“You’re leaving me alone with these two all night?”
Alfie smiles. “Caden’s drugged out of his mind, and like I said, Fiz will be dead to the world once he detaches himself from Cade.”
We both look over to Fiz, who’s fussily moving Caden’s left arm over an inch, then back to the right, only to place it back to the left again.
I sigh. “You sure?”
Alfie turns back to me and cups my face. “I wouldn’t leave if I wasn’t.”
“Fine.”
“That’s my good girl.” His thumb brushes across my cheek, and he gives me a soft smile. “Thank you for tonight. Fiz told me what you did.”
“Did he tell you he put a gun to my head to make sure I did? Twice?”
He suppresses his smile. “He may have left that little detail out. But if that’s what made you do it, I’m glad he did. Caden will be fine, but… he could have not been as well. So, thank you.”
I shake my head. “It’s done now.”
“Listen.” He swallows, breaking our gaze. “Everything that happened yesterday…”
I cut him off. “Water under the bridge. Won’t happen again.” I don’t have the energy to listen to his reasons why he won’t ever kiss me. He gives me a sad look but nods. “Now, get going, and take that creep with you.”
Alfie gives me one more look of gratitude, then ushers a fussing Fiz out the room.
I stare at Caden from the foot of the bed for a long time. He’s so still, but his chest is lifting and dropping in a slow, steady rhythm so I know he’s good. Nothing like the short, shallow pants earlier.
What if I’ve just saved this man’s life so he can continue making my own hell? Surely, this must change things now. Alittle kindness in return for his fucking life. At least for the next few days until I win the bet and he lets me go freely.
I stalk over to my patch of floor that’s got my blankets and pillow and settle down. I lay staring at the ceiling for a while, replaying the night’s events and all possible scenarios. How many of them could have led to Caden’s death. Or mine. But we’re both still alive. We both made it through another day of this travesty of a life.
This man has taken so much from me already. Has turned my life upside down and scrunched and contorted it until the drops of my humanity have dripped out of my shell. I was willing to let him die. At first, when I saw him, I wanted him to bleed out. I wanted him gone. How fucked-up is that?
He does something to me that makes any sense of logic and sensibility dissolve. I want him to hurt. I can’t lie and say I didn’t get a kick out of seeing him weak, no matter how brief. What will he do when he recovers? Will he hurt me again? What if this changes nothing?
I lift up to peek over the edge of the bed, seeing his still silhouette. I’m seeing it again. A Caden who isn’t possessed by hurting others and feeding off people’s fear. Just like Fiz. There’s a modicum of human beings in there somewhere. When they’re not torturing and bullying.
I get up onto my knees and lean on the edge of the mattress, studying him. Then I find myself pulling back the duvet. He’s still only in his jogging bottoms, the bandage that’s been placed over the stitches stark against his already pale skin. All those tattoos. If the stories are true, if there’s one for every murder, this guy rivals John Wayne Gacy and Ted Bundy combined.
The dreamcatcher, the crow, the grim reaper. The death tarot cards. They all tell stories. None of which I know. I don’t really know anything about this man. Not really. Partly because I neverwanted to, but also partly because if I ever asked, he probably wouldn’t tell me anyway.
I push up onto the bed and perch, drinking him in. He’s really not bad looking when he’s not scowling. Looking at him now, all limp and skinny and weak, you wouldn’t think he harbours so much strength in those lean muscles. I study the smooth lines of them in their relaxed state. His skin feels soft, apart from the callouses on his hands.
I stroke up a forearm, tracing the outlines of a scythe tattoo, no reaper attached to this one. His arm twitches – I must be tickling him.
He held me down on this bed. He pinned me down, choked me, slapped me, assaulted me. And I got wet from it. For the first time, it turned me on. It wasn’t in the sting of the slap, or the squeeze of my jugular. It was in the glimpse of lust in the man’s eyes. Like he was turned on too. I’d never seen it before. I’d only ever seen malicious intent, the objective to hurt and not pleasure. To take and not give. Degrade and not care. But it was there. I sensed the want in him. It was visceral and faint, but it was there, dancing in the dark green of his eyes as he loomed over me – the desire for me. I turned him on. And that turned me on. I felt the satisfaction of feeling wanted, desired,attractive, despite my current appearance. I obviously put it down to him being deprived of a woman for a month, but it was still there, directed at me.
And in the sushi bar. I can’t even begin to figure that one out. How contrasted his words were to his actions. Telling me how much he’d hurt me while touching me like I was made of cracked glass that he was desperate to preserve. He confuses me more than anyone I’ve ever met.
I’m beside him now, kneeling next to his stomach, watching the steady rhythm of his bare chest. He took from me, and all I’ve done is given to him. I gave him another chance at life, forcrying out loud. Don’t I deserve to take a little something? He’s made it clear he has no intention of fucking me. Where else am I going to get it? I’ll die before I let Fiz touch me again, and Alfie only sees me as a little broken doll. A Lego model he needs to put together.
My hand strokes down his stomach, over the ridges of his sharply cut abs. Over the line of black hair that leads from his belly button to the waistband of his trousers. His stomach dips from another tickle, but he doesn’t start. Drugged up. Basically comatose.
I’ve never had pleasure off my own free will. Never been willing for it. Whatever encounters I have had have been – a shiver shoots down my spine. They’ve all just taken, stolen, hurt. I deserve a little treat for saving this man’s life, right?
I nudge his trousers down gingerly. His slimness benefiting my weakness. It’s easy to slide his loose trousers from under him and just down enough to reveal him.
My jaw drops.
