by Myers, K. L.
His hand is soft, a contradiction to the monster I expected to behold, and when he smiles, a good man is all I see. A gentle man. That scar means nothing. It holds no power. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Miss.”
“Willow,” I reply.
“That is all for today, Jamal.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jamal smiles at Brecken, gets back in the car, and drives away, leaving me confused. “Isn’t he coming in?”
“Jamal lives in the guest house.”
“Does anyone else live here with you?” I ask, wondering if anyone else will help him in taking my life.
“It’s just me.”
Brecken Wade will be the last person to see me alive.
As I follow along behind him, a sense of embarrassment settles in. I’m walking into this grand home dressed in beat-up old pajamas, my sneakers falling apart, and I can smell myself. If I were Brecken, I would kill me just for offending the senses.
As if sensing my thoughts, he turns to me after crossing the threshold into his house and says, “After I show you your room, you will shower. I do not put up with filth or laziness in my home.”
His voice is monotone, low and scary, and his shoulders are set as he stares me down. Heat creeps into my cheeks—my ears and chest too—as I picture my skin turning red everywhere. My embarrassment climbs to new levels, and I can’t keep his gaze, his perfectly groomed gaze.
Why did I agree to come with him?
He closes the door behind me, and a feeling of unease closes in at the same time I embrace the eventuality of my death. It’s such a strange mix of fear and freedom not knowing what to expect and having the knowledge that it will all be over soon. No more suffering. No more tears. Just peace and love.
As Brecken walks away, I follow like a lost child being reunited with her family. That’s how I see Brecken, I realize—as the savior bringing me back to my loved one.
It’s why I follow when others would run.
His house is even more beautiful than his grounds, even though there are few decorations that one would say make a house a home. The sparseness of décor makes it more appealing. Chandeliers hang, and the sunlight coming in the massive windows send prisms of rainbows over the walls, causing my thoughts to roam to how they would look lit during a masquerade ball.
I smile at the thought of a woman walking down the grand staircase we’re now walking up. Of a man waiting at the bottom. He has a mask covering his face, but she knows it’s the man she loves. She would know him anywhere. He stands there with his hand stretched out to her, ready to escort her to the ball.
“Here we are.” Brecken’s voice breaks the spell I was under, and I cringe at him catching me mid-imagination ramble.
Brecken stands in the doorway as I walk into the room. A large canopy bed catches my attention first and causes my stomach to ache. Why did I never think of what this man may want from me before ending my life?
“The shower is through that door,” he says.
I turn to see him pointing across the room.
Fight back, Willow. Don’t let him take anything you aren’t willing to give. You agreed to him taking your life, not your dignity.
“I-I don’t have my toiletries. No clothing either.” Shrugging, I try to play it off like it’s not a big deal, but sweat beads under my hair as my stomach cramps from the nervousness.
He doesn’t flinch, just keeps his eyes focused on the bathroom door. “You’ll find everything you need here.”
“I’ll… wait, what?”
“Toiletries. Clothing. Everything you need is within these walls. I prepared for your arrival.”
“What if I had said no?”
He chuckles again, and I find my patience wearing thin at his amusement of my bewilderment. He’s my personal Grim Reaper, come to deliver me to the grave. The least he can do is show me some damn respect.
“That was never going to happen.”
Huffing, I clench my fists and turn to pummel him with them.
“Why do you think I call you Weeping Willow?”
I stop in my tracks and look into his serious eyes, trying to find a reason behind the change of conversation. Nothingness glares back at me. He’s completely devoid of emotion. It’s infuriating that he closes himself off so completely yet wants me to communicate. It’s bullshit, and I’m done playing this game.
I open my mouth to tell him to go to hell when he says, “How would you describe yourself? The woman you are today—how would you describe her to a stranger?”
His questions halt me mid-stride to slapping the smugness out of him. How would I describe myself to a stranger? There was a time I would have quickly said strong, imaginative, happy, and friendly. But now—now I’m not sure any of those words apply. I don’t recognize who I’ve become. I sit in a chair in nasty pajamas all day and cry.
That’s it. He’s seen me crying. Weeping. How the hell long has he been watching me? Planning my demise?
Brecken turns and heads toward the stairs, leaving me alone in the room that now feels too small. Like a caged animal, I run for the exit, needing to escape. Needing to find freedom. The freedom he promised.
“End my life,” I demand.
He hesitates at the top of the stairs but doesn’t look back at me. “Shower, Willow.”
“You said you would take away my pain,” I wail, stomping my foot like a petulant child.
“And I shall. Go shower.” He walks down the stairs, ignoring my cries for him to come back.
A door closes, and I’m left with nothing but silence. A silence that will swallow me if I don’t do anything about it. Fucking Brecken Wade. He gave me hope, and then he snatched it away.
Storming back into the room, I slam the door and throw myself onto the bed. It smells freshly laundered, and for the slightest second, I feel remorse for tarnishing it with my filth, but then I think, Two can play this game, Mr. Wade. You want me to shower, make me.
5
Unexpected
Brecken
A few hours pass before I walk up the stairs to check on Willow. She’s been far too quiet, causing me to worry she’s hurt herself. I should have checked on her sooner, but something happened earlier that led me to seek solace in a place that normally brings me peace. I went in search of forgiveness from the only person who ever mattered.
The shrine I’ve created to remember Emery, to remind me of the love we shared, only made me feel worse. Instead of assuaging my guilt over getting turned on by Willow’s minute show of spunk, I walked out of that room feeling like a man who cheated on his wife. And I was reminded of how quickly I can be distracted from my plans.
One moment of weakness may have cost me regaining my soul.
Damn male desires. I don’t have time for them.
Racing up the stairs, I curse myself under my breath, commanding myself to get it together. Willow is no different than any other woman out there. At least not in the sense of arousing me. She is a means to an end. That is all. She will release me from my curse.
Willow Summers is not mine to… the thought vanishes as I push through the door and find her asleep, on the bed, not showered. Greasy hair fans out across the bed, obscuring her face, although I imagine she’s smirking at me, proud of her disobedience.
I will not have it.
“Get up. Now!” My voice echoes off the walls and comes back to me on a roar as she jolts to a sitting position, her eyes frantically scanning side to side. “I told you to shower.”
Willow sits straighter, and her green eyes pin me in a gaze that dares me to go further. She has no idea just how far I’ll go. What I’ve already done. This is a challenge she cannot win.
“You may want to do as I say.”
“Or what?” she counters, her arms crossing her chest.
Oh, please, keep taunting me. It will only make your surrender sweeter.
“Do you really want to find out?” I ask as I close and lock the door behind me. Her swallow
is loud, and I smile before turning to face her. I can smell your fear, Willow.
“What can you actually do?”
I laugh despite my anger. What can I do? Maybe she’s more gone than I thought. Losing her husband may have made her insane.
“Stop laughing at me,” she huffs, punching her fists into the bed.
It’s adorable. Her efforts to appear big and bad and able to take me on are amusing, but I’m bored of it already. When I give a command, it is to be followed. Willow is about to learn this lesson.
Crossing the room in three long strides, I reach down and scoop her into my arms. Her stench is unbearable and only made worse by her wiggling.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you what I can do.”
“Put me down, you Neanderthal.”
I laugh again. Her phrasing and tantrums are so much more than I expected. “Only if you’ll shower.”
She huffs, gagging me with breath that smells like her teeth haven’t been brushed in weeks. “Fine.”
I stop walking, and she stops wiggling, so I place her on the floor gladly, thankful for the reprieve from her stench. She stands, glaring at me. I nod in the direction of the bathroom, but she doesn’t budge. Oh, Willow, you’re making this so much harder than it has to be.
Gently, so as not to knock her over, I give her a little nudge to get her moving. A growl escapes her lips before she rushes me, trying her best to knock me over. Her palms land firmly against my chest, barely moving me. My hands grasp her arms, pinning them to her side. Tossing her over my shoulder, I carry her into the bathroom before she can yell, “Fuck you!” The words are venomous as they leave her lips, but victory is mine, and it smells much sweeter than she does.
“Such language. Is that how you spoke to Abraham?” I ask as I clamp her to my body with one arm and start the shower with my free hand.
“Never say his name. He was a gentleman. He kept his promises.”
I shake my head, tired of her antics. She smells, she made me smell now, and I have to get in the shower with her. This was not part of the plan.
With the water warm, I release her from my body enough to grab the bottom of her shirt and pull it over her head. “No!” she screams as I grab her bra and yank, a satisfying rip making its way to my ears at the same time as her hiss.
“You leave me no choice, Willow. You smell like sewage, and you refuse to listen.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.” I fire back, astounded she’s still fighting me. “Bathe yourself. I don’t want to do this.”
“Afraid to get dirty?” she throws back on a sneer.
“Enough!” I snarl. I tear her pajama pants off her legs fiercely, not caring about the yelp she releases or the red marks appearing on her skin, and quickly remove her underwear as well.
With her naked and shivering. I grab her into my arms and walk us both into the shower. The fight leaves her as I begin to wash her hair. She even seems to enjoy it, which does strange things to me. As she pushes her head into my hand and whimpers, I have to hold my body back, the animalistic urge to grab on tight and claim her threatening to consume me.
I bite into my lip until I taste blood, and then I bite harder, reminding myself she is not mine to have. Her curves are not mine to covet. Her plump breasts are not mine to enjoy as I wash them. I am just here to make her see she is happier when she’s clean.
My damn body needs to understand this.
After rinsing her, I turn the water off and step out of the shower with her in my arms. Her nakedness all too evident through my soaked shirt. I want to throw her to the floor and free myself of the burden of desire. I want to take her, here and now. Punish her for disobeying me. Wake her up and show her what it feels like to be alive. But she’s not Emery. She never will be.
No amount of sass will make her be who I crave most. I need to get my body under control. On the same page as my mind. I know what needs to be done. Willow Summers will bend to my will. They all do.
My wet shoes squeak against the tile, grating on my nerves and reminding me I just ruined a two-thousand-dollar outfit to teach her a lesson. I’ll see shortly if it paid off or not.
Reaching into the linen closet, I grab a towel and wrap it around her before placing her on her own feet. Willow stands there staring at me, her green eyes begging me for something, but I don’t understand what it is. I am struck by how beautiful she is when clean, with her dark hair hanging in wet waves around her face. She’s too beautiful, a rare gem among women, unaware of the power she possesses. She could cripple a man. And she’s looking at me like I am the change she’s been waiting for.
Suddenly, I feel like I’ve been transported into a fairytale. The beauty is before me, but unlike the cartoon version, there is no magic rose counting down the moments until my curse may be lifted. My dinnerware will not tell her I really am a nice guy. True love’s kiss won’t turn me into a prince.
I am the beast.
And she needs to stop looking at me like I can be more than that.
“Get dressed,” I hiss before grabbing fresh clothes from the closet, tossing them at her, and storming from the bathroom.
I don’t look back at her as I rip the bedding from the bed and throw it against the wall, and I don’t look back at her as I grapple with putting the new sheets on. I can’t. She’s messing with my head, and I don’t know why. I need to walk away from her for a little while. I need to get into clean, dry clothes and think.
Willow cannot distract me from my plan.
“Dinner is in two hours. Do not be late,” I bark over my shoulder before I slam out of her room.
So overwhelmed with disgust at my reaction to Willow, I skip getting dry clothes and head straight to my study. Locking myself in, I turn around and round, looking at every picture of Emery. Breathing in her perfume that I spray in here daily.
“I’m doing this for you, my love,” I cry to walls that never answer, photos that haunt me, and memories that refuse to allow me peace.
6
I’m No Slave
Willow
I stand in the bathroom shivering, not from the cold but anger. The steam from the heat of the shower on the mirror soon disappears, and I run my palm over the sweat, revealing a pissed-off me looking back at myself.
Who does he think he is?
Stop acting like a child, he said. Get up, he ordered. Enough! he snarled. Maybe I shouldn’t have taunted him, but I couldn’t stop myself. Brecken seems to think he’s my master, that I’m a slave here to do his bidding. He’s going to learn quickly that I’m no slave. I take orders from no one. I choose what I want to do, when I want to do it. Yeah, my hygiene is lacking, and I’m a broken mess, but that does not give him the right to treat me like this. I knew I stunk and would have showered when I felt like it. If he had just given me time.
He did give you time, races through my mind, and I shake my head at the thought. He could have given me more time, so I could acclimate to my surroundings. Allowed me to get comfortable being here.
How much more comfortable did you want to get? Damn brain. Why can’t it just let me be angry?
I hadn’t planned on falling asleep. It had been so long since I found comfort in a bed. Since I allowed myself to enjoy the firmness of a mattress, the softness of pillows, and the scent of freshly washed bedding. I only closed my eyes for a few minutes, so forgive me if I fell asleep.
Maybe it was the reprieve I needed from my nagging brain.
I lean forward, looking at myself closer. There is still an emptiness behind my green eyes, but there’s something more. Defiance, a spark of hatred maybe, but for what? For believing Brecken will give me the release I need to leave this world? Or is it because I’ve allowed him to take charge and control the situation? Maybe I’m tired of being his “Weeping Willow”.
He’s expecting me to do as he says and dress in the clothes he threw at me before he stormed out. He wants me to give him what h
e wants, be the obedient little lady, but what about what I want? I want to die. I want him to keep his word and end my miserable existence. Screw these clothes. He thinks I’ll conform to what he wants, well, I’ve got news for him. I’ll be ready for dinner in time, but I’ll wear what I choose, even if it’s my birthday suit. I bet that would wipe the smug look off his face.
Giggling at my reflection, I say, “Nothing to say to that, brain?”
Slowly, I take the stairs one by one, my bare feet making no noise as they land on the bottom step. I quietly tiptoe the rest of the way to the dining room. Brecken’s back is turned to me, and it takes all my energy not to yell, “What do you think of this, asshole?”, but I want the element of surprise to work in my favor. He appears deep in thought when I pull the chair out, the squeak of the wood along the floor breaking his moment of reverence as he looks up at me. His eyes widen, but he quickly schools his emotions. But not before he’s taken in the full picture before him. I smile, knowing I now have the upper hand.
A look of disgust takes residence on his face. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His tone is laced with bitterness and maybe a little curiosity.
I shrug, not ready to banter with him yet but fully enjoying the moment.
“Go get dressed, Willow.” He looks away when he speaks, as if I’m so ugly it offends him to see me. “Put on something presentable.”
Like that, I’m dismissed.
Oh, hell no. Presentable? Okay, Brecken, let’s go tit for tat.
This is right where I wanted him—off guard and uncomfortable. Now he knows how I felt. “No thank you.” I smirk at him. “I’m perfectly fine just as I am.” Slowly, I slide myself into the chair and scooch forward.
“Very well then,” he replies, smirking back at me. “Dinner is served.”
Brecken claps, and Jamal enters with a rolling tray full of food. The tray should be what I notice because I’m starving, but all I can think is Jamal is seeing me naked. I wanted to get a reaction out of Brecken, make him uncomfortable, but now I’m the one feeling out of sorts.