Bating the psychopath—this feels like the beginning of one of those bad choices we discussed earlier.
Shimmying under a broken section of the chicken wire fencing, I run through the long weeds, happy to see the padlock on the entrance dangling unlocked. I’m not usually this impulsive; back home with Suzy, I would suggest we consult my cards before stepping into the old abandoned unit that looks like the serial killer’s hideout in some eighty’s teen horror flick.
You’ve committed to it now, might as well see what’s inside.
Creeping through a foyer that has seen better days, I can’t help but chuckle at the inspirational posters that slightly miss the mark—the staple‘Hang in there, baby’with the distraught teary-eyed kitten hangs in a broken frame behind the counter littered with crispy leaves and scrunched up newspapers. Venturing further down into the building, I step carefully, the trepidation at my earlier choice to throw caution to the wind behind me.
We’ve made our bed, Cara; let’s lie in it.
“Preferably with the sinfully handsome beast hot on our heels to keep us warm,” I whisper to no one as I push through a door that opens up into a long hallway.
On tiptoes, I peer into the porthole windows of doors that line the walls either side of me. I find a gym in disrepair—locked. I twist the handle of another door, looking through the glass down a set of stairs that lead to an Olympic-size swimming pool; even without the water, the cloying taste of chlorine hits the back of my throat as it permeates the wood and tickles my nose. Before I can peer into what door number three has to offer, movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention—for a second, I think Ezra has found me, but the empty hallway assures me the hunt is still very much in play. The swing doors in the distance sway again against their whining hinges, inviting me closer.
The Tannoy speakers above me crackle as a familiar song begins to play.Kill of the Nightby Gin Wigmore stirs memoriesfrom my first night here at Blackwood, and I realise the significance of Ezra playing it now. The reminder that he has been watching me from the moment I got here has my skin flushing, my nipples hardening, and my brain spiralling.
I stumble through the set of double doors at the end of the corridor, and a single overhead strip light buzzes to life, the others with shattered casings or missing their bulbs steeping every corner of the room in shadows.
As my eyes adjust to the light, I find the room is oddly reminiscent of the morgue I found in the basement of Blackwood—the one where I caught Lenora with the twins as she tested the limits of herpatient/employee etiquette.This one, however, doesn’t have all the bells and whistles of an adult film set. Polished steel cupboards wrap around the far end of the room with a matching table in the centre. The graffitied creme walls with chipped paint and the chequerboard flooring littered with leaves and mulch adds some personality to the otherwise sterile room. The familiar scent of lilies hangs in the air as a light breeze wafts in through the shattered window pane. The coating of dust on the various bottles on the shelf to my left and the dated calendar with the browning pages signals that no one has likely used this space in roughly six years.
I hear footsteps approaching out in the hallway and scramble to find a hiding spot, realising quickly I’m cornered in a room that wasn’t meant for this game. I crouch down behind the table and wait, my small even breaths echoing in my ears as he enters. The swaying doors slow to a stop, and then there’s nothing but silence. I peer around the edge of the table to an empty room, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. Rising from my hiding place, I figure Ezra gave up and went to search elsewhere. Disappointment claws at my insides; I’d followed his rule, I’d run, but it isn’t until now that I realise how desperate Iam to be caught. How much I want his punishments.How alive I feel when he has his intense gaze trained on me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CARA
“I’m a lot of things, Cara—patient isn't one of them,” he growls from behind me, chuckling darkly when I squeal as I jump two feet in the air.
I stumble back, my knees weak as he steps out of the shadows. He flicks his coin, catching it in his palm, and repeating the move, my gaze tracking it as it flies through the air. I’ve seen how that coin can sway his actions when he popped out Simon’s eyeball with very little effort, so I wonder what options he’s debating right now. He promised that if he found me, he’d punish me.
As though he can read the deepest depths of my mind, he begins, “This can go one of two ways. Either way, you’re getting fucked, Little Red, this just tells me how long I get to torture you before I let you come. Maybe…” A playful spark glitters in his eyes. Whatever he was about to say, he decided to keep to himself. The idea that strikes him clearly pleases him as his gaze rakes over every dip and curve of my body ardently.
“Maybe…?” I stumble with the simple word—not knowing if I really want to know my fate.
One swipe of his fingers inside me, and I fear I’ll be lost to the orgasm that has been lingering beneath the surface since I woke up this morning. The invisible chain link binds that have wrapped around my heart, tethering my soul to his, constrict in my chest. He flips his coin again and holds it in his fist as he approaches me. I sway on unsteady legs, my body desperate to be wrapped around him the closer he gets. He makes a point of keeping some space between us, reaching out and stroking my cheek with his thumb. My head dips to his touch, but all too soon, he rips it away.
He holds it up and turns the coin in his fingers, so I can get a look at both sides. “If it’s the sun and moon, I’ll make it quick, get your first release out of the way, and then play with you to my heart’s content. That would be the kindest outcome.”
“And if it’s the fallen angel?” I ask, finally finding my voice, knowing that the flip of his coin rests heavily on Ezra’s desire to use my body and less on the fate of a spin. Where I’m concerned, I don’t believe much with this man is left to chance.
“The fallen angel promises darkness and depravity. Unrelenting pleasure. How dark is too dark for you, Red?”
“I…I…” I struggle to form a response, my mouth dry as I stare up into his eyes that flicker with a twisted promise of things I don’t know whether I will be able to handle. But I know I can’t deny him, the pull between us too strong, too intoxicating, too enthralling. I watch with bated breath, my feet rooted to the spot, as he leisurely circles the metal bench to the other end of the room, his gaze never wavering as he seems to mentally note every minor shift in my expression, clearly amused as his grin dents his cheek with the cutest dimple.
“What if I told you that from the moment I met you, all I’ve wanted to do is claim you as mine? To imprint my mark in your skin for all to see, so any man who ever touches you will know who you belong to.” The remark is off the cuff, too relaxed tobe warranted as a threat, but I notice how he bristles at the notion of me lost to another man. The roiling anger that I see simmering beneath his surface as he runs his coin across his knuckles and massages the nape of his neck with the other hand makes me feel cherished, wanted, desired—in that way I know I never have before.
“Not that they would be alive long enough to ponder the thought. I don’t share my toys, Cara,” he adds pointedly, punctuating his last sentence so I know he means every word.
I wonder what Ezra would do to the men who came before him, the men who treated me like worthless trash. The ones who marked my body with bruises, wounds, and an invisible second skin—all the trauma they left behind after they used my body stitched together like a patchwork quilt that will never warm me, the weight of it tugging at my limbs like an anchor. Acting as a constant reminder of who I really am. I want to be the girl I see reflected back at me in Ezra’s eyes, to be the everything and more he believes I can be.
“Take off your clothes, sweetheart,” he orders, his back to me as a drawer whines on its runners as he yanks it open. I don’t move, but instead watch the ripple of his muscles as he dips and searches for something. When he finds what he’s looking for, he reaches up into the cupboard and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, uncorking it with his teeth.
He had this planned down to the second.
“Did I stutter? It wasn’t a suggestion, Red,” he addsas he inspects the capped scalpel he’s found, the dull light glinting off the steel handle, his other hand secured around the neck of the whiskey bottle as he tips his head back and swallows a mouthful.“The good stuff.”
My nipples could cut glass with how hard they are, my heartbeat picking up speed as it punches against my ribs. As I watch him set aside the bottle and inspect the tool with nimblefingers as he approaches me, the fight or flight impulse should be kicking in; instead, all I feel is the intense liquid gold rush of need coursing through my veins. Knowing I’m right where I want to be, I find the inner temptress this man so clearly adores.
He watches as I slowly unhook the buttons on my dress. “You like to tease me, don’t you sweetheart?”
