Sinful Intent

by Chelle Bliss

  Natasha stood above me, shifting with the blade in her grip. She snarled as the blade turned over in her hands.

  “I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to me,” she growled.

  I pulled at the restraints. “I didn’t do anything! Please just let me go,” I said as my lips began to tremble.

  She shook her head as she ground her teeth, clenching her jaw tight.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself.

  She leaned forward with the knife, cutting through the fabric of my tank with ease.

  I gasped for air as my head spun.

  Using the tip, she pushed the tattered shreds to the side, exposing my bra.

  I tensed, giving a guttural scream with a closed mouth.

  “I’m sure he loves these.” She ran the blade across the tops of my breasts, causing my skin to break out in bumps.

  “Please!” I shrieked, tensing my muscles. “Please don’t do this.”

  She wagged the knife in front of my face, taunting me. “Are you scared, Race?” she asked, smirking.

  “Yes. I’ll do anything. Please,” I begged, shaking my head as she leaned forward with the blade.

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look. I held my breath as tears streamed down my face.

  Blazing pain, unlike anything I’d ever felt before, sliced through my body so hard that I became winded. I screamed in pain, pulling at the restraints, tossing my head back and forth. “Stop, please!” I cried out, feeling dizzy.

  I prayed to black out.

  Begged for mercy, but nothing.

  Just uncontrollable agony that radiated throughout my body.

  When she lifted the knife, blood dripped from the edge, falling to my chest. Her eyes widened as her lips parted.

  “You look better already,” she said as she walked around the table.

  I tried to steady my breathing, focusing on something else other than the pain. I felt the blood as it oozed from the wound, traveling down my side and pooling underneath my back.

  “No. I can’t.” I sucked in a breath, trying to grip the table and prepare myself for more torment. “Please don’t do this,” I cried as my body began to shake.

  “Ah, pretty Race. Are you worried you won’t be perfect anymore?” she teased as the blade came down again.

  As I cried and screamed, blackness took me.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tyler Motherfuckin’ O’Shea

  Morgan

  I kicked the front door in, jerking my head until I found him. “Where the fuck is she?” I yelled as I headed straight for him, lunging at him.

  “What the fuck?” he screamed, putting his hands up to cover his face.

  “Don’t play stupid. What the fuck did you do with her?” I asked as I wrapped my fingers around his neck, holding him against the wall.

  His eyes bulged out as he gasped for air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “What do you mean you don’t know what the fuck we’re talking about?” I yelled, glaring at him.

  He pulled at my fingers, trying to lessen the pressure around his neck. “I don’t. I swear to God.”

  “Listen, motherfucker. I’ll choke the last breath out of you right now,” I growled. “Tell me where the fuck you’re keeping Race.”

  “Race,” he whispered, his eyes growing wider.

  “Race. Where the fuck is she?” I barked, squeezing tighter.

  “Wait. I love Race,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides.

  “What?” My mouth fell open.

  “I wouldn’t hurt her. I love her,” he babbled.

  I lessened the pressure against his throat enough for him to speak, but not enough for him to get out of my hold.

  “I wouldn’t hurt her. I swear, man.”

  “Morgan!” Thomas yelled from behind me. “Let him go. He can’t get away, and we can’t get information if you kill him.”

  “Dude, fuckin’ let him go,” James pleaded as he patted my arm. “We won’t let him get away.”

  “You should listen to your friends,” Tyler said in a strangled voice.

  I closed my eyes and applied just enough pressure to remind him that I held his fate in my hands. “If you fuckin’ say one thing I don’t like, I’ll break your neck.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tyler said, trying to nod under my fingertips.

  I released him, pushing his body and slamming his head into the wall in the process. “You better start fuckin’ talking.”

  Thomas and Sam stood at the foot of the steps with their guns out and ready to shoot, and James had my back.

  Tyler reached for his throat. “Why do you think I have Race?” he asked as he rubbed his skin and swallowed.

  “She got your messages about the video,” I snarled as I stood one foot in front of him and didn’t move.

  “How do you know about the video?” he asked, his eyes as wide as saucers.

  “Um, again, asshole. You sent her e-mails blackmailing her. I don’t have time for this shit. Where the fuck is she?” I yelled, punching him in the stomach and watching him crumple.

  He crouched over, holding his stomach. “I haven’t told anyone about the video. It’s still in my study.”

  “Someone knows. If you don’t have Race, then who the fuck else could know about it?” James moved closer to Tyler.

  “You got this all wrong. I’d never hurt her. I loved her from the moment I laid eyes on her in college. My lucky asshole cousin dated her. When he died, I found the tape, and I’ve never let it out of my sight.”

  “Sick bastard,” Sam said.

  “Who else fuckin’ knows?” I asked again, pushing him back against the wall.

  “Only Natasha. She kind of caught me once and…” He dragged his hands through his hair, still trying to catch his breath.

  “Natasha. Where the hell is she?” I asked, looking around the room. “Sam, go look for her!” I yelled, holding Tyler in my grip.

  Sam nodded and disappeared.

  “She’s not here, fucker,” Tyler said. “She hasn’t come home from work yet.”

  “Where’s the video?”

  “In my office,” he said, pointing to his right.

  “Show me,” I demanded as I turned him and pushed him down the stairs. “Try anything and Thomas there will put a bullet in your head.”

  “Jesus. I’m not stupid, man,” he mumbled, walking slowly with us inches behind.

  As he approached his desk, I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Don’t even think about it,” I warned, increasing my hold.

  “In the top drawer, in the back. Get it yourself,” he said, glaring at me.

  “I’ll get it,” Thomas said. He pulled the drawer out and turned it over, and reached for a disc. “Got it!” he shouted, putting it in his pocket.

  “Where the hell would Natasha take Race?” I yelled.

  Tyler flinched. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t have time for this shit.” I pulled the gun from my holster and held it against his temple. “Where’s Natasha?”

  Tyler began to shake as he closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe the beach house,” he offered as his lips began to tremble.

  I lowered my gun. “You’re coming with us, motherfucker.” I pulled him forward, placing my weapon back in the holster.

  “But why?” he asked.

  “Because,” James answered as we walked out of the office, “you know where the house is, and if she isn’t there, we’ll need you some more.”

  “Or I may kill you,” I whispered in his ear as I pulled him with me.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  “Stop being an asshole,” Thomas told him as he walked by us both and slapped Tyler in the head. “You’re the reason Race is in this mess. You’re sure as fuck going to help us get her out of it.”

  “Fine.” Tyler straightened and walked of his own volition. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “To your wife?” James asked with one ey
ebrow raised.

  “No.” Tyler snickered. “She’s a coldhearted bitch. I meant Race.”

  “Sam!” I yelled, ignoring Tyler’s statement about Race. “Let’s go!”

  I’d never let Tyler near her again.

  Whether he was involved in this shit or not, he would never, ever touch her.

  Just as I stuffed Tyler in the backseat, Sam appeared in the doorway and headed straight for the car.

  “If one hair on her head—” I started, but James stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

  “Stay calm. We need you calm, man. She needs you calm.”

  “I’m as calm as I’m going to get.”

  “We’ll get her back,” he said, but I knew they were empty words.

  “Drive faster,” I told Sam, feeling my very sanity start to slip.

  “On it,” he said, adjusting himself in the seat and stepping on the gas. “We’re ten minutes out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The End

  Race

  “Race,” a voice whispered in my ear, but it sounded like it was a million miles away.

  I moaned, shaking my head.

  “Wake up, Race. I’m not done with you yet,” she whispered again.

  My eyes flew open at a burning so intense that it ripped through my chest. She’d pushed her finger against the cut on my chest.

  Everything hit me like a ton of bricks.

  My awareness of my surroundings, the smell of her perfume, the sheer pain from the cut, and my absolute terror.

  I pulled in a ragged breath before shrieking from the pain.

  I mumbled something I didn’t even understand as the tears began to flow again.

  “See what happens when bitches like you try to steal my husband?”

  “No!” I screamed, shaking my head.

  Just as she started to rip my pants from my body, the door burst open and slammed against the wall.

  I turned my head toward the noise, seeing Morgan run through the door. Before he could take a step inside, Natasha held the knife to my throat.

  “Take one more step and I’ll cut her throat,” she warned, pressing the blade against my artery.

  I lifted my chin, trying to escape and prevent the crazy bitch from cutting me, and pleaded for Morgan to save me using only my eyes.

  Tears streamed down, covering my cheeks as I whimpered. “Please,” I whispered to Morgan.

  His eyes darted to me, growing wide as he took in the sight of me.

  “Put the knife down,” a man said as he pushed past Morgan. Tyler O’Shea stopped as soon as he saw me. “What the hell did you do, Natasha?” he asked as his mouth hung open.

  “How do you like how your whore looks now, Tyler?” she asked, holding the knife closer to my throat. “Doesn’t she look pretty now?”

  “Natasha,” he whispered.

  “Do you want to fuck her now?” she seethed, glaring at him.

  “Morgan,” I pleaded, tears falling faster than they had before.

  I stared at Morgan, trying to get lost in his eyes as a group of men gathered behind him with the same look of shock and disgust on their faces.

  “Put the knife down, baby. We can talk about this. She means nothing to me,” Tyler told her, taking a step closer.

  “Liar. So, if I did this”—she pushed the blade into my skin and I yelped—“you wouldn’t care?”

  “Stop!” Tyler yelled, holding his hands out.

  In one quick move, Morgan pushed Tyler to the side and took aim at Natasha. I held my breath, waiting for the knife to slice my throat.

  As the gun went off, I screamed and blacked out.

  “Race,” a voice whispered in my ear, but this time, it was a man waking me. “Princess, can you hear me?” he asked, stroking my face.

  “Mmm,” I moaned, unable to speak and too fuckin’ scared to open my eyes as the noises around me grew louder.

  Someone was undoing my hands and feet as the man continued to touch me with tenderness. “Race, wake up. You’re safe,” he said in a gentle voice. “Come on, baby.”

  I know that voice.

  Morgan is touching me.

  I am safe.

  I don’t have to be afraid anymore.

  “Morgan,” I whispered, as my eyes fluttered open.

  Pain was etched all over his face.

  Maybe it was disgust in his eyes at seeing my wounds up close, but he didn’t look at me the way he had in my office earlier today.

  “Natasha,” I whispered as he lifted me off the table.

  “She’s dead,” he said, clutching me to his chest.

  I settled into his warm arms, letting my eyes close, and sighed. Although I was in more pain than I’d ever experienced in my life, I knew no one would hurt me anymore.

  “Rest, Race. I have you,” he said, walking with me in his arms and kissing my forehead.

  “Morgan,” I whispered into his neck as I nuzzled as close to his skin as humanly possible.

  “I’m here,” he replied, resting his head against mine.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling completely exhausted.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Race. This is all my fault,” he said as he placed me on his lap.

  “No,” I whimpered, crawling closer to his side. “Don’t put me down.”

  “I’ll never let you go,” he murmured, holding me tight.

  “You guys go ahead. I’ll deal with the police,” someone said before the car door slammed.

  I jumped.

  “I have you.” He pulled me into his side, adjusting me in his lap and closing my blouse. “Close your eyes.”

  I did as he’d said, too tired to argue or try to stay awake.

  It was easier when I slept—or, hell, blacked out. I didn’t feel the pain from the cuts, panic didn’t rattle my body, and I sure as hell didn’t have to think.

  The only things I needed to know were that Natasha was dead and I was in Morgan’s arms.

  He’d saved me.

  But I wasn’t the girl I was before. The look when he saw me would be forever burned in my memory.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dreams and Nightmares

  Morgan

  It had been three weeks since Natasha had abducted Race.

  I hadn’t seen her since I’d carried her into the emergency room and placed her on a gurney.

  I’d stayed day and night at the hospital, pacing the floors and driving the staff crazy.

  I’d pleaded with the doctors to let me see her, but she’d left strict orders not let anyone into her room.

  After three days, I finally went home to shower, and by the time I returned, Race was gone.

  I called and I texted.

  I even left messages at her work, but she hadn’t reached out to me.

  I sulked for the first week, got pissed by week two, and by the time week three rolled around, I could barely eat.

  The only thing that made me get out of bed each morning was my job. The guys were great to me, constantly reassuring me that she’d come back.

  I jumped when my phone rang. “Hello?” I said, feeling butterflies in my stomach.

  “Yo. Where the fuck are ya, cousin?” Mike asked as he chewed something.

  I sighed, feeling a knot form where the butterflies just were. “I’m not in the mood today, Mike.”

  “Dude, your ma said you better get your ass over here or she’s coming to get you.” He covered the phone with his hand. “I told him,” he said.

  “Tell Ma I’ll see her another day. I’m just not into family time.” I stretched out on the couch, barely able to keep my eyes open.

  “Oh shit,” he blurted. “Now, my ma said she’s coming with her. Expect company, man.”

  I cleared my throat, throwing my arm over my face to block the sun out. “Tell them to stay there. I’ll be there next week.”

  “He said next week, Auntie Fran.” He paused. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. Your ma just said she ain’t taking no for an answer
. You were warned,” he said, and then the call disconnected.

  I sighed, dropping the phone next to my head onto the couch.

  I wanted to be alone.

  The only person in the world I wanted to see was Race.

  I pictured her smiling face, the smell of her skin, and felt the warmth of my fingers gliding across her flesh as I dozed off, losing myself in her.

  I closed my eyes, wanting to dream for the first time since I’d been released from active duty. She came to me in sleep. I’d sleep my life away if it meant seeing her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Fran DeLuca

  Race

  The cuts above my breasts were mostly healed, but they’d never go away.

  I ran my fingers along them, feeling the difference in the skin.

  I grimaced, hating how they looked.

  The skin was pinker and there was a glossy sheen where she’d cut me.

  I couldn’t let him see me like this.

  He’d called twice today and texted me three times.

  No matter how many times he tried, I just couldn’t answer the phone.

  I wanted to hear his voice.

  Being in his arms, him whispering in my ear, would make everything melt away.

  But I couldn’t.

  I wasn’t ready to see him.

  Especially the way I knew we’d end up.

  I’d always liked my body, but now, it was just a reminder of that day.

  I let myself cry.

  I shed tears over Morgan, mostly.

  I missed him.

  He made me feel safe. I knew he just wanted the best for me.

  He hadn’t done anything to hurt me.

  No.

  That was all Natasha.

  The wicked bitch would always be with me every time I looked down at my chest.

  Natasha haunted my nightmares. I’d relived the night more times than I cared to remember. Each time, I’d wake up in tears with the sheets soaked.