by Erin Noelle
Turning slightly to face me, she shakes her head. “Who do you think you are? I’ve known you less than a week, and now you think you have the right to ask me about my deep, dark secrets because you’ve bought me a few meals and kissed me a couple of times? I don’t know you, and I sure as hell don’t trust you. You probably just want to fuck me, and then I’ll never hear from you again.”
Breathing deeply, I force myself to think out my response thoroughly before opening my mouth. I know she’s hurting in every way possible, and I don’t want to push her farther away.
“Blake, everything you just said is truthful and accurate. I could sit here and tell you how much you should trust me, and how I feel this enigmatic, mystifying connection when I’m around you—something I’ve never felt before—and that I would never do anything to hurt you, but none of it means anything. They’re simply words.” I pause to allow that part to sink in.
However, please let my actions tonight speak for something. When you ran away earlier, I didn’t get mad; I didn’t take you to your car then, wanting to get rid of you. No, instead, I brought you to my home, offered you my clothes, and fed you my food, knowing damn well I wasn’t going to fuck you, as you so eloquently put it. When I found you in the bathroom, my first instinct was to take care of you, to help you clean up and feel better, not to get you the hell out of my house.” Again, another pause.
“I’m a smart man. I understand we’ve known each other less than a week, and I’m not here professing my undying love to you, nor am I promising I will ever do that. I’ve been burned before, and I’m not sure I’ll ever give my heart to someone, just for them to rip it to shreds again. What I am telling you is from the moment I laid eyes on you in that boardroom, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I won’t lie and tell you I don’t dream about making that tiny body of yours writhe in ecstasy and seeing your beautiful blue eyes gloss over as I make you come on-command, but I can fuck just about anyone. You—everything about you cries out to me to claim as my own. I want to take care of you and protect you, and I mean that in the least-creepy way possible from someone thirteen years older than you. Getting to know each other and learning to trust each other are the first steps in that process.”
I figure I better stop, because she’s staring at me as if I’ve grown a second head throughout my spiel. I’m not ashamed to tell her how I feel—this isn’t a fucking game to me—but I don’t want to overwhelm her either, which I’m afraid I’ve now done.
“Please take me to my car, Madden. I can’t do this…not right now,” is all she says, her eyes devoid of feeling.
Discouraged…frustrated…damn close to outright angry, I sigh heavily. “I can’t right now, Blake. I will first thing in the morning. Try to get some rest, and please try not to hurt yourself again.” Fighting every urge inside of my body to stay with her and demand she talk, to kiss her and tell her I’ll somehow make everything better, I stand up and walk out of the room, leaving her alone.
FOR TWO LONG HOURS, I sit virtually motionless in Madden’s bed, his words echoing in my head.
Mystifying connection…
Claim as my own…
Take care of you and protect you...
Learning to trust…
All of it sounds amazing, words so impeccably perfect; I never dreamed a man would say those things to me, especially not a man like Madden. My memory flickers through the images of him from the past week—the moment our eyes first met, the first time he called me sweet girl, the concern on his face when he found me in the backyard, the awe-inspiring kiss that turned my world upside-down, and finally, the vulnerability and compassion he showed as he knelt in front of me, first cleaning and medicating my cuts, and then tenderly kissing my stomach to soothe me.
As much as I want to believe him, and although his actions thus far support his verbal claims, the cynical, distrustful, realistic part of my brain reminds me, It’s only been five days. Anyone can pretend to be anything for a week…a month…even a year or more. I’m not comparing Madden to Ish—no one deserves that unfair judgment—but at the same time, I can’t forget my past. Ever. People say mistakes are meant for learning, not repeating. I paid the ultimate price for my mistakes, the lives of the two people I loved more than anything, my mom and my brother, brutally and needlessly taken; I’m not sure what else I have to lose, but I’m not quite ready to find out either.
“Are you ready to go?” Madden asks as he walks into the room, his face unreadable. He’s changed into a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, and based on his damp hair and smooth face, he’s already showered and shaved. I guess he keeps his guestroom stocked with his things as well.
Gingerly, I slide off the bed and mumble, “Yes.” Still dressed in only his t-shirt and boxer shorts, I gather my dress, shoes, and purse from the corner and stumble over towards where he waits, trying not to look at him. Apparently, he’s not too keen on seeing or speaking to me either, because as soon as I get close, he takes off towards the stairs, bounding down them two at a time, not looking back. I follow, struggling to keep up with him until we reach the car parked in the driveway.
He says nothing to me the entire drive to my office, where I need to retrieve my car, so I stare out the window, watching the early morning sun appear from behind the mountainous horizon, quietly lost in my thoughts. I understand he’s upset with me—he put himself out there, and I basically slammed the door in his face. I regret making the comment about him only wanting to fuck me, but I was trying to make him leave me alone, to stop asking questions I can’t answer. I guess it worked.
Pulling his car up next to mine, I assume he won’t be opening my door for me since he can barely stand to be in my presence, so I reach for the handle.
“Don’t,” he commands brusquely.
Dropping my shaky hand into my lap, I nervously glance over at him. His eyes scan my face, searching for something—answers, most likely.
When he makes no indication he’s going to say anything else, I tell him softly, “I’m sorry for my rude and ungracious behavior after everything you did to help me.”
“Then why did you say those things?”
“I didn’t want to talk about why I do the things I do,” I reply honestly. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Because you don’t trust me?” he challenges.
“Because I don’t trust anyone, not even myself.”
Tilting his head slightly, he ponders my answer for a moment, his sky blue eyes softening a bit. Then, catching me completely off-guard, he reaches across the center console and takes one of my hands in his. Bringing it up to his mouth, he affectionately kisses the top of my knuckles. My eyes are glued to where his mouth touches my pale skin as my stomach flutters lightly, secretly happy he hasn’t completely given up on me.
“I don’t know what you’ve been through to make you lose confidence in the human race, and to be quite honest, the scenarios that run through my mind sicken me, but I’m sure your distrust and contempt are more than justified.” Pausing, he flips my hand over and presses several kisses to the open palm.
“We are all a product of our past, but you don’t have to be its prisoner. It’s a conscious choice you make for yourself.” His mouth moves down to the inside of my wrist, where he peppers a trail of kisses around the sensitive flesh. I am fully engrossed in his every word and movement.
“If you can find it in yourself to allot me the tiniest sliver of faith, I will do everything in my power to help you break free from these demons holding you hostage. I want you to willingly turn it all over to me—your pleasure and your pain. Free yourself, and let them be my responsibility so you can heal both physically and emotionally. I already told you you’ve captivated my attention from the first moment I met you, and every second we’re together—even the ones when you’re running away from me or yelling at me—I become more and more fascinated by all that is Blake Martin.”
“Mad—” I begin.
Shushing me before I can sp
eak, he leans over and captures my lips with his in a kiss that steals away both my words and my breath. He pulls away with an endearing smile. “Don’t answer me now; I want you to think about it for a while. You say we’ve only known each other a week, so let’s spend the same amount of time apart, without seeing or talking to each other. Next weekend, you can let me know what you decide, and if you still aren’t interested in pursuing this—me, us—then I’ll never bring it up again. Either way, our business relationship will remain unaffected; the last thing I want to do is jeopardize your emerging career.”
Incredulously, I stare back at him. I’m overwhelmed in every capacity, but I know I shouldn’t make any decisions in my current mental state; however, I can agree to take a few days to think over everything he’s said. Nodding with a meek smile, I agree to his request.
Grinning like he just won the lottery, he throws open his car door, jumps out, and hurries around to mine. Keeping up with his chivalrous ways, he lets me out of the car and walks me the few steps over to mine.
“Thank you for not saying no, sweet girl,” he says as he tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind my left ear, allowing his fingertips to trace my cheekbone afterwards.
Effortlessly, I lean my face into his touch, welcoming the thoughtful gesture. “Thank you for not forcing me to answer now. Honestly, I’m still not sure why this is so important to you, or why you keep fighting for me when you don’t even know me,” I admit.
Leaning forward to rest his nose and forehead against mine, he whispers hoarsely, “Anything I truly want is worth fighting for, and more than anything, I want you.”
His eyes implore mine as his minty breath fills my nostrils, and I desperately want him to kiss me, to taste his mouth again, but instead, he backs away slowly. “Talk to you in a week. Please try not to hurt yourself again, Blake. I’ll be worried,” he says as he ambles back to his vehicle, his stare never leaving mine.
Once I realize he’s waiting for me to get into my own car before he does the same, I open the door and slide onto the cloth seat. Knowing he’s still watching, I refrain from banging my head on the steering wheel, even though that’s exactly what I feel like doing. Instead, I drive out of the parking lot and towards my apartment, where I’ll be left alone to decide if I’m willing to take the risk of getting involved with Madden Decker.
The rest of Saturday and all of Sunday pass rather uneventfully. Accepting that I’ll most likely be living in my apartment for a while, I spend the better part of both days painting and decorating the small space. I don’t have a lot of money, but I did receive the payout from Mom and Brandon’s life insurance policies once I got out of the hospital, which has been sitting in my savings account. My salary from my new job is enough to pay my monthly bills, so I’m not worried about dipping into the reserve a little to get my place fixed up.
Concentrating on manual tasks also helps me keep my mind from obsessing over everything Madden has said and done over the past week, especially the last conversation we had. I’ve replayed it in my head over and over to the point I’m pretty sure I can recite it word-for-word, but I’m no closer to making a decision. Weighing both the pros and cons, I’ve changed my mind back and forth so many times over the past thirty-six hours I’m beginning to feel bi-polar, in addition to all of my other psychological issues.
I want to believe him; I want to think it’ll be as easy as he claims, that I can just turn myself over to him and allow him to take care of my happiness and my sorrow, but I’m smarter than that. For both his safety and mine, I can’t reveal to him details of my life with Ish, or the knowledge I have about Vincent Ricci and the organization he works for in Chicago. Not to mention, I’m downright scared. I’m scared of him—who he is and what he wants from me, and I’m scared of me—I don’t want to lose myself again like I did with Ish, and the way Madden captivates me when I’m with him, I can see that happening. Yet it’s that same mesmerizing feeling that keeps me from running as far away from him as possible. This is the first time I’ve been able to forget everything that happened for more than a moment; being with him puts me at such ease, almost as if I truly do have a clean slate, a chance to start over. When I’m with him, all of the awful things I’ve been through disappear, because all I want to do is please him, drown in his desire for me, and feel free from the guilt and baggage I’ve carried for years.
By Sunday night, as I crawl into bed, I hope I’ve physically worn myself out enough to pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow. I’m tired of thinking about it, and I hope sleep will reprieve my overactive brain for at least a few hours.
Sitting on the rock-hard bed of the dingy, outdated motel, I couldn’t stop my body from shivering from head to toe. I’d done it. I ran away from him. For three long months after I unknowingly stumbled across the bloody scene at the shop, I pretended like I knew nothing. Every morning, I cooked his breakfast and kissed him goodbye as he left for work, and then I’d go to the public library to use their computer to devise a plan of escape, fearful he’d track my usage on our personal laptop. I didn’t want my mom and brother to know what I was planning, because that would put them in grave danger. Every night, he’d come home to a home-cooked dinner on the table, and then I’d use every bit of willpower I had to not throw it up as he’d fuck me until he passed out, always promising he’d give me another baby.
Finally, two weeks prior to our set wedding date, I followed through with it. I didn’t have much money, and I only took with me what I could fit in a backpack, but by the first night, I’d made it as far south as Bloomington, where I stopped at the cheapest motel I could find to get some sleep.
My legs screamed in pain from the excessive walking, and my shoulders ached something fierce from carrying the heavy bag. I didn’t even bother turning the bedspread back, afraid of what I’d find on the sheets; I laid down on top of the paisley eyesore and closed my heavy lids, passing out in less than a minute.
Feeling warm breaths on my face, I awoke startled to the image of Ish hovering over me.
“It’s time to go home, Princesa,” he said in the most eerily calm voice.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammered.
“I think I should be asking you that, Bryleigh. Tell me why you’re here, and don’t try to say it’s pre-wedding jitters or some shit. Tell me what you know,” he demanded.
I realized there was no point in lying to him. He’d found me, and I was bound to tell him at some point. “I went to the shop a while back, and walked in on a…on an interrogation.”
“And…?”
“And I watched you kill a guy,” I admitted.
Instead of getting angry or irate, he chuckled. “Well, you’re about to watch me kill another one.”
Picking me up off the bed, he threw me over his shoulder and marched out of the hotel room, into the pitch-black night. Scared speechless, I didn’t make a peep as he strode into the small motel office and dropped me on the floor. The male front desk attendant that had rented me the room had eyes as big as saucers, obviously fearful of Ish and the scene unfolding in front of him.
“Did you give her a room to stay in?” Ish demanded.
The older man nodded, taking a small step backwards.
“Don’t you fucking move, Gramps, and answer me when I ask you a goddamn question.”
“Y-yes, I gave her a room,” he admitted in a cracked voice.
“Did she pay you with money, or did she fuck you for it?”
“She paid me with money, sir. I don’t run that kind of business.” The man looked down at me huddled in a corner on the floor, and then back up at Ish. “She never even offered that kind of thing.”
Ish stomped around to the back of the counter and held his hand out, palm up. “She wants a refund. She’s not staying here tonight.”
Trembling, the man opened the cash register and pulled out some cash, setting it in Ish’s hand. As he did, Ish grabbed hold of his wrist and twisted it behind his back.
“Please�
�please don’t hurt me,” the man begged. “I didn’t know I was doing anything wrong.”
“No, you probably didn’t, but she did,” Ish spat, his fiery eyes darting over to me. “Princesa, did you know you were doing something wrong?”
The growing sob that had built in the back of my throat escaped as I nodded and said, “Yes, I did.”
“Well, someone needs to be punished for your bad behavior to remind you not to do something like this again.”
“Punish me, Ish,” I cried. “That poor man has nothing to do with this. Please, let him go.”
He glanced over at the man he held in a tight hold, and then back at me before releasing an evil laugh that echoed loudly throughout the small room. “Sorry, Princesa, but I need you to be pretty for our upcoming wedding.” Then, without warning, he pulled a long-bladed knife from the leg of his pants and chopped the man’s hand clear off in one swing. I’m not sure who screamed louder, me or the man, but within seconds, it was only my high-pitched voice shrieking, because Ish took the knife and slit the man’s throat, killing him instantaneously. Dropping the bloody body, he stalked towards me, bent down to my level, and clamped his hand on top of my mouth.
“Quiet now, Bryleigh, before you alert anyone else and I do the same thing to them. You don’t want to be the reason anyone else dies tonight, do you?” he whispered in my ear.
Immediately, I stop screaming, knowing damn well he would do exactly what he promised. “Now, that’s my good Princesa,” he said, stroking my hair. “We should get out of here. I’m going to carry you to the car, and I expect you to be well-behaved.”
Lifting me from the dirty tile floor, he carried me like a baby out to his car and placed me on the passenger seat. Petrified of what was going to happen next, I sat as still as a statue as he got into the car and drove north, back towards Chicago. He said nothing the entire drive home, but once we were both inside the apartment, he threw me on the bed and stripped me naked. Turning me over so that I was face-down on the mattress, he yanked forcefully on my hips, raising them in the air. He held tightly onto my hipbones as he viciously thrust himself into my virgin ass—no warning…no lube…nothing. I shouted out at the intense pain, and tears immediately began to stream down my face, but he didn’t stop thrusting until he was buried completely inside of me.