Kill Switch (Devil's Night, #3)

by Penelope Douglas

The skin touching skin. My body on fire and alive with him. His breath. His tongue. His mouth and hands. His teeth nipping at my stomach and thighs. That feeling of wanting nothing else, and I would rather never eat again than not have him. I don’t want to…make you dirty.

You won’t make me dirty. There is no you. There is no me. This is us. Us. My eyes burned, and my chin trembled. I didn’t want to do those things with just anyone, though.

“You have this look on your face,” he told me, keeping his voice low and intimate. “Are you wishing someone would do that to you or are you remembering when someone did that to you?” That. Meaning Michael and Rika’s fucking.

He might be right. I was twenty-one, plenty old enough to have a healthy, active sex life, but when it did happen again, I wanted it to be like it was for Erika and Michael. They seemed to like to play games, but it was passionate, and it was love. The love was what felt good. Unfortunately, it had been one-sided in my past experience. I could be tempted to take Will up on his offer to let off some steam, but he wouldn’t be more than that. I wanted him as a friend. The real question was, was he on Damon’s side or mine?

I closed my eyes, feeling my pulse thunder inside as everything else was so quiet. I feel you. I feel you everywhere. The cloves on his clothes, the fountain on his skin. The words on his tongue, the breath on his lips. The hand on my neck, the sharp in his silence. Down the hall. Sitting in the study. Outside in the rain. At the open bathroom door. Or right in the corner of the room. Right here. Watching me. He was always coming. Or… Maybe I never left. His words came back to me. When he was in prison, he was here. When I wanted to want other men, he was here. When I danced, when I cried, whenever I was alone, and when I was quiet in a room full of people and thinking about him, he was here. The truth was, I’d had what Michael and Rika had. I thought I had anyway. Those days were when I was the happiest. Even though it was a lie, it was the best I’d ever felt. Damon.

What did he see when he watched me? His enemy? Or something he wanted? Was I someone to torment or something to play with? Did he know the difference? Did he want me to like it? What did he see?

I hated him. He was everything bad that happened to me. But he was the only time—other than dancing—that I felt alive, too. Being with him was like dancing. Dancing with death.

“I know you’re there,” I told him to wherever he was standing in the room. Where I always knew he was standing, because the house was heavy, it was too quiet, and I could smell the cloves on his clothes, the fountain on his skin, and the hot on his breath. “And now you know…” I said, “I always close my eyes when I come.” In high school, he’d asked if I closed my eyes in pleasure, and now he had his answer. He didn’t move, and neither did I. I no longer cared. I was tired of wondering what he’d do. Now he was wondering what I could do. This was a game to him, and that was fine. He just wasn’t the only one playing anymore.

Provoking me was her goal, and that was not how you were going to wind up in my bed, little Winter. She thought she was strong. She thought she could play with me. She could try. I had you once. I’ll have you again.

“I can’t sleep, boy,” I told him, smoothing both hands over his head now. “It’s not so complicated for an animal, is it? Why can’t the things I need be basic?” Or physical? I wanted to fuck. I wanted it slow, feeling her fear, her desire, and her mouth giving back what I gave to her. But I needed her mind. “It’s all in my head,” I muttered. The control. The memories. The knowledge that our bodies betray us, and it was the brain that was the prize. That the mind knew what we really wanted, not the body.

This isn’t a big deal. My mother isn’t unusual. Men look at Banks the same way my mother looks at me. That’s why I hide my sister. So they won’t go after her. I see so much shit, and I don’t know if it’s wrong, but it never ends, and I’ve gotten used to everything that happens in the late hours. Maybe it happens everywhere and nobody talks about it.

“Are these cuts?” she exclaims. Like you’re shocked. She knows what I’ve been doing for years now. The cuts I hide under my feet. The scars under my arms and hair. The slices, pricks, and burns that are covered under my boxers until they heal and then I do it all over again. I’d gotten creative in hiding the shit I did to release pain.

“There, there, now,” she soothes like I’m five. “You don’t need to talk. Remember what we said? You don’t need to talk. I always know what you need.” She wipes up the blood, applies Band-Aids to the five slices I made, and checks the other foot, sighing in relief that it wasn’t injured. “You need to be careful,” she tells me. “The basketball team needs you. You can’t hurt your feet like that.” That was why I did it. It didn’t hurt my game at all. If anything, I played harder and faster, so the pain of running on that court would exhaust me, so I couldn’t think or fight when I came home.

I take her waist in my other hand, kneading the flesh through the silk, never blinking as I stare at myself and letting all the emotions rip through me. Anger. Shame. Fear. Violence. Pain. Sadness. Helplessness. They float through, jumbling together until I can’t identify one from the other, and it’s not even me in the reflection anymore. Everything in my brain leaves, my mind turns off, and my hands stop shaking. I’m just a body. This is me. I am me.

“Do it, baby,” she whispers. “Come all inside me. Come on, come on, come on…” And I glare at her, tighten my hold on her hair and neck, press her into the counter, and pull her head up— She gasps, ready to get it. And I shove her head into the mirror as hard as I can, splintering the glass, and she screams. “Damon!” she cries out, but I can’t stop. A wave of euphoria washes over me, and I don’t know why my cheeks are wet, but my muscles are charged, and I just want her to fucking die. I growl, bringing her head down again and again, blood covering the mirror, and then I haul her up, her body limp and blood pouring down her face, and I hit her, sending her flying to the floor. She coughs and sputters, and tears stream down my face, but in that moment, I knew. It would never happen again. This never had to happen again. I’d kill her if I had to.

Seeing something out of the corner of my eye, I look over my shoulder, seeing Banks standing there with my headphones in her hand. She looks from my mother on the floor—bloody and weak—to me, her eyes scared. I rush over, grab her hand, and run from the room. She doesn’t ask questions as I pull her down the stairs, through the house, and out the back doors, into the backyard. The moon casts a glow over the hedge maze, and we dive in, knowing our way well and finding the fountain immediately. We climb in and settle behind the water, just like I had done a thousand times before, only once with a girl other than my sister. Banks doesn’t ask me what happened or what I’m going to do. She knows not to talk in here. Reaching under the groove of the bowl above us, I dig out the silver barrette with pink crystals I hide there, and wrap my fist around it, remembering Winter Ashby’s words from so long ago in that fountain. Your body can only feel one pain at a time. She was right. I’ve found that to be true. But instead of hurting myself to mask pain with more pain, tonight I learned something else. Hurting others is just as effective.

By morning, my mother was gone, and I never asked where. And as time passed, my father made no effort to bring her home again. I didn’t see her until a couple of years later. And I dealt with it for good that night. Just like I was going to deal with Winter and the false hope she nearly destroyed me with. “I want her to want it,” I told Mikhail, his brown eyes looking up at me expectantly. “I want her to want me, to give me her heart, and be my soft, sweet, smiling Little Devil, clutching at me and unable to stop herself.” My heart quickened. “And then I want her to hate herself for it. To turn against herself and hate that she likes it, so she knows she’s weak and pathetic and no different than any other bitch. That she wasn’t special.” Once I see her as just like everyone else, I’ll have destroyed her and killed my obsession with her. I would’ve killed her power over me, just like Natalya’s. “And I think she wants to play this game with me,” I joked with the animal.

“Take on more men. Two details of four each.” “Yes, sir. She’ll be safe.” “From everyone but me,” I clarified. “Yes, sir.” She was probably just overly alert. Thanks to me. But she also mentioned a visitor at Bridge Bay Theater days ago. Someone who came into the bathroom and scared her. She thought it was me. It wasn’t.

“I thought each piece’s power increased based on its proximity to the king, but that’s not true.” She looked up at me. “Other than the queen, the most powerful player is—” “The rook,” I said. She nodded. “Yes.” “So you’re finally ready to begin?” I asked, pouring myself a glass of bourbon. But she just turned around, looking back at the wall of weapons. “The game has already begun.” My pulse throbbed harder in my neck as I carried my drink to the table. I lived for this shit. But while I liked my games, intrigue, and going wild, I didn’t like doing it alone. I wanted someone on my side. I wanted her on my side.

“See, the thing I always wondered about was,” she said, circling the table, and I did the same, glass in hand. “Kai and Will served time for assaulting Martin Scott, but…” She eyed me. “They weren’t the only ones there. Someone was filming.” You little shit. “And that’s like… aiding and abetting, right?” she asked. The glass shattered in my fist, and I felt the sting of a cut as the liquid spilled and the shards fell to the ground. She just smirked at me, a glint in her blue eyes. “Queen takes rook.” You fucking bitch. “Fucking little monster,” I muttered, breathing lava out of my nose.

Goddamn her. Martin Scott knew it was me filming his much-deserved beat-down, but without a reason for Will and Kai to be silent about my part in it anymore, all I had was Rika. She pulled the strings. She circled the table, held up the sword, and pointed it at me. “You will not force her,” she ordered her terms. “You will not threaten, torture, or coerce her into your bed. You will not touch her.” I shot out my hands, planting them on the pool table and leaning over it to look her in the eyes. “And if she wants me to touch her?” “It’s good to dream big, Damon.” I almost snorted, but I couldn’t contain my smile. “God, you’re like a female version of me,” I said. “It’s turning me on.” “Makes sense. You love yourself best.” I stood upright again, brushing off my hands. She was exquisite, and if she weren’t working against me, I’d think she was brilliant. Smart. Tough. Clever. And cold when she needed to be. Cold. “The queen,” I mused, rolling a ball on the table as a memory came to mind. “The snow queen.” She thinned her eyes, probably confused. “Years ago,” I explained, “when your father brought his young bride here from South Africa, I’m told my father was quite enamored of her. She reminded him of the beautiful snow queen from the Nutcracker ballet.” I tipped my chin down, casting her a knowing look. “And that’s what he called her. His little snow queen.” She growled and lunged, and I shot backward just as she slammed the sword on the table. Leaping onto the table, she fo...

“The queen is the most valuable player,” I told her, “but to win, she’s not the last one standing. Her job…” I paused, arching an eyebrow, “is to protect the king.” She pulled out a knife from somewhere and pressed the side of the blade into my neck. Jesus. She must be fun in bed. I grinned. “You won’t hurt me.” “And why not?” “Because we’re friends.” “You don’t know the meaning of the word!” she snapped. “You don’t care about me!” “I would kill for you,” I shot back, getting in her face. The incredulous look on her face, like she didn’t know if she should be touched or laughing, mimicked exactly what was happening in my head right now. Yes. It kind of just came out, but I thought it was true. At one time, I would’ve killed for Michael, Kai, and Will. I might still. But I’d definitely kill for Erika and Banks. They may not like me a whole lot, but they understood me.

And then I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out the flash drive with the information Alex had retrieved. The proof I said I would get in exchange for the information on Winter’s father Rika got for me. She looked at me, realization crossing her eyes and all the anger leaving her face as she took it from my hand. Getting off her, I sat down next to her. “There’s more coming. Gimme a few days.” “It’s bad?” she asked, turning her head to look at me. “It’s exactly what I told you last year,” I said. “I told you I don’t lie. Evans Crist—and my father—had yours killed.”

“Your father was involved?” Rika asked. “Why yours?” It was a good question, and one I wasn’t sure how to answer yet. It was obvious why Evans wanted to get rid of Schraeder Fane. They were friends, and Evans had power of attorney over his friend’s estate in case anything happened. And Evans saw his chance. He wanted to marry Rika off to his son Trevor when she grew up, so the Fane fortune would be theirs. He knew Schraeder had no plans to allow his daughter to marry too young, though, and he knew Rika’s mother was much more pliable. As for my father helping, I had no idea why. He wasn’t getting anything out of it. Maybe just a favor? “I don’t know that yet,” I told her. She sat up, and I watched her stare at the drive as she fingered the scar on her neck. The one she got when she was thirteen in the car accident that killed her father because his brakes had been cut. Gabriel and Evans didn’t expect her to be in the car that day, but thank goodness she lived. Because I needed her and we had shit to do.

“Challenges find us so we can become who we’re meant to be,” she told me. “God has taken you on an exciting new path. Trust his judgment and see where it leads.” What the hell? “I bought a first-class ticket,” I told her. “I’m not taking the bus.” And I spun around, heading back down the stairwell. People were priceless. The things we told ourselves to justify giving up and falling in line like we had to accept anything less than what we wanted. Like fighting for your dream was a bad thing.

“Winter…” he groaned, pulling back. “I don’t want to…” I picked up pace, and he grabbed my ass, helping me move. “Don’t want to what?” I gasped out. “Make you dirty.” I slowed, touching his mouth with mine and kissing him softly. Why would he think that? “You won’t.” I shook my head, touching his face. “We won’t go all the way. We’ll just play.” He breathed out a laugh. I kissed him, and he dug his fingers in again, making my body explode and every inch of skin come alive. God, I loved it when he did that.

I startled, taking a moment to register he had friends with him. I threaded my fingers into his hair, going for his mouth again. Don’t leave. “Dude!” the guy barked again. “Girls your own age, right out here! What the fuck?” A breathy laugh rumbled from his chest. “I don’t think I can wait for her to be legal, man,” he whispered to his friend but only loud enough for me to hear. I nibbled his mouth, playing. “Sixteen is the legal age of consent in thirty-three states,” I teased. “Just not ours. It’s a technicality.” “Researched it, have you?”

I brushed across raised pieces of skin under his arms, and paused, noticing they reminded me of what I’d felt under his hair two years ago. I rubbed over them with my thumb several times.

“So…” I said, changing the subject. “You have friends.” It was kind of weird, confirming that he was a regular guy with an everyday life. And here I thought he was a vampire, rising only when the sun set. “Can I meet them?” I asked. “No.” “Why?” “Because they’re mine, not yours,” he warned, moving his mouth under my ear. “And you’re mine, not theirs.”

Emory Scott lived in this neighborhood. It was nice and clean but boasted none of the mansions the seaside area of town did. I actually preferred it here. Houses close together, neighbors…it would’ve been a nice place to grow up.

I put the car in Neutral and pulled up the e-brake. “What do you want me to do?” I looked over at her, her hands clasped in her lap, looking kind of nervous, and I smiled. Her mouth twisted, and I could see the apprehension all over her face. So scared of getting into trouble. But I was sorry. No one told her what she could and could not do. Except maybe me.

“How are you going to do that?” “I get anything I want,” I stated quite plainly. She laughed under her breath, probably thinking I was joking, and I went weak for a moment, the light in her eyes the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long time. But she shook her head. “No.” Jesus. Is this how she wanted it? Me taking care of shit that hurt her or pissed her off behind her back because she was too timid? Because that’s what would happen. I didn’t let things slide. “No one denies you,” I said. “But not like this,” she told me. “I won’t like how it feels if I don’t earn it honestly.” Yeah, I got it. I’d probably feel the same way about basketball. But… “She deserves to cry like she made you cry, at least,” I pointed out. “At the very least, a pout.” Telling Winter to give up dancing—encouraging anyone to not do what they wanted to do—was arrogant, presumptive, and smug. I wanted to shut her up. “I can probably have her fired,” I said. But Winter just laughed. I frowned. “Can I at least flood her yard and do donuts?” “Nothing destructive,” she ordered me. “Nothing mean. It’s got to be funny. And like…easy to clean up. You know? Something elegant.” “Something middle school,” I corrected her snidely. She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat again, smiling to herself.

“You’ve done this before?” Winter asked me. I held the door open, pulling her into the ladies’ bathroom and turning on the lights and my flashlight off. “My sister and I did it at our house and once again at the pizza parlor,” I told her. We were like fourteen, but I remember it being pretty funny. Oh, how times had changed and what made me smile.

“So you have a sister,” she inquired, continuing our conversation. “Yep. Not an only child,” I corrected her and her assumption about my lack of manners in sharing. “How old is she?” “A year younger than me.”

“And how old are you?” she asked, playing for information. “Older than you.” She laughed. “You’re not like sixty, are you?” Sixty? Did I feel sixty when she touched me? I stopped what I was doing and got down in her face. “Old enough to vote, not old enough to buy liquor,” I told her. “But I can still get liquor. If you want.” She just grinned and let it go. It was amazing she hadn’t figured it out yet, but I was careful to take off the rosary when I met her, and I always showered before I came. I thought it would be tough, not smoking to give myself away, but when I was around her, I just wanted to stay around her. My nic fit wasn’t worth leaving her until I was damn good and ready. I’d also never worn my mask, because then she would know I was a horseman. But if I told her I was nineteen, she’d figure out which class I graduated, and with my lurking and scaring her just like Damon did in the janitor’s closet and in the lunchroom, she’d eventually have to face the reality of who I really was, and for now… I liked that she liked me. I wasn’t trying to get her into bed. I wasn’t trying to prove how tough I was. I wasn’t angry or weighed down or tired of my stupid, fucking life. I was the only place I wanted to be. Everything was new to her. She was an escape. I could feel anything and feel things again for the first time in her words, her body’s reaction, and her face. It had been hard to stay away, but I knew I had to. The closer we got, the sooner I’d hurt her or she’d fi...

She swallowed, but still didn’t answer. Instead, she whispered, “What will you do to me if I’m not good?” Oh, Jesus. She sounded almost hopeful, and my cock swelled as I stared at her dark pink mouth, her parted lips, and I wanted to take them in mine and taste those fucking crazy words on her breath. What wouldn’t I do to her… “What will I do?” I repeated, brushing her mouth with mine as I carried her into the stall. “I’m going to throw you down…” I lowered us, leaning forward as she held onto me, breathless. “And give you…” Lower, lower. “A big…” Lower. “Fat…” Lower… “Spanking.” And I dropped her ass on the toilet seat, the blaring, banshee cry of the air horn ripping through the theater, splitting my ears. She screamed and scrambled off the toilet, grabbing onto me and bursting into laughter. “Oh, my God!” Her face shined, and she looked fucking delighted. I rolled my eyes, hoping no one heard that out on the street, so they wouldn’t find out my shame. She lowered herself to the seat again, the horn blasted its shrill cry, and she startled, breaking out in laughter again. I shook my head, pulling her off the seat. “You’re so gay.” “Tame compared to what you’re used to?” she teased. “Yes.” God, if the guys found out about this… I needed to get her home before she made me T.P. a house tonight. Maybe someday I’d take her on a real adventure.

Watching her move, twirl, bend, and dip, I followed her around the fountain as she pointed her toes and flexed the muscles in her legs. What would happen when she grew up? Who would have her? Where would she move? How would this all change? And all I knew in that moment was that I would fight for nothing more than to keep her like this. Innocent and happy and pure. Dancing in fountains.

Then she wrapped her arms around me and jumped into my hold, forcing me to circle her waist to catch her. She smiled at me, and I held her like that, refusing to put her down as we just stayed there. But then, tightening her hold, she slowly brought herself in and hugged me. My chest swelled, aching like shit, and everything washed over me at once. Her smell, her warmth, her hair and body… My lungs caved, and I didn’t know why, but it felt so fucking good. I wrapped my arms around her like a steel band, almost feeling relief at holding something—or someone—for the first time in forever. When was the last time this happened? I never gave fucking hugs, except when Banks needed to talk me down, and that was more like hanging on to something than… Than actual affection. Than someone actually liking me. I wasn’t weak. I didn’t need this shit. But God, she felt good.

When she found out who I was, she’d run. “Is it because I’m blind?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Is that why you hide yourself from me?” I glared over at her, resenting the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she tried so hard to hold back the little tremble of her chin. So sweet. So sad. “She was right, wasn’t she?” she mused, her tone with a strange resoluteness to it. “I may still want what I want, but I have no control over people who don’t want me to have it.” She was talking about that boss of hers who tried to tell her she couldn’t have everything she wanted. She wanted me, and while we could fight for what we wanted, people couldn’t always be won. Or, that was what she thought. She thought I was embarrassed by her. That I didn’t want to take her out or be with her during the light of day. Her face cracked as she smoothed her skirt over her thighs, and she folded her lips between her teeth to keep from crying, but the tears spilled anyway. I told you I was going to hurt you someday. She pulled her house keys from her bag, and removed one key from the ring, dropping it in the cupholder. “Just keep it,” she said. “I like thinking you might come back some day.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, probably worried I’d be caught. But I just shook my head, keeping my voice low in case her parents were still awake. “I don’t know, baby,” I told her. “Just don’t let me go, okay?” She broke down, more tears spilling from her eyes as she kissed and held me so tight.

“Something I Can Never Have” played, the shower ran, and it was like we were in the fountain as kids again. Everything was pure and sweet, just for that short amount of time, and this was how it was supposed to happen. It was always going to happen with us.

“Winter…” I barely whispered. I wished she knew my name. I wanted to hear her say it. Why did she feel so different than anyone else?

Wrapping my arm around her, I brought her body against mine, my groin rubbing between her legs, aching painfully as I kissed her forehead. “I want you to be my first,” she whispered. I closed my eyes. “I want it to be you,” she continued, “even if you’re going to disappear on me again, I want it to be you.” I dug my fingers into her young thighs, wanting to fuck her on this sink right now and kiss her until I couldn’t move anymore. I wanted her first time. “I…” Fuck, I needed to leave. “I…” “You. I want you.” She peppered my neck with kisses. “I love how the world looks when I’m with you. I want it to be you.”

“If you disappear, I want you to remember me.” Baby, I’ve never disappeared. I’ve always been here. This past summer when you were lying on the beach, I was there. When you went into the shop with your mom for a coffee, I was right there. She never knew how close I always was.

“Take your arms away,” I muttered over her lips. She hesitated, our chests rising and falling in shallow breaths, completely in sync. “I want to see,” I told her. Slowly, she let her arms fall away, and I felt her nipple and flesh brush my chest, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her beautiful face. I didn’t want her first time. I wanted every time. But I didn’t want to love her, either. I didn’t want it to feel like this. It couldn’t feel like this. When she found out I lied, she’d hate me. This had no future. It was just sex.

“I’m afraid to…” I couldn’t catch my breath all of a sudden. “I’m afraid I’ll make you—” “I’m not dirty,” she rushed, remembering what I said earlier in the car and knowing what I was trying to say. “You’re not making me dirty. There is no you. There’s no me. This is us. Just us.”

Her moans grew louder, and I put my mouth over hers, flicking her with my tongue and nibbling her lips. “Shhhh,” I teased. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” She smiled, biting her lip. “It feels so good.”

The wave spread through my entire body, and I stayed there, pretty fucking sure nothing compared to her. She was incredible. Why did that feel so different? I opened my eyes, seeing a little smile pull at her mouth as she reached out a finger, trying to feel what I left on her stomach. But I stopped her, pulling her hand away. “No, don’t touch it,” I said. “I’ll… Just wait.” I climbed off her. “Don’t move.” I left the shower, finding a washcloth and came back in, wetting it under the spray. Ringing out the water, I cleaned up the mess on her stomach, shaking my head at myself. What the fuck? I came on her? Jesus.

I tried not to look at her, but I couldn’t stop myself. She was wet and naked and beautiful, and the only pure thing I’d ever had. And, of course, I messed her all up. “Why are you smiling?” I asked, noticing the curl to her lips. “Shouldn’t I be smiling?” Yeah, okay. “This feels like the time I sat in a fountain once,” she told me. “The water spilled around us, shielding us. Hiding us. It was like a world within a world. One of my worst memories but also one of my best.” I smoothed my wet hair over my head over and over again, that day like yesterday in my memory. If only she knew the boy she was with in the fountain was the boy who just fucked her. Did she still hate him? “Us?” I prodded. I wanted to hear her talk about me. See what was still in her head. If time had healed anything. But she just stayed quiet, not elaborating any further.

“So was that red?” she asked, changing the subject. Red? Oh, right. The night of the motorcycle ride. She wanted to know what red felt like. I scoffed. “Maybe like orange.” “Orange?” She looked appalled. “Can it at least be purple?” I laughed under my breath, walking over to her and taking the wash cloth off of her. “Purple then.” I helped her to her feet, so we could get her clean, and she found her way under the water wetting her hair. “When can I see red?” she asked. And I planted my hand on the wall, holding her face with the other one, as I stared down at her and saw all the shit that was going to eventually hit the fucking fan. When you find out who just fucked you, you’re gonna see plenty of red then.