by JL Mac
So fucking sorry.
“I have a gift for you. You’ll get it when we get back,” I announce, getting to my feet and tugging her up with me. Coming closer, I breathe in the smell of salt, and sand, and her, swallowing the bad medicine that the truth is. This is all fleeting. The scenery, the peace here, the smell of her, the feel of her, the notion of something this wonderful lasting. It’s all a lie. This won’t last. I could keep her hostage and see our arrangement through, but I’d be lying, telling myself that she’s mine. She never was, really. She did what she had to do to save her sister. She’s got more fucking courage in her than most men I deal with. She’s been a casualty of this life since before she was born. I won’t keep her in the same shit. I can’t keep her but I can at least give her a few parting gifts while I savor as much of her as possible so that maybe once she’s gone, I’ll have enough of her in my system to stave off withdrawals for at least a while.
You’re fooling yourself. Again.
While I wait for Ena to get ready for dinner I send Murphy another text telling him he needs to get his troubled houseguest ready to go home. He seems disinclined to do as I have ordered. I suspect for more reasons than just her mental state. Regardless of how reluctant I am to set Ena free, I know I have to and if Murphy has somehow located feelings inside that head and heart of his, then he needs to realize sooner rather than later that he can’t keep Alana, just like I can’t keep Ena.
What if she isn’t just doing her part to keep up her part of the deal? What if she wants to be here? What if she has feelings for me too?
I could ask her. I could demand her honesty. I could have some hope of making it work. I could keep her safe and happy, right? Hope is a cruel motherfucker that I have zero desire to entertain. I don’t dare think that world altering sex equates to emotional attachment, respect, and love. Of course, seeing her emerge from the bathroom wearing that little black dress, those green heels that compliment her eyes so well and her hair draped down her back in waves, I really fucking wish world-altering sex did equate to love, because I’d be able to say with certainty that she loves me and I love the hell outta her too.
Stepping into the elevator that will take us down to the resort lobby, Ena stands beside a little brown-haired boy no older than four. She looks down at him beside her and smiles playfully. The little boy giggles and smiles broadly showing every pearly white tooth. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She faces forward then abruptly jerks her attention back to him with bugged eyes, winning a giggle. Only gorgeous, amazing, brave, Ena plays silent peekaboo with a preschooler in an elevator standing beside me, her—what am I? Her boss? Her lover? Her man? I smile despite my dark thoughts, despite the radiating pain in my chest. It spreads out like spilled paint, slowly oozing, creeping in every direction.
No cleanin’ that up.
Seeing her interact with the boy makes me wonder if she ever plans to have children. I could ask her but I won’t. I don’t want to know. The idea of another man one day making babies with her fills my mouth with a sour taste. Sad truth about it is even once I extract Ena from my life, I know I won’t extract her from my thoughts. I’ll always keep an eye out for her. I’ll always check on her. So, there’s no doubt about it. One day she might marry some lucky fuck and I’ll see it. I’ll witness the one thing in the world I can’t steal, hijack or even purchase. Her future. It will be right there in my face, a reminder of the woman who isn’t mine. She’ll settle with some nameless blue-collar fuck, that won’t be able to erase me from her memory. He won’t even know who the ghost he’s competing against is, but she’ll know. She’ll remember. She’ll remember every time she sees her sister. She’ll remember me—us—what we had, every time she goes to bed with her husband. She’ll remember, maybe she’ll miss me too, and when her belly swells with that nameless asshole’s baby inside of her, maybe she’ll daydream it’s mine like I know I’ll daydream the same.
The elevator chimes as the doors slide open and I grip her hand in mine and hold on. For now. For now she’s still mine.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ena
We both tried to have fun on our trip to Florida. He took us to a beachfront resort in Key West and declared that if I changed my mind about Disney, we’d go but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not with my mood being so dark. Not with my mind stuck on Lan. I get that she’s dealing with a lot, but I did have hope she’d choose to come with us on the trip. I thought maybe some fresh air and freedom would help, but she’s been holed up in Murphy’s apartment since her return. I wish I could force her out but that wouldn’t work. I know firsthand that following something traumatic, forcing someone to do anything is a practice in futility.
Beach life suits Carrick. He has been oddly subdued, quiet, reserved even. He has held my hand most of the time and kissed me tenderly at every opportunity. I have to admit that it makes the prospect of being his hostage long-term less terrible but about when he ditches me for a new exciting woman? When he tires of me? What then? Will he kill me? No. He wouldn’t. I can feel it in my gut. He knows I am eternally grateful and in my own twisted way I love High Knoll and always will. They’re a screwed up bunch, but they were my Knights In Shining Armor when I needed them. I couldn’t betray them. Ever. But what would I do after Carrick decided he was done with me? I know it’s wishful thinking on my part, but there are times I see him looking at me and I could almost believe that he feels something too, something big and life-altering. Something more than the physical chemistry between us. It’s a dangerous, self-destructive pattern of thought. I’m breaking my own heart allowing myself to care for him, to want him, to keep falling and to fool myself into seeing emotion shining in his gray eyes when my brain screams there isn’t any. We have amazing sex. That’s what shines in his eyes. Lust. What happens when we touch is something of legend, but that’s just sex. At the end of the day, I made a deal with the devil. I sold myself. I am at his disposal. I’m not his girlfriend, and he doesn’t love me. I used my body as a bargaining chip. My heart wasn’t meant to be part of the deal, but I suppose it ended up being a freebie because here I am, trying to convince myself I don’t care for him—that much. He’s a violent criminal. And yet… here I am feeling like a tinderbox of emotion with that niggling feeling of something significant, decisive, absolute, and permanent on the horizon. It sends chills dancing up my spine.
“Ready?” he asks facing me. He has driven me to a building I’m not even sure should be inhabited. It’s condemnable. I glance around nervously eventually I nod my head. “Ena, I’m choosing to trust you and I need you too trust me too. Believe me when I say that what was done to you will not go unpunished whether you know about it or not.” He looks at the building we have arrived at for a moment then looks back to me. “There is one thing that is non-negotiable in my world and that is unwavering loyalty. It isn’t a suggestion or an option. It’s expected, and to betray it in any capacity is suicide. Understand me?”
“Carrick,” I ask looking at him warily. He closes the gap between us and kisses me hard, hungrily while shoving the rusted metal door in front of us open. A metallic screech of the hinge’s protest makes me flinch and I peer inside.
“Loyalty, Ena. Nothing else,” he commands as my eyes narrow on the man sitting, tied to a chair beneath fluorescent bulbs. A large sheet of plastic drop cloth is situated beneath him like a rug. The tapping of shoes in the space draws my attention away from him and to Murphy who breezes past us like we weren’t even there, the door screeching shut behind him.
I walk wordlessly toward the man. He looks much different than I remember him. He’s thinner and balding. His cheeks are gaunt and scored heavily with deep wrinkles that are a testament to the kind of life he’s chosen to lead. When he tortured me, held lit cigarettes to my skin and exploited me in unspeakable ways he’d seemed… tougher, scarier. Now? Now it almost seems like hurting him would be too simple.
“Rob,” I whisper, completely forgetting about Carrick at my hee
ls. Rob looks up at me blearily. “Rob,” I repeat in disbelief. I finally whip around to look at Carrick. His muscled arms are folded over his chest, a relaxed expression on his handsome face.
“Your gift,” he motions his chin toward the pathetic human being in the chair. I cock my head at Carrick and he nods. Carrick means for Rob to die tonight. I should be alarmed, repulsed, scared at the very least. I inhale deeply realizing much to my dismay that I am every bit as dark and monstrous as Beast because I don’t want to run at all. I’m not repulsed and I’m certainly not the least bit frightened. I feel intoxicatingly powerful. “Rob,” I say more clearly, stepping into view from the shadows so he can see my face.
“A—Abigail? I—fuck’s sake, get me outta here,” he pleads clearly still not recognizing me.
A laugh mixed with a scoff is my response. “You don’t recognize me do you?” I smile, shaking my head, inching closer to him, my heels clicking against the concrete floor. Rob screws his face all up, looking at me like I’ve spoken a foreign language. “What was it you used to call me? Oh, yeah. Mutt, I believe it was,” I whisper, smiling triumphantly as understanding dawns on him. “Ah. There it is. Recognition. I don’t look the same I guess, so I don’t blame you for not knowing who I am. It’s amazing how food, a shower, and living like a human being can really change someone’s appearance. Puberty helped too,” I say smoothing the cocktail dress Beast ordered I wear tonight.
“I—Ena? Ena Devlin?” he croaks in shock.
“That’s the one!” I clap. “I’m here with someone. I belong to him. Maybe you’ve heard of him,” I whisper conspiratorially, crouching down in front of Rob’s pathetic form. “Some call him Carrick, some call him Beast, I call him my lover,” I say feeling consumed with malice that has me high on adrenaline and power and while distantly appalled, I’m fascinated by this version of myself.
The soles of Carrick’s Oxfords click lightly against the floor as he steps forward into the light.
“Ah, God. Ah, nah, Beast, I—I,” he stutters turning a putrid shade of white-gray.
“Shush now, my woman was speaking,” Carrick warns eerily calm as though chastising a small child. Rob snaps his thin lips shut and looks from Carrick to me and back again, sweat blossoming on his brow. His entire body shuddering. I know that kind of fear. I’ve experienced it at his and Viv’s hands and I was just a little girl. That little girl gets her revenge tonight. I can’t deny her.
“You tortured me. You burned me. You starved me. You sold me to your friends. You allowed men to violate me. You allowed Viv to treat me like the mutt you said I was. You forced me to watch the foul shit you and Viv participated in. You ruined me. How many other girls did you hurt, Rob?”
“I—I—it was Viv! Not me. She was the one that liked doing that shit,” he rambles.
“Don’t lie, Rob. You had a hand in making me who I am today. So congratulations. You signed and sealed your own death warrant a long time ago. I turn to see Carrick watching me intently. I blink at him unsure of what’s next. Beast sees me hesitate. I swallow hard as he comes close to me, cupping my face in his big palms. “Swear to fuckin’ Christ, Ena, no one hurts you ever again,” he whispers gently in complete contradiction to the violence we find ourselves amongst. Beast kisses me firmly with lips I’ve grown addicted to. I watch as he casually inhales deeply and steps around Rob’s metal chair, slipping a latex glove on both hands as he goes. His eyes never leave mine as he produces a knife from a sheath at his waist, tangles his gloved hand in Rob’s thinning hair and wrenches his neck back taut. The blade slices through Rob’s skin with zero resistance and blood spatters forward, pulsing out with the last of his heartbeats. I stand there watching life seep out of the man who haunted my childhood. Oddly, I don’t feel a fucking thing aside from gratitude to a complete Beast, and vindication for the little girl who once endured so much more than she ever should have.
Murphy enters the building again. Behind him are two other guys I haven’t met yet. They nod curtly to Carrick and me. One of them hands Beast a set of keys and they go about wrapping up the mess in the middle of the plastic sheet.
“Let’s go,” Beast says pulling a folded plastic bag from his back pocket. He slips his hands out of his gloves and deposits them into the bag along with the bloodied knife. I follow him dutifully, not bothering to look back at what has become of Robert Bonner the only real boogieman in the room as far as I’m concerned.
Carrick steers me by my arm to a silver SUV parked behind the rundown warehouse. I slide into the front seat and watch as Carrick strides around to the other side. Adrenaline begins to wane and my hands are starting to shake. Carrick switches off the air conditioner as soon as he starts the engine. “Just the adrenaline, baby,” he assures me, backing the SUV up with ease. He weaves through traffic, blending in like the rest of Boston returning from dinner or a movie. I clasp my hands together in my lap, my fingers twining together. The shaking won’t stop. I killed a man… well not technically, but I was there. I watched and I condoned it—wanted it even. “I would have been the worst cop in the world. I would have been no better than Kevin,” I confess aloud.
“Bullshit,” Beast huffs. “It’s just adrenaline fucking with you. Take deep breaths. It’ll pass.” He pulls off onto a side street and down a narrow alley. Various homeless people have their camps dotted around the alley but they don’t show their faces or budge from their sad little shelters. Beast tosses the plastic bag holding the gloves and knife into a fire barrel and returns to the driver’s seat. I watch as the orange glow of flames consumes the evidence he just discarded there.
The minute we pull into the parking garage at his penthouse Beast pulls wet wipes from the center console and leans over the center wiping my shins and knees, wiping away the blood spattered on my skin. Now I understand why he had me wear a dark dress. The blood on the fabric is almost impossible to discern. He shoves the wipes into his pocket and skirts around the front to open my door. I slide out on quivering legs and loop my arm in his. He holds me to his side securely like a happy couple in love but I know better. He’s keeping me from falling on my face as I continue to come down off the adrenaline high. We take the elevator up to his place and I do nearly fall on my face when we get inside, relief washing over me. Beast gets behind me and immediately drags the zipper of my dress down, tugging it to the floor. He pulls my heels off and drops them into the kitchen trash on his way to the fireplace in his massive living room. Flicking a switch, he causes flames to leap forward. He tosses my dress and the wet wipes from his pocket in and watches as the fire eats the fabric away to ash. Once the fabric is reduced to dust he flips the switch, extinguishing the flames and silently strides toward me, unbuttoning his clothes and tossing them aside as he goes. He crashes into me, hauling me up to him. He holds me against his bare chest and climbs the stairs like I weigh nothing.
He sets me back to my feet in his bathroom and makes quick work of flipping on the water and peeling the rest of his clothes and mine off. He walks backward, pulling me into the spray. I gasp under the hot water. Its snakes down my body washing away the remnants of tonight. “Carrick,” I whisper, desperate for his touch, feeling adrift in an insurmountable sea of emotion.
“My dad would hate me,” I whimper against his chest, my lips grazing against the inked skin there.
“No, he wouldn’t,” he says forcing me to look up at him. He bites his bottom lip and crinkles his brows, his chest rising and falling quickly. He shakes his head making a sound something like a sigh and a groan. “No one could ever possibly hate you. Not for that shit, not for what you’ve gone through, and what you’ve sacrificed. So fuckin’ brave,” he says dropping gentle kisses along my jaw. “So strong,” he breathes in my ear. I’m still shaking in his arms but it feels more out of desperation for him and very serious, very frightening emotions swirling around in my chest. He washes me efficiently and I return the favor, running my hands over his muscles and inked skin. As soon as we’re out of the shower I
roughly dry my hair, in a hurry to slide beneath the sheets. He flicks of the lights and the room is cast only in the dim glow seeping in from the city below. I lie back against the pillows and watch him stalk over to me, his body perfect, mouthwatering and lethal. He climbs over me, peppering me with kisses on his way. His lips pressed against the instep of one of my feet and then the other feels incredibly intimate. He snakes a path up my body, his skillful mouth licking and nipping between each tender kiss. He sits back on his heels between my legs and nudges my knees further apart. He stays there, looking at me, head to toe, making appreciative little sounds, mumbling things I can’t quite hear as he drifts his fingertips over my skin.
“You’re the best, worst thing to ever happen to me,” he rasps low. Kissing the inside of one knee on his way down. My heart flips in my chest and I moan low, urging him to give me more of him.
His mouth is heaven against my skin, his words silk, his admiration steeling. I dissolve beneath him, lacing my fingers through his short light brown hair as he plays my body like a master musician. He draws his bow over my strings, playing notes of his choice, bending me to his will and I readily sing for him.
The world washes away in fantastic waves of pleasure that leave me basking in mindless euphoria. I arch into him as he climbs over me, his lips still wet with my pleasure. “Carrick,” I whisper holding his face in my hands. He watches me closely, and quietly as he presses the tip of himself to my entrance. He pushes in—with his body and with his gaze. Into my own body and further into my heart with those eyes, that expression. He releases his breath, his eyes slipping shut for just a moment as he plants himself root-deep in my body and soul-deep in my heart.
Carrick slides against me, making love, gentle but demanding, slow but no less powerful. I inch toward oblivion. Emotion claws at my throat as my muscles clench around his length. Tears prick at my eyes and his jaw tightens with determination to see both of us through to release.