Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

“Do you know how envious I am? I only wish I had been there to reward you after. And then, I would’ve made sure you were never caught for it.”

“How are you not upset? I murdered someone. In cold blood.” “Baby, I’m only sorry you spent the last six years regretting it when you could’ve been rejoicing in it.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you to be happy,” she admits.

“I’m happy he’s dead, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about our situation,” I correct. “You’re in a lot of trouble, and it’s going to be difficult to get you out.”

“Enzo, I don’t expect you to save me.” “That’s because no one has ever found you worth saving.”

“They were wrong, baby. You are worth it.”

The bookshelf is a fucking door, and behind it is a spiraling stone staircase.

“Sawyer, get behind me. You were scared not two seconds ago.” She cuts a glare over her shoulder. “I’m too excited now. So, you get behind me. Being a man doesn’t make you special. Last time I checked, I’m the murderer, not you.” I raise my brows. “I’ll be happy to make it even, bella.”

She rolls her eyes, muttering “Men” derisively as she forges ahead. The corner of my lip curls, and I snatch the extra flashlight from her grip that she forgot to hand over, letting her go ahead.

He stalks toward me, halting the protests on my tongue by hooking his fingers in my teeth and bringing me toward him. Then, he switches his hold to the back of my neck, holding me hostage as he captures my lips between his. It’s soul-crushing, the way he kisses me. It feels like love, but even that seems so colorless when my entire being feels vibrant beneath his touch.

Whoever created the word goodbye never knew loss.

over my bottom lip. “I love you,” he murmurs, which makes me angry because that sounds more like an omen than a profession of love. “I love you, too, but can you not say that right now? It’s concerning.”

Kacey moves behind me, and an alarm blares in my head the moment she is out of my peripheral vision. I shift toward her, watching her slowly drift toward the steps.

“Stay up here,” I tell her. I don’t want her to follow Enzo. Something tells me that if she came up behind him unexpectedly, it could be lethal. There’s something off about her. Obviously, there’s something off about her. She’s been trapped in this place for her entire life. Her mouth is fucking sewn shut.

There’s an ocean of violence in my bones, but I need to play this smart.

“Is that smoke?” Sawyer asks, crinkling her nose as I load the bullets, pocketing extra in my shorts.

“Yeah. He had me in the cellar. I had to get creative to get out.” She wrinkles her nose. “Creative is one way to put it.”

I kiss her forehead, purely because I need to touch her, and then raise the shotgun, sucking in a deep breath before slowly making my way down the steps.

Love is funny that way. It persists even when you’ve done everything in your power to banish it. It demands its own voice and refuses to be a slave to anyone but its own desires. And despite the power of it, those selfish desires are what make love so weak.

When he reaches me, he crouches and lowers his chin, catching my eyes. “You know what will happen once we do.” My bottom lip trembles. “The coast guard comes.” “The coast guard comes,” he repeats. “And they find a fugitive.”

“You’re not fucking leaving me, Sawyer. You’re not going to jail. You’re not going anywhere. You want to pay for your crimes? Good. I’m more than happy to make you pay. And if you think for one goddamn second that I’m letting you go, then I look forward to showing you just how trapped you are with me.

“There are many things you deserve, bella ladra, but the only prison you will be a captive in is one of my own making. If my love is a prison, so be it.”

floorboards has transferred to the depths of his eyes. Heat spreads throughout my bones, and I can only wonder if I’ve inhaled too much smoke, creating nothing more than a fever dream before I die. Is this my body’s way of telling me that I’m no longer amongst the living? My only response would be that I’ve never felt more alive.

“The day you stole from me was the best day of my life,” he whispers against my lips. “Because then you became my life, and I don’t want it back. I won’t fucking take it.”

“What are we supposed to do?” I ask, my voice still hoarse. “We can go to a different country that won’t turn me in to the authorities. But I could never ask that of you. Not with your whole life and career here.”

“I would lie for you as easily as I would kill for you. If you getting the best of me requires the world getting the worst of me, you will want for nothing in life, bella ladra.”

Death—cancer—it all tastes like shit.

There’s no doubt Enzo is worth loving, and though it terrifies me, I’m no longer willing to run away from it. He stops before the front door, turning to me fully, his eyes glinting in the sunlight. “What?” I snap, though it’s missing heat. A grin slides onto his face, and the hands banging within my chest freeze. My heart and I are paralyzed by that simple action, which is honestly annoying. “You know I forgive you, right?” he asks. I sniff. “I don’t think you’ve ever said the words, but yes.”

“I forgive you, bella. And now I’m going to need you to forgive yourself. Can you do that for me, baby?” I melt. Just that easily.

“Good, now let’s go take a hot shower with actual water pressure, and then we’re ordering takeout from wherever you want.”

“I don’t think you ever told me why you love sharks so much.”

“I suppose at first it was because I wanted to be like one. They are some of the fiercest creatures in the ocean—at least that we know of. And growing up, I always felt helpless. Like someone else was in the driver’s seat, and I had no control over where I was going. They embodied power and freedom. It was everything I strived for. “As I grew older, it evolved from fascination to near obsession. I can’t explain what exactly it is, but they’ve always just made me happy. The ocean makes me happy.”

“Do you ever get worried that they’ll hurt you?”

“I always get into the water with the understanding that I’m no longer on the top of the food chain. I respect them, and most times, they respect me. But it’d be stupid to think they’re not fully capable of ending my life.”

“Well, you better get in the water with the understanding that you have someone to come home to also,”

“Look at me,” he murmurs softly, grabbing my wrist. “Don’t run.”

“You don’t ever have to worry about that. I’ll sooner pry open the jaws of a shark if it means I’ll be coming home to you.”

Enzo doesn’t kiss—he devours, just like the beasts he swims alongside.

“We’ve had a long month, amore mio. Let’s get some food in your stomach and relax, yeah?” “I have a really bad joke about putting something else in my stomach, but let’s not go there.” Just as the words slip from my tongue, my eyes widen. “Wow, I so meant your dick, but that sounded even worse out loud.”

“You don’t want babies?” he questions, turning off the water, then handing me a towel. Maybe it’s the accent, but something about the way he asked that is criminal.

“Hell no,” I say, wiping the water off my face before wringing out my hair.

“Okay, maybe.” Both dimples are on full display as he stares at me from beneath hooded eyes. “All it takes is the tip, bella.”

“You’ve been gone near a goddamn month, and I get one phone call to go get a hippie van, and then nothing?” “My phone is currently at the bottom of the ocean,” is my response. “And the van was more important at the time.”

“You came back with a girlfriend, too? Where the actual fuck have you been?”

“You know you’ll be walking out of there looking like a sucked-on raisin, right?”

“And while I’m ecstatic that you finally found someone willing to put their mouth on any part of you, it’s not a cute look.” “The fuck are you even saying?” I bark with annoyance. He acts like I’m supposed to know what the fuck a sucked-on raisin is.

“A wet, shriveled raisin. You’re going to look like a wet, shriveled raisin. Not cute.”

Troy is the only person that will ever know the truth. He knows I’d wrap him in chum and throw him in the water with a shark if he ever told a soul, and considering I murdered Sylvester, he has no reason not to believe me.

“Ti mangerei.” “What does that mean?” I whisper. “It means that I could eat you,” he rasps, nipping the side of my neck again.

I understand why he never let anyone have a taste of him. They would become addicted, and he’d never be able to free himself from their clutches.