by Ella Miles
She’s the strong one. She’s the one who doesn’t cry.
If things were different, if I had the power to forgive her, I probably would, but I don’t have that power.
And what I did to her is just as unforgivable.
I let go of her hand and stand up, wading into the water until the waves crash against my feet.
Liesel was raped, had a baby, and let him go. And all I did was watch from the sidelines, thinking I was doing the right thing.
No, I did do the right thing, even though it killed me.
Liesel did one decent thing—give up her baby for adoption. Still, it doesn’t forgive her for what she did after.
“I hate you, Liesel, but not because of this. You saving that baby, getting him away from Enzo’s father, that was the bravest thing you’ve ever done. I hate myself for not being there for you.”
“I hate you for not being there that night. But I hate you more for trapping me here and threatening to kill me. What did I do to make you hate me like this?”
I ignore her question. “Thank you for the truth. You gained back the week you lost yesterday.”
Then I walk back into the house—a broken, weak man. I’m afraid of what I’m going to do next. Weak men only make mistakes.
23
Liesel
Langston thinks I told the truth, maybe because he wants it to be the truth.
I hate children.
I wanted to be childless.
I was forced to have the baby.
I wanted to give my baby up.
I’m not sure which parts of the story are truths and which are lies. That’s not true. I know, I just can’t admit the truth. It’s too painful.
But there is one big part that I lied about.
Giving my child up was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was torment. That was the last time I remember crying. The last time I remember feeling anything. After that, I became numb. I became a bitch a hundred percent of the time instead of most of the time.
It doesn’t shock me to think that Langston thinks everything I said was the truth. He wants to believe what I said was as awful as it gets. That I have a child out there somewhere, and I gave him up rather than have his rapist father hunt and search for him.
After my child was adopted, I was shocked that Enzo’s father never came to claim him. I thought he was just biding his time.
Thank God, he’s dead now. I’d do it myself if he wasn’t.
My heart bleeds on the inside. For once, I wish I could cry, could show real emotion. But if I ever started, I would never stop.
Langston cried, though.
He can still feel pain.
And I can still tell when he’s lying.
Langston knew I was pregnant.
He knew I was raped.
He knew I was alone when I gave the baby up.
He was always watching me.
Langston could have been there with me.
He could have held my hand as I gave birth.
He could have wiped my tears when my baby was taken from my arms.
I hate him.
Whatever I did to make him hate me now was warranted. He left me all alone. He made me like this.
Langston starts the climb up the cliffside back to the house.
He stirred emotions deep inside me, forcing me to re-evaluate my needs. Usually, I just fight with my words. And my words hurt Langston. But I want more than his tears; I want his blood.
I run at Langston.
I know he hears me, but he doesn’t stop me.
He lets me tackle him hard into the side of the cliff. I jump on his back as my fists pound into his head over and over, hoping to bludgeon him to death.
Only after I’ve gotten a few good punches in does he grab my wrist to stop me and twist me around to his front. I wrap my legs around his waist and continue beating his chest with my free hand.
“You’re a fucking liar! You knew! You fucking knew!”
I hit him so hard that he falls back onto the sand with me straddling him. I hit his chest over and over.
My frustration is building, brick by brick, as I pummel him repeatedly.
He lets me.
He lets me hurt him.
I need a release.
I try so hard to cry, to let out the emotions I’m keeping inside, but none come.
I scream—it’s a high pitched, glass shattering kind of scream. But it’s not a release, not a real display of emotions.
Finally, Langston grabs my wrists, forcing me to stop.
“I’m going to kill you. You say that I can’t kill, but that’s only because I’ve been saving my first kill for you.”
“Are you finished?”
“No, you fucking liar.”
“Yes, I lied.”
My breath catches. I can’t believe he admitted that.
“I knew you were raped. I knew you were pregnant. I knew you gave the baby up.”
Heart. Beating. So. Fast.
“You knew?” My voice is soft, still not fully believing it until this moment.
He nods. “I knew.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you approach me? Help me?”
He shakes his head. “Sorry, huntress. You can know that I lied, but you don’t get to know the rest.”
I hit him as hard as I can muster in his chest.
“I can’t believe you. I—I don’t understand how you are mad at me. Why do you want to kill me? You were the one who knew and did nothing. You betrayed me!”
“Think really hard. Your only chance at redemption is to tell me what’s on your half of the letter. And even that won’t earn my forgiveness. I won’t be merciful.”
“Then we will both die hating each other,” I vow.
My entire body is pain. I need a release. I need to forget.
Langston notices.
“Can’t cry, can you?”
I shake my head slowly.
He smirks. “And you haven’t orgasmed since you came here either?”
I shake my head and look away.
He turns my head back until I’m looking at him.
“At least when I die, I’ll die after coming.”
“Fuck you.”
“You wish.”
I growl.
“Now, which will it be? My bed or the closet?”
I roll off of him and stomp all the way to the fucking closet.
I roll over on the hard, cool ground in the closet.
Then I turn the other way.
Back and forth. Tossing and turning.
The floor is uncomfortable, and I don’t have a blanket, but that’s not why I can’t sleep.
I stand up and begin pacing back and forth. I take five steps in one direction, then turn around and return my five steps.
It’s pitch-black, but you would think my eyes would have adjusted to the darkness by now. They haven’t. I still can’t see, and if I miscount or take an extra-large step, I bump into the wall.
The pacing won’t help me sleep, but I hope it will address my flooding urges. I feel my control slipping.
I rub the back of my neck—it’s soaked in sweat, along with my forehead and neck. I’m sweating everywhere.
I’m hot, burning hot.
I need a release, but I don’t know how to get one without a man.
Jesus, I’m fucked up.
If I could just cry, feel something, maybe I wouldn’t feel this way. I don’t know how to cry anymore.
And I don’t know how to come alone.
I need help.
I storm to the door and grab the handle, knowing it’s time I talked to Langston. I won’t survive the year like this. If Langston wants a chance to get answers, then he needs to help me live long enough to be able to tell him the truth.
I rattle the doorknob, but it doesn’t open.
“Fuck!”
I slam my hand on the door, pounding on it.
“Langston!”
Knock.
&
nbsp; Knock.
Knock.
“Open the door! We need to talk!”
I press my ear up against the door, but I don’t hear anything. If Langston is in his bed, he would have heard me. He’s either ignoring me or not here.
He’s never here for me when I need him.
My nails dig into the back of the door and then scrape down. I hope I’m destroying the perfect finish on this pretty door, but I doubt I am.
I collapse to my knees as I cry out, begging my body to surrender, to give in.
Cry, dammit.
Shed one fucking tear.
Make this easier.
I feel under my eyes, but all I sense is the sticky sweat clinging to my cheeks.
I’m broken.
As much as I don’t want to admit it, I need Langston.
“Liesel?”
Langston’s voice.
I exhale sharply.
“Yes,” I croak back.
“What’s wrong?”
Do it. Say it and get it over with.
“I need you.”
There’s a pause.
He’s not going to answer. He’s not going to talk to me. He’s not going to help me.
The door opens.
No light shines in—the room remains dark as he steps inside the closet and then shuts the door behind him.
“I never got my reward for telling you the truth,” I say.
I hear him swallow, but he still doesn’t speak.
I stand up and shimmy my jean shorts down until they are a heap on the floor. He must have heard the flop my jeans made, but he doesn’t react. At least, he doesn’t react in a way I can see.
I reach up and untie my swimsuit top and let it fall to the floor. Lastly, I shove my bikini bottoms to the floor.
“I need a release, Langton. Fuck me. Make me come. I need it if you want me to survive long enough to spill my secrets.”
He doesn’t move.
I hate how desperate I am. I hate that I’ll be cheating on Waylon, but I literally won’t make it without this.
“I’m sorry, Waylon. Please forgive me.”
I grab for Langston.
He doesn’t move as I grip onto his bare chest. He sleeps shirtless, does he sleep naked?
My claws dig into his chest, sliding down his muscles until I find out.
He’s wearing boxer briefs.
So sexy.
I can’t see him, but I imagine him in my head.
No.
I don’t need to imagine Langston. I just need his body.
“Sit down,” I say, pushing his shoulders down.
I’m not sure if he will obey me. I’m not sure if he will take control and rape me.
As long as I’m in control of this, then it’s my decision. Unfortunately, Langston has never been very good at letting me have control.
Surprisingly, he sits on the floor.
“Don’t kiss me,” I say, as I climb on top of him.
I find his cock hard as stone, lift it out of his shorts and let it push at my entrance.
I’m frustrated, worked up and horny as hell. I’m not sure if I’m wet, if I’m ready for him, but I’m too impatient to wait.
I slide down hard on top of his cock, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he tears through me. I wasn’t wet enough, but I don’t care.
I feel the pain.
I feel—that’s enough.
“Now, I’m going to fuck you until you make me come.”
I slide up and down his cock—hard and furiously fast.
I don’t feel myself getting wetter, just hotter.
I thought fucking Langston would be explosive. I thought he’d know how to work my body, make me come in seconds.
He does, but I’m not letting him have control. That’s why I’m not coming yet.
If I gave up control to him, then he’d have me panting and screaming his name in minutes.
I’m not going to give Langston control yet. That’s one step too far. I need to come, but I need to control myself.
“Fuck,” I moan as I ride him harder, rubbing my clit up against the deep V of his sculpted abs.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Maybe if I kiss him? Just once?
Nope. That’s too far.
I won’t betray Waylon like that.
This isn’t about cheating. It’s about taking what I need to survive.
I rub myself against him, creating more friction.
I’m so hot, soaked in sweat, this is the moment…
“Liesel?” Langston’s voice is so soft, full of pain and sadness. He knows I can’t come. This won’t work.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!” I pump over him, begging my body to give in.
I try one more time, but it doesn’t happen.
I don’t come.
It was all for nothing.
I shove him hard, and I climb off him.
I scream.
I pound my fists into the walls and consider pounding them into his head.
Before I can decide what to punch next, I collapse from exhaustion.
24
Langston
What the hell happened last night?
I yawn.
I’m going to need an IV of coffee to keep me going today. I didn’t sleep more than five minutes all last night, not after what Liesel did.
How do I deal with her?
What the hell do I do?
Coffee. Coffee first, then I deal with Liesel.
I get dressed, flip the lock of the closet door, and race down the stairs. I know she didn’t sleep a second last night, either. She’ll be chasing me down the stairs, wanting answers.
I’m on a mission.
Coffee.
Liesel won’t get in my way.
The damn grinder won’t get in my way.
Not today.
I march down the stairs and over to the kitchen.
“Morning, boss,” Amelia says with an annoying smile as she holds out a cup of coffee for me.
“Thanks,” I grumble, grabbing the cup of coffee from her hands.
She smirks. “I figured you’d be up early again and need this.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” I guzzle down the first cup and then help myself to a second.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” She blushes, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. Amelia is a fantastic cook, but she’s equally as capable equipped with a gun in her hand as she is a chef’s knife.
“Don’t ask.”
I carry my cup of coffee outside onto the patio just as Liesel comes downstairs in her jean shorts and red bikini top again.
Jesus.
She’s going to kill me.
And she’s going to succeed long before I can kill her.
Less than a minute later, Liesel is opening the glass door and walking toward me carrying her own cup of coffee.
I frown.
I need to tell Amelia that the first pot of coffee in the morning is mine and to not share it with Liesel.
Liesel, unlike me, looks ready to go. Her blonde hair hangs in waves over her right shoulder. Her face looks bright with just a hint of freckles over her nose instead of the painted face I’m used to seeing on her. She looks young and carefree in her red bikini top that I want to rip from her body.
“I know you won’t talk to me until the sun sets, but you should make an exception today,” Liesel puts one hand on her hip while the other lifts her oversized mug to her lips, as she stands in front of me.
I shake my head and then press my fingers against my forehead, trying to relieve the pressure from my pounding headache.
“You know what would fix your migraine? Talking to me,” Liesel says.
Ignore her.
I keep my eyes closed, hoping she’ll go away if I don’t give her any attention.
“Really? You think ignoring me is going to work? We aren’t kids anymore, Langston! This isn’t a gam
e. You can’t just ignore me. You can’t just do what you did last night and not talk to me.”
Fuck.
I run my hand through my hair.
I don’t want to talk about last night.
I don’t want to think about last night.
Last night was one giant mistake.
Liesel steps closer to me, and I finally look at her.
She’s right.
I should talk to her.
A buzz in my pocket brings me out from under her spell. I pull out my cell phone.
“Yes?” I answer without looking at who’s calling me. I’m just thankful that someone is before I made another mistake.
“Siren’s missing,” Zeke says.
My heart stops. “What do you mean she’s missing?”
Zeke has been my best friend for years. Siren, his wife, has a connection to my soul.
“I mean she was supposed to pick up Cayden from daycare, and she never showed up. I think someone kidnapped her.”
Rage consumes me, and I welcome it. As much as I hate to admit it, I’d rather be dealing with Zeke’s crisis than my own.
“I’ll be there soon. We’ll find her.”
“Hurry,” Zeke says.
I hang up and start marching inside, my shoulder brushes Liesel’s as I pass, but I can’t think about anything except getting back to Miami and finding Siren.
“Langston!” Liesel yells, following me inside.
I keep walking. Ren, I’m coming.
“Langston Pearce! Talk to me right now!”
I stop. I turn and look at her. “I don’t have time for you to throw a tantrum right now, Liesel.”
“I’m not throwing a tantrum. Just talk to me.”
“Fine. Someone I love is in danger. And as you’ve pointed out, I have a habit of not being there for people when they need it. I’m not going to let her down.”
Liesel’s shoulders drop. Her lips curve into an O. Her breathing slows.
“Joel!” I yell.
He pops his head out of his room.
“You’re on security, Joel. Make sure everyone is safe.”
He nods.
“Amelia, you’re in charge of the house.”
She salutes me. “Yes, Captain.”
I shake my head. Usually, I like her teasing. Not right now.
Amelia steps back, noticing my change in mood.
I jog over to the locked part of the house. I unlock and open the dividing door. “Phoenix,” I holler.