Incident
I’m in the master bedroom in seconds. Millie is fast asleep, just like I knew she’d be. She doesn’t even flinch when the damp cloth goes over her mouth and nose. She’ll wake up tomorrow none the wiser, if not a little disoriented, with a splitting headache.
Too easy.
Oh well.
One down, two to go.
Jeremy is going to be in for a shock when the state picks him up tomorrow after he returns from camp.
Greg’s snores shake the house, which is why I don’t bother to keep my steps silent as I trudge downstairs. He has absolutely no idea that I’m right behind him as he leans back in the recliner with his hands folded over his beer belly.
I loom over him, just gazing at him as if I were God looking at his creations. Damn, he’s so ugly I almost feel bad for Millie. There’s no way I’d survive if I had to see his face on top of me or willingly pop out a baby with his genetics. So, what I’m about to do is basically community service, something I, thankfully, didn’t have to do along with my sentence. Everyone should be thanking me for getting rid of him and his piece of shit son.
With that thought in mind, I slip behind him on the couch, wrap a belt—the one I’ve seen him use on my Bella—around his neck, slot it through the buckle, and pull.
From my vantage point, I can see his eyes snap open as he automatically reaches for his neck to wrestle away the item stopping his breathing. His face burns red under the artificial light from the TV. I leverage the angle of the couch and use my weight to keep him right where he is.
I’m so fucking glad I’ve been gymming. Maybe I should consider going back to prison so I can really focus on my fitness. That would mean I won’t have Bella, though, and that simply isn’t an option in my book.
He’s out within ten seconds, but I don’t let up until I hit twenty. I want him unconscious, not dead, not for what I have planned for him.
My grip on the belt loosens as I step in front of him. The only sound in the house comes from the commercials blaring on the TV while I drop my gaze to his stomach and groan silently. This is the part I was dreading.
With a heavy sigh, I grab his ankles and pull. No, “pull” isn’t the right word. Heave is more accurate. He lands on the floor with an unceremonious thump, and I drag him along the floor, then pause midway to stretch.
Okay, maybe I need to hit the gym more often, because I’m seriously struggling. The guy from earlier has nothing on Greg. The old man has to be at least two hundred and fifty pounds.
Inhaling sharply, I summon more energy for the home stretch. The momentary break from lugging him around is short-lived because I still have to get his big ass onto the stool.
I scrunch my nose and hold back bile when I lean down and basically bear hug him. The amount of body odor on this man is criminal. I’d kill him just for poor hygiene.
It takes me more tries than I care to admit just to get half his ass off of the ground and onto the chair. At this point, I’m more worried about blowing out my back than waking someone up from carrying around this asshole.
I get as much distance from him as I can once he’s secured on the seat. What’s tragic about this is that I can’t open the window to get rid of his stench. Maybe I could hose him down?
No. No time.
Springing into action, I lay all my tools out on the table, tie him up, and slap a healthy length of duct tape over his mouth. Then slap him in general, just for fun.
Marcus comes next. Again, I don’t bother keeping my steps silent as I storm up the steps. He’ll be far easier to deal with than his father.
Quietly, I open the door to find him shirtless in his bed.
Marcus might be strong, but he’s the type of skinny that you worry might fly away during the breeze. Back in the day, he used to be somewhat attractive—at least, that’s what the girls would say. I don’t see it; never really did, either. But I don’t know where his father’s genetics went because other than the big nose, they look nothing alike.
That was back in Marcus’s youth, at least. Poor posture, crooked teeth, and greasy hair with a topping of predator make up what he is today.
Like I said, community service.
I rinse and repeat the process with him by using one of his own belts to knock him out. Getting him down the stairs is easy. He’s so light I could probably throw him over my shoulder to make less noise. It’s just so much more satisfying seeing his head bob and his body roll around helplessly when I throw him down the stairs.
I’ve always wanted to do this.
It doesn’t take much to hang him from a beam while frantic noises sound from behind me. As if there’s some father-son magic going on, Marcus wakes up before I have a chance to tape his mouth shut.
He gapes at me like a fish while his dad screams under duct tape behind me. “Who—What—’
I slap duct tape over his mouth. “Missed me, asshole?”
I hum to their begging, taking my time to walk up to the dining table where my tools lay on full display. My fingers dance, pondering which instrument I want to use tonight. Hammer? Pliers? Saw? Knife? The options are endless.
Knife, I decide. Can’t beat the classics.
I push the blade into the tip of my finger without breaking my glove, glancing back at Marcus. I ignore Greg, who’s uselessly trying to get out of his restraints, desperately screaming until his face flushes in rage.
I remove Marcus’s tape. “Roman. You’re—you—’ He stumbles over his words. His attention darts to the knife in my hand, and the color drains from his skin. “You shouldn’t be out.”
I grin and cock my head to the side. “Shouldn’t I?”
Fuck yeah, I shouldn’t be. I don’t know how the hell Rico’s lawyer managed to shave half a year off my sentence, yet here we are.
He gulps, and the rise and fall of his chest becomes more obvious. “You still have three months.”
My brows hike up—not that he’d be able to see past the mask. I may have left the part about my freedom coming earlier than expected out of my letters. “And how would you know that?”
“The letters you—’ He shuts his mouth.
There it is. “Did Isabella share them with you?”
He doesn’t respond, but I know the answer is no. Bella wouldn’t share them with him—or anyone—unless someone held a gun to her head. I creep closer until the blade grazes his skin. He jerks away from the knife, only to swing right back to me. “Look, man—’ he stutters.
“What did you do with the letters?” I ask in a friendly tone, focusing my attention on the knife as I swirl it over his skin.
He squirms. “I don’t remember.”
I click my tongue. “Are you sure you want to lie to me, Marcus?”
“I swear, I—’
My hand clamps over his mouth while I dip the blade into him. Blood blossoms beautifully against his pale skin, despite his thrashing and pathetic attempts to get away. “Do I need to ask you again?”
He shakes his head and mumbles something. Greg continues his fruitless struggles to save himself and his son behind me. If I don’t wrap this up soon, they’re going to wake Bella.
“I’m going to move my hand, and you’re going to be a good little boy and not make a peep unless I tell you to. Isn’t that right?” I say as if I were speaking to a child.
He nods like a blubbering mess.
“Where?” The one word makes him shudder.
“Under my bed,” he whimpers as crimson drips from the wound on his stomach.
I stiffen. Excuse me? Is he saying that he took my letters away from her or that Bella never received them to begin with?
“Tell me, Marcus.” I speak as if I’m amenable enough to reason, like there may be a possibility he walks out of here alive. “What are the letters doing in your room? And I wouldn’t lie if I were you.” I wave the blood-stained knife in front of his face as a warning.
Tears well in his eyes while switching his attention between me and his somewhat unharmed father. “We, uh.” He takes a ragged breath. “We saw Isa got mail, and we, um.”
I don’t need to turn around to know that Greg is shaking his head. “Yes?” I graze the tip of the blade along his chest.
“We—we were going to throw them away, but we decided to keep them,” he says quickly.
I cut an inflamed glare at Marcus before turning my attention to Greg. “Is that true?”
When he doesn’t answer, I press the blade against Marcus’s chest, and he nods quickly.
My pulse pounds relentlessly in my ears. After all these years of thinking she threw me away or forgot about me… she never forgot about me; she never got my letters. I can’t help but laugh. She wasn’t ignoring me. She doesn’t hate me. She isn’t mad at me. She just had no idea where I was. Bella’s waiting for me.
The two men glance at each other while I continue laughing. The sound dies in my throat when I look at Greg, my eyes narrowing on the belt wrapped around his throat.
I left her unprotected, and she was hurt because I wasn’t there.
Because of them, she thought I left her.
I grit my teeth and rip off a piece of duct tape from the roll and slap it over Marcus’s mouth. “You two?” I chuckle, lacking any humor. “Oh, you two fucked up real bad.” They both start screaming when I tear Greg’s shirt open. “Do you know what you did?” The two men thrash and mumble as I grab the belt from around Greg’s neck, pulling my arm back and swinging down so the buckle comes down on his bare chest, splitting his skin in two. “You put your hands on her.” I bring the belt down again with an audible whip. “You kept her from me.” Again. “You hurt her.” Twice this time. “You treat her like a slave.” Three times. “You talk down to her.” Four. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
He sobs and says something behind his tape.
“I can’t hear you.” I cup the back of my ear. “Nothing? Alright.” I keep beating him with his belt, alternating between the buckle and the tail. “Does that feel nice, Gregory? Do you like the way your belt feels?”
He cries out in pain and fear as he shakes his head.
“You know what I think? I think you like it.” I turn to Marcus, saying to Greg over my shoulder, “I think your son might like it, too.” I laugh at the tears streaming down Greg’s reddened face. “Come on boys, the show is just getting started.”
They shouldn’t have touched Bella.
They shouldn’t have looked at her.
They shouldn’t have fucking breathed near her.
Marcus swings away from me, but there’s nothing he can do to get out of my range. There’s nothing anyone could do to stop me as I slice each and every one of Greg’s fingers and Marcus’s dick off, or as I buckle the belt around Greg’s neck. I step back and look to make sure that Marcus is watching as Greg—his father—dies, slowly losing oxygen.
“Don’t worry,” I say to Marcus with a shrug. “You’re next.”
He sobs as my knife pierces into him, leaving another trail of blood down his body. The sound of floorboards whining behind me rips me out of my blood-crazed haze, back stiffening in anticipation. I jolt back from Marcus and spin around with the knife raised and ready to attack.
Bella.
Dropping my arm and the knife to my side, I rip off my mask. Even with her hair standing at odd angles and her brown eyes puffy from sleep, she’s gorgeous. I move closer, wanting to feel her. Now I know she wasn’t trying to hurt me; she wasn’t trying to pretend I didn’t exist.
But she isn’t looking at me; she’s looking at them.
Is she admiring my handiwork? Is she happy they’ll never be able to come near her again—that I saved her?
“I’m sorry, Princess,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She looks at me for a fleeting second, instantly looking away, causing a pang to go through my chest. There’s not an ounce of surprise or happiness on her face, nothing that could suggest she’s even remotely glad to see me.
I step in front of Marcus’s hanging body, so she has no choice but to look at me. I want to know exactly what she’s thinking and why she looks like she’s wishing I weren’t here. Easing closer to her, I decide that I want—no, need—her to know I’m real, I’m here for her. I’m never going away again. First, her bottom lip trembles. Then, the tears well in her eyes, and a sob rips through her little body.
I would get shot in the chest again just to stop her tears.
She’s in my arms before I realize I’m moving. “No, no, shh. It’s okay. Don’t cry, alright? I’ve got you.” My girl is too beautiful to cry over those pieces of shit. It’s all over now. Red smears across her cheek from my thumb, and the sight of her covered in my favorite color makes me feel more deranged.
She shoves me. “Don’t touch me,” she pleads.
“You were always a heavy sleeper.” I chuckle even though it hurts. Bella missed me as much as I missed her—I know it. She’s only reacting like this because I’m a little dirty now. I mean, the number of times Bella has seen me covered in blood is well over double digits, so it’s nothing new, but the substance covers me more than usual.
She loves me, and she’s glad I’m back.
Marcus screams, ruining our moment. Her eyes snap away from the smile on my lips when I nudge the handle of the knife into her hand. “Would you like the honors, Princess?”
After everything that piece of shit did to her, she’s the one who should have been beating Greg with the belt he used on her, the one carving into Marcus until he bleeds out. It’s infuriating contemplating how much they might have done that I haven’t seen. I’ve watched as Bella barricades her bedroom door just to get changed, thinking, ‘What the fuck did they do to her to make her listen about the chair?’
She has every right to take from them when they’ve taken from her without asking. She deserves their blood and so much more. I did this for her.
Her vengeance.
Her liberation.
Her justice.
After this, she’ll know what freedom feels like. She’ll know what it means to never be alone again. We’ll be together. We can do this together.
Bella sniffles, looking anywhere but at me. “Where—Where’s Millie?”
That wasn’t the answer that I was hoping for, but I realize she has a soft spot for motherly figures, even if said figure is a bitch. “She’s okay.”
“What does ‘okay’ mean?” I reach for her, but she steps back, shaking her head from side to side, taking in the room. “What have you done?”
Not once have her almond-shaped brown eyes focused on mine. I just want her to look at me. Why won’t she look at me?
Wait. No. Why is she fighting me, resisting everything I’m doing—and have done—for her? I’ve spent every day of the past three years trying to get back to her. I thought she’d be happy to see me. She’s meant to be happy to see me.
“What have you done, Roman? What—what is this? What are you—I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”
Roman.
Roman. Roman. Roman.
That’s not my name, not to her. It sounds wrong on her tongue—feels wrong—like she’s talking about a stranger, not the person who hasn’t left her side in fourteen years. The very same person who has made sure she was warm and fed and never felt alone or afraid. The one who would do anything for her.
I try to hold her still and reason her with my stare, but she still won’t fucking look at me.
Just fucking look at me, Bella.
“Deep breaths, Bella. Don’t look, alright? Just focus on me.”
“No. No!” she screams. “You’re crazy. You’re fucking crazy.”
“I prefer the term ‘artist.’”
She’s shocked. I get it now: this is a lot for her to take in. I’ve kept this side of me hidden from her, so it’s only natural.
Bella blinks and leans back like she’s just been hit. “What is your fucking problem? Why are you here? You left, so you should stay gone.” Each word drips with malice.
I run my tongue over my teeth. I’m telling myself this is a completely normal reaction to have, and once all the bodies are out of sight, she’ll realize that it’s me: her Mickey. The love of her life.
“Go back to bed. I was hoping to finish up without disturbing you.” Another half-truth. I was hoping to kill them without her witnessing all the steps I took to get there. Only after I was done cleaning myself of the pigs’ blood would I wake her so we could drive into the night, pretending I hadn’t just killed her foster dad and brother or that I had “left” her for years.
Bella’s expression turns seething, and she finally looks at me. “Fuck you, Roman. I hate you.”
No, this is wrong.
This is all wrong.
This isn’t how any of this is meant to go.
Shocked. She’s just shocked.
Bella just needs a couple more minutes, and then she’ll run into my arms and ask me to take her away.
“You don’t mean that—’
“Leave. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you here. You’re a monster,” she hisses, not a single doubt in her voice.
I rear back, but I’m never going anywhere again, regardless of what she says. Cupping her cheeks in my hands, I wipe away her tears. “It’s me, Bella. It’s your Mickey.”
Say my name, Bella. Just say my name. I need to hear you say it.
She doesn’t say anything, keeping up her futile attempts at fighting me off, throwing weak punches and kicking her legs like she has every intention of injuring me. “I don’t know who you are anymore,” she growls.
“Bella—Bella, please. It’s me. Mickey. I’m back. I’m going to get you out of here.” My lungs contract, and it’s getting harder to breathe.
No, no, no. She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t mean it.
“You abandoned me!”
I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t.
Those fucking letters. If they gave her the letters like they should have, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. This is their fault. Marcus and Greg, the fucking pricks. I wish Greg was still alive so I could kill him all over again, bloodier this time. “I know. And I’m sorry, I—’
“Sorry,” Bella echoes breathily. “Sorry? You’re sorry? Sorry? You don’t get to be sorry! You don’t get to come here and act like everything is alright. Do you know what they did to me? You left me for dead, Roman. You’re a coward. A fucking coward!”
Bella, please. Bella, you have to understand. Bella, fuck—I can’t live without you, Bella.
My skin burns. My lungs burn. My heart burns. I didn’t want to leave her. She’s mine, and I’m hers; that’s all there is to it. Doesn’t she understand that I didn’t want to leave her, and all I’m doing right now is my apology to her for hurting her—us?
Her words sting more than the bullet did. When she cries and pushes me away, it’s like she’s taking a knife and twisting it right through my ribs and into my heart.
It’s like she doesn’t believe me.
It’s like she doesn’t want to believe me.
“I can’t believe I trusted you and gave you all of me. I regret ever laying eyes on you. I regret speaking to you. I regret ever meeting you.”
I feel sick to my fucking stomach. I was wrong. This wasn’t Greg’s or Marcus’s fault; this is my fault. I caused all of this. I’m the reason for her tears and the anguish in her eyes. Even though she doesn’t want me right now, I pull her into a hug. It’s nowhere near enough, but I’m not giving up on her.
“I hate you, Roman. I fucking hate you. You’re the worst thing to happen to me. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”
Bella doesn’t mean it. She can’t mean anything she’s spewing in her rage. We’ve been through too much together, and I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life convincing her that she doesn’t hate me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you. I’m back. There’s nothing else that will separate us now.” I mean every word. She has to know that. I never had another option but to follow her wherever she goes. Slowly, Bella calms, and I kiss her forehead. “Wait here. I’ll be a second.”
It kills me to leave her downstairs, even if it’s just for a minute. I was separated from her for too long, and all those years when we were kids living under two different roofs made me hungrier for her.
I run up the stairs and to the bedrooms to get everything I need, moving as fast as I can to get back to her. I’m not worried about leaving Marcus with her because if what she wants is to set him free, then so be it. I’ve marked him enough to make him regret the day he was born.
When I get back downstairs to find Marcus tied up and bloody, pride fills my chest. My baby girl is as murderous as me. She knows what will happen unless she steps in, and Bella’s permission to have my way with Marcus is all I need as I taunt him and destroy his skin before I take his life.
Pure adrenaline thrums through my veins as a crimson waterfall pours from his throat and splashes against my clothes, soaking the black fabric through until I feel the warm liquid on my skin. The sensations spur on my natural, animal instincts, and the smell of iron heavy in the air turns me into a savage monster. Maniacal laughter bubbles in my throat, and I want to let it out. My muscles itch with pent-up energy.
A shuddering breath sounds from behind me, and it’s as if my ears perk up in interest as my body becomes attuned to the prey in my midst. My heart thumps rapidly as I slowly turn toward her. My sweet Bella. Mine, all mine.
Our eyes meet, and electricity lights up between us, setting the primal beast clawing inside my chest on fire.
And like the perfect little prey, she runs.
An ear-to-ear smile creeps across my face. Tag. Oh, this ol’ game. How I’ve missed it. I’ve always loved a good hunt. But this chase sends a thrill through my taut body that I’ve never felt before. I know this catch will taste especially sweet.
Her fear permeates the air as I stalk her through the house. It’s the most intoxicating scent I’ve ever smelt. “Bella,” I sing when she rounds another corner, slipping and scrambling on the blood-slick floor like her life depends on it. My cock strains from the sight, imagining all the ways her smooth legs could wrap around me.
I keep a few paces behind her so she thinks she might actually get away. I can already picture the way her eyes will set aflame when I catch her, and the sound of her whimpers when I take what is mine.
My smart girl manages to get to the door before I close the distance between us, clicking my tongue as she tries to fight me. “Got you.”
I pull her against my body, wrapping my fingers around her slender throat, feeling it vibrate as she begs, “No, no! Let me go!”
A snarl rumbles through my bones as a match sparks inside my soul. Every cell in my body is telling me to mark her, lay claim to her, sink my teeth into her soft skin, and never let her go until she’s a willing victim in my trap.
Her pulse races against my fingertips, matching my own speeding heart. “You know better than to run from me. Predators love to hunt,” I whisper against her ear, relishing how a violent shudder racks through her body.
“Roman, please.”
I could come right now, just from the sound of her pleading. I want to find out all the ways I could make her cry out.
“God, I love it when you beg,” I groan, pulling her hips against mine so she understands exactly what she does to me. I can feel her soft ass through the thin material of her shorts, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to rip them off her and sink into her tight little cunt. “Do you realize how fucking much I missed you? I was going insane thinking about you.”
I scrape my teeth against her skin, licking and lapping because I can’t get enough of her. I feel like I haven’t eaten in three years, and she’s my first meal. How did I survive this long without her? No rehab could get me away from the hook she has on me.
My hand descends along the smooth skin of her stomach, pressing my aching cock against her tight ass. She shivers against me, and I almost groan into her neck. “You taste like every sinful thought I’ve ever had.”
Bella knows how to get out of this—she could scream for help, but she wants me as badly as I want her. I can smell her desire for me just as I can smell her fear.
Fuck.
I can’t do it anymore.
I can’t wait any longer.
I need to feel her.
Bella buckles when I dip my fingers inside her, and for a second, I think I’m going to finish in my jeans then and there. She claws at my arms like she’s begging for more, and I’m only too happy to provide.
“Just as I thought,” I rasp. “Fucking soaked.”
“Don’t! Let go of me, Roman,” she cries.
Never.
“Don’t let go of you?” I laugh sadistically. “Oh, that was my plan. You’re all mine now.”
She squirms, moaning when another finger slides into her. She can fight me all she wants, but she’s drenching my hands, squeezing me like she doesn’t want me to run away.
She wants me.
She wants me. She wants me. She wants me.
“Do you know I was thinking about you all that time away?” I lick her skin, curling my fingers inside her needy little pussy. I could die happy inside of her. “I was going crazy thinking another guy laid a hand on you. Do you know what that does to me? Thinking that someone else is touching what’s mine,” I snarl against her hot skin, heady from how she clenches around me as I move my fingers. “I kept wondering if I consumed your every waking thought, just like you consume mine. I kept thinking about what you felt like in my hands, all the little sounds you made. Fuck, and how fucking divine you felt beneath me.”
I nudge her head to the side, and she doesn’t fight me. Good girl.
“My memories could never compare to the reality of you. Don’t you realize you were made for me? We were made for each other.” My voice comes out hoarse, because it’s taking everything in me not to push her against the door and fuck her while I’m wearing someone else’s blood.
She whimpers, moving her hips against my fingers, chasing her needs like she knows only I can fulfill.
“Say it,” I whisper. “Say my name.” I need to hear her call me Mickey so I know I have her—that I haven’t fucked up beyond repair.
She shakes her head like she wants to deny me, but rides my fingers like she wants to own me.
I rub her clit, pushing my cock against her grinding hips. “You’re so wet for me. Does your cunt miss me? Do you need me to get on my knees and taste you, so you can see the evidence of how much you want me all over my lips?”
Her lips part, and her heavy breaths fill the air, along with the sound of her desperate pussy taking my fingers. Fuck, she feels better than anything I could have ever imagined.
“So beautiful,” I murmur.
Her flushed skin reddens beneath me, but she doesn’t fight, sinking her nails into me like she’s trying to root me into place. My hold around her neck tightens in answer, promising her that I will never leave her again. I chuckle inwardly; Bella is wearing a collar made of my hands.
“You’re so breakable like this.” I smirk, flexing my fingers around her neck so she knows she will always wear me. “Completely at my mercy.”
I slow the movement of my fingers and watch her set on fire as she growls in frustration.
“Tell me you want me, and I’ll let you come.”
“Go to Hell,” she bites out.
Fiery little thing. “You’ll be right there with me. You’re my favorite sin.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She sounds so certain. Her body knows better, though, as she angles her hips like she’s trying to chase my fingers.
“Hmm,” I muse. “So feisty tonight.”
The little princess jumps when I flick her clit, making me laugh. But it doesn’t stop her from coming right back to my fingers, jerking around like she’s trying to get friction so she can come all over me.
My chest rumbles against her back. “It wasn’t a suggestion. You seem to have forgotten our promise.”
The tip of my finger dips inside her, and she throws her head back with a moan as I sink my teeth into her tender skin. She squeals in pleasure, squirming around in my arms, grazing her ass against my aching bulge in the process.
“I’ll forgive you for forgetting. I’ll just have to remind you who you’ve always belonged to. Let me make it up to you.”
She cries out when I sink my fingers inside her again, squeezing her eyes shut as her chest rises and falls like she can’t breathe. I circle her clit with my thumb, making her arch into me, grabbing at my skin like she needs me to keep upright.
Suddenly, the walls of her pussy spasm, and warm heat pours over my fingers, dripping down to my wrist and coating my sleeves. The feel of her is enough to kill a better man. “You’ll regret letting me feel your cunt coming all over my fingers. I promise you, next time, I’m breaking you on my cock.”
“There won’t be a next time,” she says, panting.
“Don’t doubt me, Isabella.”
I’m going to make you come on me every day for the rest of your life.
But before then, you’re going to say my fucking name.
