by LP Lovell
My heart bangs against my ribs, and my demon wails inside my head. Evelyn, you are not doing this to use him. You are doing this because you want him to use you, you wretched little sinner.
No! I need to find the man who killed my sister, slit his throat, and watch every last drop of blood bleed from his pathetic body, and the only way I can do that is by keeping Ezra close to me. That is why I am pulling him harder against me; that is why my hands are roaming over his hard muscles. He must know who killed my sister. He must have some idea, and I need Ezra to love me. I need him to fall to his knees in front of me. Sex is power, but love is damning, and I need him to love me so that he will do anything for me, even if it means betraying his self.
His fingers dig into my jaw with a bruising grip, taking me, owning me. His tongue invades my mouth without apology before his teeth sink into my bottom lip, biting down hard enough to draw blood. And right when I'm knocking on the devil's door he shoves me away.
I stagger back, clutching my aching jaw.
Ezra glares at me through his dark, soulless eyes as he scrubs a hand over his mouth. He is a sinner. A filthy, depraved sinner, and yet, I can see him judging me. He turns and walks out without another word. The door slams shut with a bang that echoes around the silent room. I stare at that door and my chest heaves. My fingers curl into fists and tear into my skin. I'm angry, confused. After several minutes, I realize he is not coming back, so I decide to leave. When I round the corner, I see Ezra bracing himself in the doorway to his office. His judgmental glare bores into me as I disappear down the stairs.
My mind is a jumbled mess the entire way home. I want to cry. I want to scream, but I can't because there are people around me on the subway. As soon as I get inside my apartment, I slam the door and scream because I can still taste his dick in my mouth.
My back is on fire and so is my soul. I'm ashamed that I let him do that to me, that I want to be that redhead in the too tight white dress. I wanted to feel his filth, his sin crawling over every last inch of my skin, and then I wanted him to beat that sin right out of me. And that is a sin. That is such an evil sin. I enjoyed how he felt in my mouth, the way his fingers tangled in my hair with pleasure. He is the devil in all his brutal, raw beauty that leads the innocent into temptation. Evelyn, he is the head of the snake. Cut off the head and the body shall die. That demon screams inside me, and I can't block it out. Use him to find the wicked, and then kill him. And I will kill him.
I go to my bedroom, immediately stripping down to my underwear. I glare across the room into my mirror. Smudged red lipstick stains my face, and my hair is disheveled. The image of him thrusting his cock into my mouth loops in my head. I close my eyes, and all I can see is him. Those dark eyes, his broad shoulders. The devil, Evelyn. I fall to my knees, burying my face in the sheets. He's infested my mind, muddled my judgment because although I know everything about him is wrong, I long for it to be right. If he is wicked, I want to be a sinner—Evelyn, you will burn in hell. And sometimes I wish I could. My entire life has been spent seeking absolution from sins although I know I will never be entirely pure. Ezra called me a whore, and that made me feel dirty. I want him to think I'm pure. I feel tears well in my eyes, but I fight them because I will not cry for him. Ever.
Pulling my devotional out from beneath the mattress, I sit back on my knees. I take the pen and flip to the back page of the book. My chest heaves as I angrily scrawl the name Ezra James over the paper. I stare at his name, even his name looks beautiful, and I hate him for it.
"Ezra James," I whisper his name like a prayer before I close my book.
Ezra wanted me. I know he did, and so it only makes sense that I follow him. But over the past two days, I've realized he wants that redhead more. I've watched him fuck her. Time and time again. I've seen the pink flush staining her chest when she left his apartment breathless and lost within a blissful fog of forgiveness. I need him to want me as he does her, and that's why I'm standing in the middle of her apartment right now.
This place smells like roses and magnolias. Flowery, pretty, feminine. It's decorated with vintage Vogue posters and daisies in vases. She is one of those prissy girls that spreads her legs for any man who will have her. Her life has probably been perfect. And I hate her because I am not like that. I make my way to a bedroom and push open the door. Crumpled sheets lay in the center of the bed, clothes strewn about on the floor. Pulling in a breath, I flop back onto the mattress and close my eyes, imagining what it must be like to lay here after Ezra has beaten you, fucked you, and made you his. Evelyn, sinful thoughts make you weak. My eyes pop open, and I push myself up, continuing to browse through her bedroom. There's a picture of Ezra on her dresser. No smile, cigarette in hand, those tar-black eyes of his empty and lost. I take the picture and drop it into my purse as I open the door to her bathroom.
On the counter is a bottle of Coco Mademoiselle. I pick it up and spritz some on my wrist. I take her brush and run it through my hair while staring at my reflection the mirror. I turn around and open her closet door. At the very front of her closet hangs that too-tight white dress. My heart thumps in my chest as a smile works its way over my lips. I snatch the dress from the hanger. I will make him want me in ways he's never wanted a woman.
Ezra wants sin draped in innocence. He wants a woman who will cry, he wants a woman who loves pain, he needs someone as depraved as he is. This redhead is nothing more than a slut, a vessel he can use to feed the sins of the flesh. What he needs is a devil cloaked as an angel, wicked and pure. And that is what I will be to him in this too-tight white dress.
I have fucked Jen so many times this week that my dick should have dropped off by now. No matter how many times I beat her and fuck her, it's not enough because she breaks too easily. Her tears are meaningless. All I can think about is Evie, about breaking her and taking her in every possible way. And she shouldn't even be a thought in my mind. I have Zee so far up my arse I can practically taste him, and with no means of outsmarting him, he's slowly backing me into a corner, which is only pissing me off. Evie is the perfect release.
I open my laptop to look at the CCTV footage from last Saturday night. I search through until I see the image of Evie stepping up to the cross. I click play and watch as I wield the belt. The leather hits her back and, from this angle, I can see her lips part, and her eyes drift shut as though she's on the brink of coming. It's beautiful, and my cock turns rock hard.
Without hesitation, I yank my belt open and shove my hand inside my jeans, wrapping my fingers around my erection. I fist my dick, pumping hard. I watch as I hit her harder and harder. With each blow, her jaw slackens further, her head tilts back as she gravitates towards the bite of the belt. I imagine bending her over and yanking her hair back as I slam balls deep inside her. I imagine her begging me to stop whilst moaning in pleasure as I reach her limit, the point where pain and euphoria blend so fucking perfectly.
I stroke myself over and over, and I watch the video of me beating her the entire time. She's perfect, unbreakable. I grit my teeth as my balls tighten, and my muscles stiffen. I imagine her screaming my name, her pussy clamping around me, and I come with a guttural groan.
I can't remember the last time I came that hard by my own hand. This woman is fucking with my head.
I'm breathing hard, my dick still hanging out when my phone rings. I grab a tissue, wiping the spunk off my hand before I pick up.
"Yeah," I answer.
"Ezra," Ronan purrs.
I'm instantly alert. "Did you find anything?" Ronan has more spies, rats and dirty politicians in his pocket than anyone. I need something on Zee. Jonty has used every means available to try and find Lydia after Zee took her, and nothing. It's like she's disappeared off the face of the earth.
"Mm, he sells pussy, yes?" he asks.
"Yeah, sex slaves."
"Moorcroft was taking cut."
"Fucking sneaky bastard." If Moorcroft was taking a cut, it means he was probably helping Zee get girl
s into the country. Which means, if Moorcroft is dead, then we just fucked Zee's European trade. We took from him, and now he wants what is ours, girls, who take a beating. After all, it's not every day that you find a politician corrupt enough to let you import and sell slaves, even with the money. But if Zee was dealing with Moorcroft, the minute he exposes me, he also exposes himself. "Do you have evidence?" I ask.
He laughs. "Of course. Bank transfers, shipping orders, the usual."
"Okay, now I just need to find out who he has on the inside." Nothing makes me angrier than betrayal. We may be criminals, but we have fucking loyalty. Rats are the lowest of the low.
I hear Ronan spit and curse in Russian about someone's mother. "Leave it with me. I find the rat." The phone cuts off and I find myself staring at the blank touch screen. I actually feel sorry for the fucker, because when Ronan finds a rat, well, let's just say I once witnessed something involving a firework, some duct tape, and an arsehole. Fucker is crazy.
As soon as I hang up, I dial Seamus. The problem is that whatever I do with Zee, it doesn't just affect me. If I'm implicated, then Seamus is too.
"Ezra, how are ya, son?" He asks, his raspy Irish accent so familiar.
"Not good. Zee took one of the girls." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "But I think Ronan just helped me get a good grip on his balls."
"Good." He laughs. "You put that little shit in his place."
"Any news on your rat?"
"I'll find him," he promises.
"Careful. I think Ronan might beat you to it. You know how he feels about rats."
"Jesus fucking Christ. All I need is that mad bastard over here. If he sets off another fucking bomb in the house, I swear..." he trails off.
"Has Zee shown any sign of actually turning you in?" Seamus asks.
I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. "He needs me, and he can't have me if I'm locked up now can he? That recording is his insurance policy to keep him alive. He's trying to push me by other means."
"Well then, ya best push back son. Remind him of who you are, who we are. I'll work on his source," he grumbles and hangs up.
Push back. He's right. Zee needs a reminder of who he's dealing with.
An hour later Jonty knocks on the door before walking in with a scowl on his face.
"He's taken Candy."
"Motherfucker!" I take a deep breath, trying to think rationally through the haze of rage. I stand up and take the decanter of scotch, pouring Jonty a glass and then one for myself. I neck the amber liquid in one gulp, relishing the burn it creates on its way down. This has gone too far. The one thing I offer these girls is protection. One girl going missing can be passed as a one-off, but two? Even if Zee doesn't take all of them from me, he's making me look weak, and they'll leave of their accord if I can't protect them.
"You have him followed," I say. " I want to know where he lives, where he goes. He takes a shit I want to know about it. You find out where the fuck he is taking my fucking girls!" I know it's not Jonty's fault, he's just getting the brunt of my anger right now. Zee is shafting me up the arsehole, and he thinks there's nothing I can do about it, but he's wrong if he thinks I won't push back.
Stop thinking about him. Stop it! But I can't. I can't stop thinking about the way he tastes like whiskey. I can't stop thinking about how hard his chest felt pressed against me, how uncontrolled, yet controlled it was to have him beat me, scourge me. His eyes flickered when I asked him to hurt me, and I reveled in it. He is a man drunk with power and pride, lust and greed... I struggle to free my mind of Ezra as I fight to remember what my purpose was to begin with. I swallow, nodding silently to myself when Hannah's mutilated body pops to mind. I must keep focused. Ezra is a name on my list, a man I must use. A man I must not care for, or love, or want, or need. I stare at his name, tracing my fingers over each letter.
You make me want to hurt you, to make you cry while I fuck you. He said that. He meant that.
He is my temptation.
I fall back on the bed holding the notebook above me. I continue to stare at his name, muttering it over and over until it no longer even sounds like a word. Temptation. I drop the book to the floor and close my eyes. All I can see is Ezra's face, his full lips. All I can remember is the way he felt behind me, grinding against me. I can hear the crack of the belt, the way his breathing grew shallow and passionate. And then, all I can see is that redhead pressed against the glass, his hands roaming over every inch of her slutty body like she was a god and he was her worshiper. He is brutal, but something in his ruthlessness is beautiful. Something that should seem so violent, so wrong—seems so rewarding and divine in its own right. Ezra is like a storm, violent and turbulent, and as long as you aren't the one swept up in his winds, it's tragically beautiful. The destruction and power, the chaotic control, it's something you almost have to respect.
The way he looks at me like I am something he wants to devour, the fact that he could have killed me, but didn't... My hand trails between my breasts, chill bumps sweeping over my skin. The way he speaks to me like he needs to possess me... My hand creeps lower, skimming over my stomach. His hot breaths on my neck, my throat... My hips tilt up as I push my underwear down. The way my name sounds rolling from his lips in such a desperate whisper, an edge of restraint hidden in his growl. My finger sinks between my thighs and my legs squeeze together in a bid to create more pressure. I rub my other hand back over my stomach, up to my breasts, and I pretend it's Ezra's hand feeling over me. My thumb brushes over my throbbing clit and my back arches. His face... I sink one finger in. His mouth... Two fingers, now up to the knuckles and my legs fall apart. I pretend Ezra is standing in front of me, watching, his eyes locked on places they shouldn't be. His voice: "You will cry for me, Evie." I pretend to be that redhead, tossing my head back and moaning while he violates me. I imagine his hand gripping my neck, threatening to take away my ability to breathe. I hear him calling me his innocent little whore, and I come, the aftershocks of sin rippling through me like a tremor, parts of my soul splitting open and pieces crumbling into an abyss. I lay, breathless, my hand still held between my shaking thighs. What wicked things that man makes me do.
Wicked and filthy and shameful.
I glance down at my fingers covered in my own sin. The waves of pleasure subside and shame washes over me like a rogue wave. I lie on my bed undone by my own hands and the thought of Ezra James. He's making me sin because I want him to fuck me like that redhead, and I know that makes me a whore. Lust is a sin. My obsession with him has overtaken my need to find my sister's killer, and for that, I feel guilty. Wickedness distracts you from the path of righteousness, and I mustn't let Ezra worm his way into my soul.
My eyes drift to the open notebook tossed on the floor. "Ezra James.” His name drops from my mouth like a delicious piece of sin, like a prayer needing to be heard. His name almost sounds angelic, but I guess at some point so did the name Lucifer. The more Ezra makes me sin, the more I want to kill him.
I pull my panties up and quickly go to the sink, scrubbing the filth from my hands. I slip that too tight white dress over my head, tugging the slinky material over my curves, and then I grab my coat and hurry out of my apartment building. With each step, the guilt becomes more unbearable, and my pace quickens until I'm jogging down the narrow sidewalks, weaving my way between the people out for a leisurely evening stroll. By the time I come to the doors of the church, I am breathless and sweating, my inner demon screaming at me. The second the wooden doors open, the familiar smell of the old church surrounds me like a worn, comfortable blanket. My eyes train on the altar, but I drop to my knees halfway down the aisle. I'm that torn apart that I can't make it any further. I need forgiveness right now. "Please forgive me for my impure thoughts. For my distraction," I plead. "I shouldn't want this evil, but God, help me because I do. Take away my desire for this man so that I may stay on the path of righteousness. Please."
Keeping my eyes closed, I wait for peace to wash over me, but it
never does. All I hear is the sound of my pulse drumming in my ears. After several minutes, I pull myself to my feet and leave the cathedral, finding my way to the subway, and within half an hour, I’m walking through the doors of Ezra's club. Walking into Sin.
It's crowded and the place reeks of sweaty bodies. I push my way toward the bar and find an empty seat at the end. The bartender approaches me and folds his arms over the counter. "What do you want, pretty little thing?" He winks, and I try to even out my breaths.
"Chardonnay."
His gaze narrows on me as he uncorks a bottle of wine. When he places the wine in front of me, I hand him my card to pay. "Is Ezra here?" I ask.
He turns from the register, his lips kicking up on one side. "You want him or something?"
"Just curious." I feel sweat dot my forehead. I have lost all control, and I am well aware of it. "If he's here, would you tell him Evie would like to see him?" I force a kittenish grin, trying to downplay the panic gripping me by the throat.
Handing my card back to me, he nods. I watch him walk over to another patron, then another. He never picks up a phone; he never leaves the bar. He hasn't told Ezra I'm here for him.
"Excuse me," I shout, and his gaze swings over to me. "Can you please tell him I'm here?"
"If Ezra wants to see you, he'll see you. He knows you're here."
I groan and narrow my eyes at him as I down the glass of wine. I grab my purse and stand, straightening out my dress before I squeeze through the crowded bar. The stairwell is blocked off by a rope that I climb over. The door to Ezra's office is cracked, and I peer through before softly rapping my knuckles on the door.