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For the good girls who like to dance in the dark while being watched by the devil.
“Or else what?” Ah, fuck. Freckles is even prettier when she’s mad. The butterflies are going fucking wild, and I have no idea how to repress the feeling.
Yep. He still despises me. And after what I did to him, he has every reason to.
The first time I ever felt this way, this overwhelming feeling, was when we met. He’d interrupted me by the pool at his manor. I remember the way he looked at me, and how it made a warmth build in my chest. His eyes were so full of life. We’d smoked a cigarette together in blissful, comfortable silence, before he turned into an asshole.
When my gaze drops to my chest, I stare at the small scar on my sternum, purple and deep. As much as my breasts hide it, it’s there. That was why Chris ripped a key against my skin – to deter others from touching what he thinks is his. He made me lie to Nora and say I did it to myself, and she believed me. She’d wanted me to seek help from a therapist, thinking I was harming myself. No. Your son is just a fucking monster, Nora.
Chris has kissed me on numerous occasions, mid-argument. But every time, my lips have clamped shut – hard enough to cause me pain – to deny the tongue trying to pry its way into my mouth as I fought back. As far as I’m aware, we’ve never fucked. But he’s drugged me. Hit me. Made my life hell. I tried to run once, but it only made things worse. He became more violent. It feels like there’s no escaping someone as monstrous as Chris Fields, but one day, when I figure out a good-enough plan, I will.
I know he hates it when someone plays with his hair or presses a palm to his chest the way she is. It took ages for him to be comfortable with my touch. He’s either fighting the urge to not cringe away, or he truly has changed.
Right now, as he nudges my nose with his, pushing himself into my fist with a deep groan, I think he might kiss me.
Bernadette is nearly forty, married with a kid nearly the same age as me. She can literally do whatever and whoever she wants, and her repulsive husband allows it. She approached me when I was nineteen, told me a bunch of lies about being able to help with my dad’s case and I’ve been trapped with her ever since. I wanted to get the fuck away from her the first night I woke up after being drugged, but after everything she’s made me do – all the people I’ve killed for money – it’s not something I can walk away from, especially with clean hands.
I quickly shoot a text to my assistant Barry, telling him that plans are still going ahead in America, to set up a meeting point and that I’ll be out of reach for the rest of the night. I hide the messenger app I created for me and my team in a secured file, so Bernie won’t find it if she decides to go through my phone. It started when I tried to kill Barry in England, only to find out he was innocent. He was my age and had a ten-grand bounty on his head. I helped him fake his death, and he became loyal, offered to work with me to help others like him. Over time, we created our own group to
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I should’ve killed him like I killed the last guy she slept with. No one fucks Stacey and gets away with it. I can’t have her, but nobody else will.
She does run an entire empire in the underworld and holds a senior rank in Police Scotland. I have nowhere to run.
But if I kill her or myself, my entire family will be obliterated – Bernadette’s annoying tripwire if I ever turn on them. If I refuse to do certain work, Luciella gets threatened. If I refuse to fuck someone, then Dad doesn’t see my mother for weeks. No one in my family knows the reasons behind their bad luck. I’m apparently a university student, living his life in Stirling.
Maybe I should take a leaf out of my dad’s book and not give a fuck about anyone. Everyone seems to think I’m just like him – might as well prove them right by killing the head of the Scottish underworld.
This man is deranged. A political leader who works with numerous charities for animals, schools and victims of all kinds of abuse, yet the sick fuck was perfectly fine with having a forced threesome with teenage me then abusing me after I passed out. He was fine with feeding me drugs and booze while I begged to leave the house. He was fine with watching me kill. Watching me torture people who’d wronged them. He was fine with weaponising me, a rage-filled kid desperate to keep his family safe, blackmailing me so I can’t ever stop.
they still have their claws in me. Hotels rooms and yachts. Cars and clubs. Anywhere they can have me, they do. I want to kill him the most. His time will come.
My team doesn’t know how extreme it gets with Bernadette and her husband, and if I can help it, I’ll keep it that way. They’re my soldiers – one word that I’m abused, and they’ll open fire and lose their lives.
After I was dared to kiss her years ago, I lasted all but a few days before cornering her in my kitchen and daring her to kiss me again while no one was around.
You don’t hate her, son. You’re just mad at her,
Is it bad that I welcome his fists? If he didn’t hurt me that way, he might resort to sexual attacks, and I’ll die before I allow that.
Is it normal to hate him and want to feel him inside me? Is it normal to wake up sweating and seconds from orgasming from memories alone? Probably not.
“Rock your hips into my cock, Freckles,” he whispers quietly, and I nearly whimper. “I fucking dare you.”
“When I find out who hurt you, I’m going to fucking destroy them. I’ll make sure to bleed them dry then fuck you next to their corpse. You got that?”
“I want to hear what it sounds like, just like old times. I need to hear you screaming my name.”
“I want you to sit on my face.” He yanks me up to his mouth, and I catch myself on the bedframe. “Suffocate me with this pussy.”
Rule one: Stay away from your toxic ex-girlfriend. Rule two: Don’t unblock her number. Rule three: If you’re both in the same room, don’t fucking look at her – it’s a trap. Rule four: Under no circumstances will you have any sexual interactions with her. Rule five: Never forgive Stacey Rhodes.
She’s always been hot – a wet dream; she’s always made liquid heat rush through my veins. Her tits are bouncing as she moves against my mouth, thighs tightly bracketing my head as she rides my face, and her taste on my tongue has me eating her out like a starved man.
I don’t deserve to have her look at me like I’m her fucking God, but she also doesn’t deserve me. I meant it when I called her a snake, yet my cock is pulsing as I fuck my own hand, tasting her orgasm on my tongue.
She’s like a fucking work of art of all my designs. I love ink; I love drawing tattoos, especially for her. I spot my favourite, which I drew when we were in a hotel in London, the same night we lost our virginities to one another. I have the same tattoo – K and S, integrated in a twisted design of meaningful scripture, roses and vines that makes our initials hard to notice.
I’m seconds from fucking my ex, and I’m freaking out.
Shit, I zoned out again. I shouldn’t have taken those lines earlier. I can’t function with or without them nowadays. If Stacey knew I was on something, she would kick me out of the hotel room and tell me to go fuck myself. I don’t even have a condom on, and I don’t care. I’ll fill her with every drop of my cum and watch it leak from her cunt. If I get her pregnant, then she’s shackled to me forever. The fuck am I doing?
My hands are shaking, my knees bouncing as I fist at my hair and feel the layer of sweat on my face. My vision blurs, and I feel myself losing consciousness. Fuck. It’s happening again. Fuck.
I flinch a little when her palm slides up my naked chest, the muscles pulling taut under her gentle touch. She tries to draw back like she did that night in the tent, and my free hand captures her wrist to hold her there. Touch is repulsive and unnecessary. I barely hug my own mother. A person openly wanting to touch and cuddle and feel makes my skin crawl. I’ve always been this way, but when Stacey touches me, even if it’s just a hand on my chest or shoulder, it feels different. Not repulsive at all. But it’s still foreign to me. Unknown. Yet I want to explore it more.
“I watch her,” I admit. “When she’s in the manor, at the studio, or walking around the mall. If I don’t see her at least once every day, I lose my mind. I’ve climbed to her window to see her sleep, and I’ve been trying to hack her phone for the last year. I hacked Luciella’s.” And I hunt down the people she sleeps with and make them disappear, but I keep that part to myself.
“That night, I was—” Raped. I stop, a lump sticking in my throat. I fail to say it aloud. “It wasn’t…” What you think. “I didn’t…” Want to do it. But all I can finish with is, “I’m… I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing! I wanted you—” “Stacey, I swear to fucking God. Shut the fuck up.” He moves closer. “You don’t deserve time to explain why you did what you did, and I really don’t care. I dodged a bullet getting away from you.” My teeth clench, fresh tears spilling. “I wanted to go home to you. I cried for you.”
“Are you going to suck my cock, Freckles? If so, stop playing with it and put it in your fucking mouth.” My pussy flutters at his dark tone. “Make me.”
“I’m going to fuck your throat, and you’re going to be a good girl and swallow every drop of my cum.”
There’s something about watching a man screw his eyes shut and curse while being pleasured that makes me wetter.
I’m not giving him the reins on this. I’m the one with the power. I’m in control. Beneath him and on my knees, yet above him.
Our deal to resist temptation has gone south.
“Beg me to keep going.” Kade grabs a handful of my hair. “Please put my cock back in your fucking mouth.”
His grunts and moans and breathy curses fill the air, almost drowning out the music playing from the speakers at each corner of the aircraft.
“You plan on killing an entire gang for a girl who apparently cheated on you?” I grit my teeth and try not to smash his face in. “Yes,”
Freckles, darling, I’m a fucking animal. You should’ve seen me Jackie Chan my shit today.
I’m Kade Mitchell. I don’t do emotions. I don’t care about people, especially not people who fuck me over. So why can’t I stop looking at her?
I no longer see the young American but Chris and numerous other men standing in Kade’s grip, uncaring as they talk about all the ways they wanted to fuck me that night. The way Chris egged them on. Charged per fuck. Videoed it. I see my brother hovering over me while I hallucinated, begged him to take me home and cried that I wanted my boyfriend. The way his lips felt on my forehead while he let someone else violate me with their mouth. Teeth sinking into my breast, leaving a wound that took weeks to heal.
“Because I’d go insane without being able to watch you. I do hate you. I hate who you are, but I can’t stop thinking about your cunt strangling my cock while I throttle you. I picture you covered in blood that isn’t yours. My name on your lips. Screaming for more while you apologise over and over and fucking over again.” He presses the barrel harder to my forehead. “Hate is not the word I would use when it comes to you.” I smirk. “Always the romantic, Kade.”
For some diabolical reason, having my best friend’s brother screw me while a version of Chris lies in front of us makes me even more turned on. He’s at gunpoint. About to die, and the last thing he’ll see is me being fucked by Kade Mitchell.
“I’m not asking, Freckles. You’re going on a date with me.”
