You’re disgusting.
My eyes slowly open, but the memories don’t vanish.
They glare, snarl, and sink their sharp claws into the tender flesh of my consciousness.
Why are they coming right now? I’m over that part of me, have completely erased it and found myself a new beginning.
At least, I hope so.
An old wooden ceiling materializes above me and I attempt to move.
One problem: I can’t.
My muscles are slack and I have no control over them. It’s then I realize that I haven’t completely opened my eyes and only a slit allows me to catch a glimpse of the ceiling.
A sharp sting of nerves explodes all over my limbs, and my brain revs to full capacity.
I know this feeling too well. The muted panic, the distorted consciousness, and the invisible black hands of panic squeezing my heart and squashing my chest bones.
That’s exactly what happened when I was caught in a trap, had to feel every sting of its sharp edges, and inhale every polluted breath, but I couldn’t escape.
I couldn’t move.
I wanted to, I really did, and I fought and thrashed. I kicked, screamed, and wailed.
But it all happened in my head.
The scene repeats in tiny bursts of black.
Black.
Black.
And more damn black.
I try to regulate my breathing, but I have no control over that either. My inhales and exhales erupt in a mixture of choppy sounds.
This isn’t the first time sleep paralysis has found refuge inside me. This out-of-body experience is even more frequent after those gruesome nightmares.
The more I fight the heavy weight on my chest, the black hands squeezing the life out of me, the more I’ll drive myself into panic mode, so I force myself to remain still.
To let it pass.
It will eventually. No matter how scary it is or how much I want to cry, it’ll eventually disappear.
Little by little, a dull ache explodes all over my skin, falling in sync with my irregular intake of air. Then, something warm and soothing snakes over the pillowy skin between my legs.
A cloth, a towel, or a mouth.
A moan slips from my lips as I attempt to stimulate my muscles but fail miserably.
My fingers are slack on the soft surface beneath me. My chest heaves due to the demon that’s perching over me, scraping at the sensitive flesh of my heart, and my head is a jumbled mess.
But my pussy? That doesn’t feel like part of my physical being. Or more like, the sensations running through it are separate.
It bursts with comforting energy. I focus on it, and my heart chases away the ghost of the black hands as it thunders back to life. My limbs gradually loosen and so does my brain capacity.
Just like that, events slam back in. The mask. The chase. The haunted property. Being taken on the deck. The blood. The knife.
Everything.
My chest quakes and I moan softly as the pleasure washes over me, slowly but surely untying the knot in my muscles.
His teeth nibble on my most intimate part and I realize it’s definitely his mouth, not a cloth or a towel.
Did Jeremy go down on me while I was out of it?
This is so sick.
Or it’s supposed to be, because the thought that he took me again, not caring whether I was awake or not, is kind of hot.
Not that I would admit it out loud.
God, I’m so ashamed of how much I loved my first time. I’ve known I had abnormal tendencies since I was sixteen, but I always thought they’d remain tucked in the dark corners of my heart as inaccessible fantasies.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d grow enough courage to act on them.
So the fact that I not only agreed to Jeremy’s terms, but also allowed his beast to fuck me raw surpassed all my expectations and decimated them into smithereens.
And wow.
Since when do I even say the word ‘fuck,’ even in my head?
This man has been in my life for a short amount of time, but he’s already corrupting me. He’s making me wish and think of things that should’ve never seen the light of day.
My attempts to fully open my eyes fail again, or maybe I’m just too tired to do it, so I don’t force it and try to focus on my environment instead.
His mouth has disappeared from my pussy, triggering a cold shiver and a map of goosebumps.
My body is covered with something, and I’m probably lying on a mattress.
Maybe he brought me back to the cottage. I was somewhat aware of that when he carried me in his arms earlier.
Everything after that, however, is a blur. I definitely fell asleep if I was able to have that nightmare about my supposedly finished past.
I can feel Jeremy’s presence beside me. It’s impossible to ignore the suffocating intensity radiating off him.
It’s how I sensed him following me all those weeks ago. And since it’s otherworldly, it can be felt by his absence, too, which is why I’ve been inexplicably empty, walking around with my attention scattered everywhere in case he showed up.
Right now, I don’t only feel him, but I also smell him, wood and leather, and I sense the warmth emitting from him. It’s weird to associate warmth with someone like Jeremy, but he is. Warm. At least, his body is hot-blooded.
His personality, however, is ice-cold.
Not to mention deviant.
He has the type of sexually deviant behavior that serial killers possess.
It’s abnormal, dangerous, and might lead him down a destructive path.
What does that make me if I enjoy it?
My question remains hanging in the dark as he appears in the slit of my eyes, dressed all in black like a fallen angel, but I don’t see the entirety of him.
It’s mere glimpses of his chest, hints of the tattoos cording along his muscles, and his hands.
The large, veiny, and destructive hands that he touched, probed, and owned me with.
Jeremy pulls the sheet from my chest and my nipples puff and tighten at the friction from the fabric.
I can feel his raw gaze on me and the nefarious undertone that holds no other purpose than to devour me.
Only Jeremy would be able to make someone uncomfortable in their own skin with a mere glance.
The tip of his finger presses on my perky nipple and the cut from earlier burns, but Jeremy doesn’t stop.
I doubt he even knows how to at this point. Which is bizarre, considering he’s the most self-controlled person I know.
He squeezes the bud until I’m squirming, then he glides that same finger to my neck, to the assaulted, bruised spot he bit on, and presses again.
My lips part as soft moans spill out of my throat. The sound only invites him to use more force, as if my pain is his pleasure.
As if he enjoys driving me to the edge with his wicked touch and evil hands.
“So fucking breakable, Lisichka. I love how sensitive you are,” he muses, tone slightly amicable.
I want to drown in it.
I want him to speak to me in that tone forever. The satiated one. While the beastly version from earlier exceeded my fantasies, this is the version I prefer right now.
The caring one.
Well, caring might be an overstatement, but he at least doesn’t sound like he hates me.
Or is annoyed with me.
He sounds like he wants me for me. Not for any other reason than for me being myself.
His touch heightens in intensity, pinching, compressing, squeezing. “You have no idea how much I want to eat you up, bleed your porcelain skin and swallow you whole.”
The rich timbre of his voice sneaks beneath my flesh, drawing out the demented part of me I’ve been keeping under wraps for years.
“I crave your innocence, your fear, and your pain.” He spreads his fingers across the skin of my throat. “I’ve been fantasizing about bruising and marking this skin while you shattered around my cock and screamed and whimpered because it was too much. But here’s the twist. You love it when it gets too much.”
My lips twitch, but no words come out.
I’m caught in a trance by his crude descriptions and unapologetic view.
“I could tell you do. Your green eyes become the color of the forest at night, all dark and needy with dangerous lust. You fought me, but it wasn’t so you could push me away. It was to drag out the beast you saw in me. You hunger for that beast, don’t you, Lisichka?”
His commanding hand hovers over the mark on my neck before he envelops it whole. “That beast hungers for you, too. That’s why I couldn’t control it earlier or control me. I fucked you like an animal because I felt like one. I wanted to overpower and claim you. To bruise, bite, choke, and mark this translucent skin. My blood boiled and my beast yearned for it, which is why I didn’t use a condom. I needed to feel your blood coating my cock as I claimed your innocence. And I’ve never fucked without a condom before. That’s a first for both of us.”
My skin bursts into hot lava of overwhelming sensations at his hypnotic words, at my reaction to said words.
At the need for more.
His thumb toys with the cut on my nipple. “If you can hear me, wake up. I’m not done with you.”
He’s not?
A thrill of suppressed emotions rises to the surface and fills me with inexplicable determination.
“I’ll fuck you again, Cecily,” he announces with authoritative firmness. “I’ll take your cunt over and over until there’s nothing left for that motherfucker Landon.”
I shake my head—or try to. I’m not sure if it’s visible as I mutter, “Lan…” is the last thing on my mind right now.
But the words get stuck on my numb tongue.
Silence stakes claim around me, but it’s not the calm type.
Tension grows thick and heavy with every moment. And then the hand that was torturing and sending waves of pleasure through me squeezes my throat.
The motion is so sudden and harsh that my whole body jerks. I reach up out of instinct to loosen his grip, but he doesn’t budge.
My air is stolen, and my head swims in chaos as my lungs burn.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
Then just like that, the deathly grip disappears as suddenly as it appeared.
And so does Jeremy’s presence.
It vanishes in a fog of smoke.
It’s been three days since the cottage.
Three days of me questioning if maybe something is wrong with me.
Not only because I enjoyed what happened on the deck a bit too much and fell into every bit of the depravity Jeremy offered, but also because I’ve been on edge since.
After he nearly choked me to death—and I’m sure he did, considering the angry red marks I found around my neck when I woke up—he disappeared.
Back then, I was disoriented, not sure what was real and what was a hallucination. When I was lucid enough, I found myself lying on a sofa in front of that cozy fire in the cottage. A pair of men’s sweatpants and a hoodie were folded on the coffee table. There was also a first aid kit and some painkillers.
But there was no sign of Jeremy.
My chest still hurts thinking about how he disappeared into the night without a word. Not even a note or a text.
And I hate those emotions.
I, of all people, should know that Jeremy and I aren’t supposed to be anything.
It’s not like he was courting me for a relationship or offering me some form of a fairy tale. It was a simple arrangement to satisfy both our needs, and I have no right to feel so hurt about it.
Besides, I don’t even like Jeremy.
Behind the beautiful façade lurks a devil with a taste for blood.
Literally.
The cut on my nipple has been healing, but the one on my neck is still purple and angry, and I have to wear turtleneck tops to hide it.
The fact remains, I’ve now satisfied my curiosity and we can both move on with our lives, right?
Wrong.
I can’t help feeling that something went awry in the whole situation. Why would he have wiped me clean, massaged my sore pussy, and touched me so tenderly just so he’d nearly choke me to death after?
Because he’s dangerous and you should stay away from him, is what my mind has been telling me.
But here’s the thing—Jeremy isn’t impulsive. I know he plots things to a fault, has a methodical character, and wouldn’t have turned murderous on me just because it was on the spur of the moment.
So it doesn’t make sense for him to do that out of the blue. Especially after the way he spoke to me, provoked my darkest parts, and said he wasn’t done with me.
That one was a blatant lie.
The day after, I pretended nothing happened.
The second day, I went through his Instagram, developing unhealthy habits.
The third day, I sent him a text.
Did you take one of my mangas when you came into my room?
It was an excuse, and yes, he did take one from my boys’ love collection, and I was too embarrassed to ask for it back in the beginning.
Embarrassment was the last thing I could think of the last couple of days, though, which is why I sent that text.
Jeremy ignored me.
And I refuse to put a name on the feeling that flooded my system afterward.
Turns out, he was actually done with me, and now, I should get over it and move on.
I tuck a drunk Ava into bed after listening to her mumble everything and nothing, and once I’m sure she’s asleep, I leave and close her door. Then I cover Glyn with a blanket since she’s fallen asleep in the living room sofa. I go to check on Annika, but I recall that she’s spending the night at her brother’s mansion.
The dull ache from earlier comes back at the mere thought of him, but I ignore it and slip into my room.
I don’t want to sleep. The thought of black invisible hands, a heavy weight on my chest, and gruesome nightmares has made me terrified of closing my eyes.
Instead, I opt to study.
After fifteen minutes, I’m zoning out. This occurrence has been so frequent that it’s starting to worry me.
Lately, sleep paralysis and zoning out have become the bane of my existence. They’ve always been there, but I could cope, pretend they weren’t affecting my life.
Not anymore.
The other day, Ava said she was worried about me. Glyn, too. But I managed to wave them off.
I gently tap my cheeks and focus back on my book.
My phone vibrates on the table and I snatch it, my heart thundering back to life.
God, why am I like this?
Why do I have to have this reaction every time anyone texts me?
The name that shows on the screen isn’t the one I was waiting for, though. My shoulders hunch as I open the message.
Landon: Don’t you love it when it burns? Thanks for your services, Cecy.
My fingers shake as I open the video attached to the text. The scene of a burning mansion materializes in front of me.
Not just any mansion. The Heathens’.
The video was taken from an opposite angle, zoomed in to show students and firefighters running and trying to put the fire under control.
My phone falls to the table and I jump, grab it back, and call Landon. He picks up after two rings.
“Isn’t it exquisite?” His voice is eternally calm, a bit sadistic, and lacks a sliver of emotion.
“What have you done?” I whisper in a quivering voice.
“Me? I didn’t do anything aside from maybe selling inside intel about the Heathens’ compound to the Serpents and suggesting they start fireworks. Didn’t think they’d listen, but they’re vicious creatures, and their type love surprise attacks. If they eat each other, guess who comes out on top?”
I sway, both at the information he’s given me and at his apathetic manner of speech. I clutch the edge of the table for balance, sounding a lot calmer than I feel. “When you asked me to get information about the Heathens’ mansion layout, you said it was a negotiating chip and a defensive barrier in case they attacked you first. I didn’t want you, Bran, Remi, Creigh, or Eli hurt, which is why I agreed to the plan. You didn’t say anything about selling that intel to the Serpents.”
“Oh? I must’ve forgotten.”
“How could you do this?” I ask, incredulous. “Someone could get hurt!”
“Sacrifices need to be made for the greater good.”
My lips part and I hang up. There’s no talking any sense into him. I’ve always known Landon was unhinged, but I didn’t realize it was the manic, narcissistic type of unhinged until now.
He’s ready to sacrifice people for his own good and use me to do it.
My limbs won’t stop shaking as I pace the length of the room while dialing Anni.
“Hi, this is Annika. Leave a message and I’ll call you back ASAP.”
I hang up and tap on Jeremy’s contact with an unsteady finger.
It goes straight to voicemail, too.
I don’t think about it as I grab my keys and sprint out of the flat. During the drive, I keep calling both of them, but I get no reply.
When I arrive at the Heathens’ mansion gate, I find it closed.
A few TKU students linger outside, probably having heard about the fire, but from this distance, it’s nearly impossible to see anything.
I step out of the car and push through the crowd until I reach the gate. The smell of soot and smoke lingers in the air, but other than that, there’s no sign of the fire.
They must’ve put it out. Phew. That’s good.
A burly guard with a visible machine gun stands behind the gate and glares at me the moment I get too close.
“Step back,” he orders with a Russian accent and a harsh tone.
“I’m Annika’s friend. Can you please let me go see her?”
“No.”
“I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“She is. Now, step back.”
I release a breath. At least Anni is fine.
“How…how about everyone else?” I ask, telling myself it’s only to make sure Killian is also all right.
Glyn won’t be able to survive if something happens to her new-ish boyfriend. That’s it.
That’s all.
“Everyone except for Jeremy is okay.”
My heartbeat spikes up and I fist my hand by my side to prevent it from trembling.
“W-what happened to Jeremy?”
“That’s none of your concern. Leave before I make you.”
I grab the metal of the gate. “Tell me what happened to Jeremy.”
If he’s hurt because of what I’ve done, if something has happened to him due to my recklessness, I’ll never forgive myself.
The guard advances, probably to make good on his promise, when a leggy blonde breezes past me. She smells of an exotic perfume and looks to be straight off of a fashion runway with her low-cut dress, hourglass shape, and red lips.
Upon seeing her, the guard abandons his plan to dismantle me and opens the side gate for her.
“Where did you guys put Jeremy?” she asks in an American accent.
She’s here for Jeremy, too.
But unlike me, she obviously has access, because the guard’s tone changes to one of respect as he speaks, “Please go inside and they’ll direct you to where he rests, miss.”
She stops at the threshold and throws a glance at me. “And she is?”
“Miss Annika’s friend,” the guard replies.
Her look becomes one of distaste. “That midget always took pity on stray animals.”
“If you have something to tell me, say it out loud.” I speak calmly, clearly, despite the shaking in my insides or the cancerous thoughts plaguing my mind.
“Get the stray animal off the property,” she orders the guard, then storms inside.
When he steps forward, I back off. I don’t leave, though.
“If you’ll just let me know how Jeremy is doing, I’ll go.”
He lifts his gun, but another man appears behind him and taps his shoulder.
The newcomer looks no older than a student. He has white-blond hair, a square face, and a calm expression. And he looks familiar somehow.
Upon his tap, the guard at the front makes way for him.
“My name is Ilya and I’m Jeremy’s senior guard,” the blond tells me, and it’s then I notice that his clothes are full of soot.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly. “Is Jeremy okay?”
“No. He inhaled too much smoke and hurt his side during the escape attempt. He’s currently recuperating.”
My chest quakes and I physically jerk backward.
Oh, God.
What have I done?
