillow and grit my teeth, groaning. My fingertips dig into her sides, sinking into her soft flesh in an attempt to slow her movements as I come. “Stop…stop…” I whisper, unable to stand the sensation any longer.
Ava falls on top of me, out of breath. Her cheek rests against my chest. And here we both lie, breathlessly tangled together, me stroking through her messy hair and her tracing the design of my tattoos.
Everything has changed. And that is evident.
Lying here with her like this, I can never let go. I will hold onto this at whatever cost. Love—out of all the emotions there are, is the one which can cause the greatest upheaval of a person’s soul for it is the only emotion that promises to give you something in return.
Even when that emotion is a nothing more than a lie…
I watch the fan blades smear the colors of the world around, lost in post-orgasm bliss as I trail my fingers over Max’s shoulders. There’s a sense, a feeling that I’m half found in Max’s hold—and then, a moment of lucidity comes crashing through. This is not life. This is not right. I am a captive. And this man lying naked beneath me, as much as I have learned to trust him, I shouldn’t. As much as I feel this is where I belong, it’s not. He will likely kill me. And my warped and confused heart is falling for him.
He shifts in the bed, taking me by the arms and moving me beside him before he places his ear over my heart. My pulse kicks into overdrive, the path of my fingers over his broad shoulders ceasing.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.” I exhale. “I try not to think about anything.”
He brushes his hand over my side. “How do you feel about being here?”
I swallow. “I hate it.”
He nods.
“Do you expect me to like this?”
“Not at all.” He kisses my forehead. “If I could, I would let you go.”
That is the first time he has said something like that. I can hear the conflict, the guilt, and it terrifies me. Part of me wants to ask why he can’t, but then again, some things are better off left to the unknown. Hope, I guess.
My fingers resume tracing over his muscles. “Have there been others?” I ask. I just feel that there have, almost like there are ghosts walking the halls of this old house, but then I realize, I’d rather not know. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“You don’t?” He sits up, shooting a curious glance at me.
“No.” I take a breath. “If there have been others then I’m just a number. A statistic—well, I am already a statistic, I guess, huh? But you know, I’ve somehow come to grips with this. And sometimes when you overthink things, they start to make sense. Kind of…” I’m rambling, but I can’t stop myself and the longer I talk the more interested his expression grows. “It’s just, if I am the only one then I guess in some sense that makes me special, right? It means there was something about me someone wanted badly enough to steal me. And if you think about it, and I mean really think about, take away all the morals from it, and well, you only steal things that are worth something. So, if I am the only one, I guess that means that I am worth something.” There’s a flicker of something in his eyes that makes me feel vulnerable, so I drop my gaze to my lap. “I just don’t want to think there was someone else…” And I mean for him. I don’t want to think there was another girl that he looked at the way he’s looking at me.
“And there are your demons, huh? They won’t let you see your worth.” He rubs his hand over my head, down my neck, and kisses my cheek. “There was never someone else. If I’m honest, I think it’s always been you.”
And I know he’s not talking about other captives. He’s talking about me and him. About this feeling passing between us like an electric current. Tears threaten to build in my eyes and I fight them off because crying will do me no good. This is a beautiful tragedy. Something that in any other world, any other circumstance, would have made an epic love story, but here in the depths of this cellar, locked in a room no one knows exists, there can be no happily ever after. This story ends here. In this room. With me and him.
Day 61
The late evening sun slowly sinks behind the trees, but there are no vibrant colors. Only a hazy yellow glowing against the gray clouds. The wind howls around the corner of the porch, the dry, bare limbs making a whishing noise in the distance. I stare at the cigarette in my hand, watching the smoke swirl up from the tip and dissipate in the breeze while Bear and Rufus wrestle out on a patch of dirt.
It’s been a day since I’ve gone down to visit her. Why? I can’t force mysel
f to. I’ve gone down and stood in front of her door, unable to open it. My mind has been running non-stop. Eaten up by guilt. She’s like a fucking disease crippling me. She is all I think about.
I’ve spent hours trying to figure out how to make this work out. In the process of it all, I’ve somehow forgotten about Lila. And it’s at this point I realize I’ve come to a crossroads. I set out to save my sister, but will I ever find her? I can save Ava. At this very moment I could save her, but then I have failed my sister. How selfish would that be to give up on Lila in order to keep something that really, at the heart of it, is not mine. I can see it in Ava’s eyes. She loves me, she craves me, and how wonderful that is to see. But it is fake. It is manufactured. And how can I live with a lie such as that? A woman I am obsessed with loves me only because I made her believe a lie.
I hear the rumble of Earl’s truck barreling down the driveway, but I don’t bother to look up. A horn blares and seconds later, Bear and Rufus come running up the steps, panting. The car door slams shut. Earl’s whistling on his way up the porch. His muddy work boots come into my line of vision and I bring the cigarette to my lips, inhale, then blow out a puff of smoke.
“Tom’s dead,” Earl says.
Taking another drag, I look up at him.
“Some fucker shot him. Guess we’ll need to get them records and shit from his place. Find somebody else to handle all his stuff ’cause I sure as hell ain’t doin’ it.”
I fight to keep the sick grin off my face. “That’s fucked up. Do they know who shot him?”
“Nah, probably some deal gone south. He had his hands in ’bout everything you can think of.” Earl chuckles. “Not to mention he was fucking Burt’s old lady. Burt’s a crazy fucker, probably found out and killed him.” He shrugs. “Can’t blame him.”
“Yeah, guess not.” I take one last hit from the smoke before flicking it into the yard. “He handled the transactions, right?”
Earl narrows his gaze on me, and for a second, paranoia sets in. A raspy chuckle trickles from his lips. “Tom handled most things. Hell, it was basically his business.” His brow furrows with worry. Earl’s not the brightest.
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