Exploited (The Dark Redemption Series) (7 page)

“I know I shouldn’t be here with you…not like this…but I can’t stay the fuck away,” he says, and when I turn my face to the side to look at him, he brushes the hair behind my ear sweetly, completely at odds with his dark and scary appearance.

“Then don’t,” I say when I roll to my side to face him, meaning I don’t want him to stay away. I want to know more about him, who he is, how he knows my secret, and what he’s doing sneaking into my father’s house.

When he sits up, I think he’s gonna leave, but then his dark hoodie raises over his head. He presses the fabric to my stomach, cleaning up the mess he made before tossing it to the floor and lying back down on his side. His arm reaches around me, grabbing my ass and pulling me against the heat of his hard t-shirt covered chest. I can’t resist pressing my nose into his neck that smells clean and masculine like the forest, so different from the lingering cigarette smoke on Brede. I rub my fingertips over the smoothness in front of me, only touching him for an instant before he grabs my hands and rolls me away from him.

“Go to sleep, baby girl,” he says, snuggling against my back.

It doesn’t take long before I start to drift off, wondering which of the first two men to ever touch me I’ll dream of.

Late Night Prowler

What the fuck am I doing here?

I should’ve left her alone. She was sound asleep when I came into search, and I could’ve snuck out the window without her ever knowing I was here. But I couldn’t resist. And fuck if she wasn’t so damn pliant, willing to let me do whatever I wanted to her. Now she’s pressed against me, so fucking tempting. But I can’t take advantage of her, no more than I already have. You can bet your ass I’ll come back tomorrow night, though, and I’ll keep taking whatever she fucking gives me.

“I wanna stay here tonight,” I say into the silence. Her regular breath stops before her head moves up and down against my chin in the gesture of her agreement; but, of course, she doesn’t say the actual word. She’s only said a few words in two nights, one I insisted she give me before I slipped her hand into her panties, two others to tell me not to stay away and
Oh God
when she came for me.

Knowing her history, reading the reports on her earlier today, I know her bastard of a father is to blame for her muteness. In ten years they couldn’t get a single word out of her, and I already have a handful. I tell myself that this is progress, her opening up ever so slightly with me, which is one of the reasons why I need to keep coming back.

Honestly, though, yeah, I still partially blame her for ruining my life, putting me through fucking hell for four goddamn years until I ran away, so I want to take from her whatever she gives me as a type of…atonement. But it’s more than that too. She needs someone to take care of her, and there’s still an innocence about her like she’s a lost little girl trapped inside a young woman’s body. So tonight, I’ll stay with her, sneaking off before the sunrise to make sure none of the neighbors see me. Then tomorrow, I’ll find out how much shit she’s in, whether or not I can get her out of it, and then keep tabs on her to make sure she stays the fuck out of trouble until I have what I need to nail her son of a bitch father.

It all sounds fairly simple, but for some reason, I have a bad feeling in my gut, like all I’ve worked toward for years might just be getting ready to go to hell because of this one girl. She’s a complication that may end up ruining everything. But at the same time, having a witness is better than a mountain of evidence. I’m still not sure if having her testify is even feasible with her history, but it’s worth a shot.

So, I’ll tell myself that I’m sticking around tonight and coming back tomorrow to look out for her and try to seal the deal in this case. But first, I need to figure out if she’s mentally stable enough to be of some use. What I did to her tonight isn’t exactly helpful since it’s crossing all sorts of lines and complicating the fuck out of the situation. But I can’t seem to help myself. 

Brede

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping, so close they could be making a nest in my hair. My back muscles scream in pain when I raise my head from the wooden picnic table, figuring I’ve probably got splinters in the side of my face.

Well, I sure as fuck didn’t plan on spending the night in the park next to the neighborhood I grew up in. But after I reluctantly dropped Blair off and started drinking the Jack straight from the bottle and not the glass I stole from the local bar, I didn’t really have a choice. Too drunk to drive, I sat my ass down, drowned my sorrows, and instead of seeing the eyes of all the family members of the men I’ve killed in my nightmares, I saw just one set of eyes.

Blue ones in the face of an angel.

There was nothing innocent or spiritual about what I was doing to her in those fantasies, ones so damn intense that I vaguely remember jerking off to the vision of her sucking my cock again. After that, I dreamt about her tight little pussy clenching around my dick as she rode me so good, tits bouncing, lips swollen from sucking me off, screaming my name, right before a bullet pierced her forehead. By the time she fell forward onto my chest, she was already dead.

I think I prefer the other nightmares.

Reaching into my shirt pocket for a cigarette, I come up empty. The entire pack of Marlboros is missing. Vaguely I remember finishing the last stick in the pack while I was drinking last night, and swearing off them for some stupid reason. Oh yeah, because Blair wrinkled up her nose at the smell.

What the fuck was I thinking? There’s no way I can go more than a day without lighting up again. After six years of the nasty habit, I’ll be shocked if I can last a fucking hour.

Pulling out my phone from my coat pocket, I check the time and see a missed call from Jim. Fuck. It says he called around eleven last night. I call him back right then, for some reason thinking of the first time I met him and Paula. They were nothing but nice, and I was such a loud-mouthed, little asshole. Why they didn’t take me back to the children’s center after the first hour is beyond me. I was angry at the world and took it out on them, trying to get them to take me back to my brother. Jim and Paula promised me they would do everything they could to keep us together and had even set up bunk beds in my room for him. They knew from day one that we were the sons of a cold-blooded murderer, that killing was in our DNA, and yet they wanted us anyway.

My foster parents did all they could, but after months of fighting the state and trying to prove they could afford to raise my brother and I both, they were denied custody of him, and he went off to live God only knows where. For years I’ve looked for him and come up empty, making me hate our father even more.

“Brede,” Jim answers on the third ring with an even, only slightly tense voice.

“Ah, hey. Sorry, I missed your call,” I tell him. “How’s Paula?”

“Well, she’s been better. With her age, we know getting to the top of the donor list won’t be easy.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, swiping my free hand over my face. “Did you get the money I sent?”

His exhale is heavy over the line. “Yeah, Brede. You didn’t have to do that, but we appreciate it more than you know.”

“I’ll try to come home soon,” I tell him, and then ignore the nagging guilt of why I’m delayed. “Tell Paula to stay tough as nails.”

“Good, and I will,” Jim says. “We’ve missed you. You can keep your money if you’ll just visit more often.”

I owe the two of them everything. God knows I didn’t make it easy on them during my juvenile delinquent years, but now I’m old enough to know I was lucky to have them when I didn’t have anyone else.

Thinking of my foster parents and the still fresh nightmare causes a slow burn in the pit of my stomach. Is that guilt? I had no idea I was still capable of such an emotion. Never once before or after I put a bullet in a man’s head have I felt it. Sure, the faces of the innocent family members may haunt my unconscious mind when I sleep, but I haven’t felt regret or anything like it before now.

Maybe because this time the target is on a girl who I know doesn’t deserve it, unlike all the others.  Yesterday I could’ve easily followed her into that house, but for some reason, I didn’t. I hesitated, and now I’m starting to think that I don’t have the balls to take her life.

So what the fuck am I gonna do?

…

Blair

I wake up feeling like my head is gonna split in half. If there was someone to whine to, I just might do it, but…he’s gone. My appropriately named Late Night Prowler disappeared sometime before I woke up. I do remember him holding me in my sleep all night, making me feel cared for and protected. Sure, I wanted to peel his mask off and demand answers from him, but after the orgasm he gave me, I was too tired. Not that asking people questions is my strong point anyway.

Now, seeing that he’s gone this morning is depressing as hell, making me feel lonelier than ever before. Really I should be used to being alone, but after having someone here with me, holding me during the night, now I know exactly what I’m missing, that odd comforting sensation that it invokes, keeping the nightmares away. I’m desperate to feel that sort of peacefulness again. Every night.

Fighting against the still skull-pounding headache, I shuffle my way into the kitchen and dig around the cabinets, finally finding migraine medicine. When I turn around to grab a glass to get some water, I notice the half-quart milk jug sitting empty on the counter. Yesterday I was certain it was more than half full, and that’s not just me being an optimist.

He drank it.

My late night prowler drank all of my milk and helped me give myself an amazing orgasm. The first orgasm technically by my own hand.

How…odd. Yet at least the empty milk carton confirms that he is, in fact, real and not contrived merely from my fucked up head. With a smile of remembrance, I fill my cup up at the water dispenser on the fridge and swallow down a few headache pills before trudging back to bed.

Not only am I lonely in the empty house, but the sun is too bright. The birds are too loud. Why do I feel so shitty after two drinks? Alcohol is the devil. It tastes horrible and makes you feel like crap the next day. Why do people ever drink it more than once?

I try to figure out what I had planned today, but it hurts to think. Like the night, yesterday is somewhat of a hazy memory. It wouldn’t surprise me if riding on the back of Brede’s bike, his hand in my pants and his dick in my mouth was all just a bizarre dream. My nights are equally peculiar. There’s no limit to what my fucked up mind is capable of. Could I have sleepwalked in the middle of the night and drank all the milk myself?

Exhausted, I give up trying to solve the crazy riddle and fall right back asleep…until the doorbell rings. And rings. And rings some more. Jeez!

Crawling out of bed, I finally drag myself to the front of the house. Standing on my tiptoes, I look out the tiny peephole. On the other side of the door is none other than the leather jacket wearing man from yesterday. Brede does exist. Either he’s real, or my naughty fantasy is running on a continuation today too.

Unlocking the door, I pull it wide open for him. When he barks out a laugh at my appearance, I consider slamming it in his bushy face.

“You look like you’ve been rode hard and hung up wet today, little girl. Don’t you own a brush?”

Don’t you own a razor
is what I want to ask as I glare at him, but of course I refrain.

“Yes, I have a razor, but I like the beard. It makes me look older and more badass,” he says while stroking a hand over his hairy chin.

My eyebrows shoot up when he answers my question. Did I ask it aloud?

“Well, do you want to go get your car or not?” he asks when I simply stand there and stare at him. He really does have such nice, light blue eyes. I bet the rest of his face is nice too. Unfortunately, it’s hidden by wool.

Holding up a finger for him to wait a minute, I walk off to the shower, locking the door before I undress and step into the tub. Not in a rush after his hateful comment, I take my time soaking under the warm spray, scrubbing my hair that’s full of tangles after Speedy Gonzalez’s bike ride yesterday. Then I dry my long hair until it’s only a slightly damp. I never let them cut it, not even an inch over the years. It was more than just my aversion to sharp objects. Knowing there was no way to escape, I always remembered the fairy tales my mother read to me as a little girl. Naively I thought that if I let my hair grow as long as Rapunzel’s maybe a knight would come save me from confinement. Silly really, since there was only a tiny window in my room that only a small animal could fit through.

Finished with my hair, I realize that I didn’t bring a change of clothes. I consider my two options, put on the pajamas I was wearing or throw a towel around myself and march out like he isn’t the first man to see me mostly naked before.

Deciding to be the new Blair until I get my gun back and find some bullets, I go with the second option. But as I walk to my room, I realize that the urge to off myself isn’t nearly as appealing as it was yesterday. If my sudden change of heart is because of Brede or my late night prowler, I’m not entirely sure.

Based on his jaw dropping, Brede is surprised that I’m only in a towel, and I’m shocked to find him stretched out on my bed with his arms behind his head and feet crossed. He’s still fully dressed with his big muddy boots on, but he looks so freaking good.

“You’re still playing with fire, little girl,” he warns me.

Since I don’t want his shoes to leave dirt on the fluffy white comforter of my childhood, I lift his feet and move them to the side, noticing for the first time that the pungent cloud of cigarette smoke is absent from him today.

“Don’t want me staining your perfect, spotless sheets?” he asks, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

My cheeks burn, remembering what happened in those sheets last night. For some reason, I’m feeling guilty for not admitting it to Brede, so I turn away from him to find some clothes. Before I can find an outfit of my mom’s to wear, Brede’s arms go around my waist, hauling me backward and tossing me onto the bed. He quickly follows me down, pinning my hips to the mattress with his own, straddling me. Hovering above me, he jerks the towel apart, exposing all of me to him, and causing me to instantly become self-conscience. No one’s ever seen me naked before, especially not a man who’s been with lots of other women, probably women considerably more well-endowed than me. The next second, Brede’s sucking on one of my tingling nipples that I’m feeling so insecure about, making me wiggle underneath him, and most other thoughts in my head jumble incoherently.

“If this isn’t what you wanted, then you shouldn’t have come out here, strutting around in nothing but a towel,” he says to me, looking up with a hungry, hooded expression on his face before his mouth moves over to my other breast to feast on it. While his hand teases the abandoned nipple, I start to feel his hard cock through his denim, pressing against my stomach and I…panic. Why? I’m not sure. Because of last night? Because I’m clearly not ready to have sex with a man I just met, and he seems very determined to keep going? Who knows?

My hands push firmly on Brede’s shoulders, but he only grunts and apparently takes that as my urging him to go lower. His wet mouth dips down to my belly button, and as it moves south of there, I suddenly realize his intention. Part of me nearly melts at the wonderful sensation and anticipation, but the other part of me remembers that this man I don’t know hasn’t even bothered to kiss my lips once, yet he wants to put his mouth somewhere else so…so intimate?

The stupid, silly girl I am inside decides that I want more from him first. I want, well, I don’t exactly know what I want. Maybe more of whatever I had last night with the stranger in my bed, holding me without asking for anything from me in return. This...I know exactly what this is with Brede. He obviously thinks he’ll put his mouth down there, and then he’ll try to fuck me without a care in the world because that’s all he wants.

Coming to terms with the truth, I quickly wiggle out from underneath Brede, not stopping until I’m scrambling off the side of the bed. Grabbing my abandoned towel with a shaking hand, I wrap it back around me and secure it before I’m able to raise my eyes to him again. Brede gets to his feet on the other side of the bed and stares questioningly at me with a raised eyebrow, my queen size mattress now separating us as both of our chests rise and fall rapidly with our breaths. Just looking at him, seeing the prominent erection jutting from his jeans does strange things to me. That now familiar tightening clenches my lower belly, only confusing me more because, for some crazy reason, I want to give him relief with my mouth or my hand. God, what the hell is wrong with me? I’m torn between wanting him and wanting him to be…more. 

“What the fuck?” Brede asks, echoing my own sentiments with his hands braced on his hips in a wide stance of aggravation.

I shrug, hugging myself, unable to explain all the thoughts running through my messed up mind, even if I was able to speak like a normal person, which I definitely am not capable of. A wave of anger at myself for being too cowardly to use words mixes right in with all the other whirling emotions. 

Licking his lips, he says, “I’m guessing you’ve never had your pussy licked?” I cringe at his bluntness that is arousing and shameful at the same time. The fact is, I feel like a slut for wanting the things I do from him and another stranger, but yet I foolishly don’t want to stop seeing him or my late night visitor.