Restrain (Siren Book 3) (11 page)

Chapter
Eighteen

The day done, Milla lays next to me hesitantly. I tell myself I should turn her away, that she must still be afraid of me, but if she's looking for comfort, I have to offer it. I owe it to her. My undershirt lays loosely over her curvaceous frame, but my eyes are drawn, over and over again, to the bandage on her arm.

“I'm
so
sorry,” I whisper again, knowing she'll brush it off as she did the first ten times I offered it. She shakes her head, burying her face in my chest. If the pattern holds, I'm not gonna get anything out of her if I try getting her to talk about what happened. She gives me a dour look, and pulls off the undershirt,
plainly
a hint.

“Why're you still here, birdie?”

Her answer is to undo my pants.

“Seriously.” I can't find an answer to the question that makes sense, and she props herself on an elbow.

“Because I want to be.”

I can't find a lie in it.

She lowers her lips to mine, and for a moment, it's like old times. I lose myself in her flesh, memorizing every sweet curve with lips and fingers. No touch can be gentle enough to make up for the violence I dealt her earlier.

But she doesn't ask for gentleness. She angles me into her, and digs her nails into my hips, begging for as much of me as I'll give her. Even though we know it won't come with her orgasm, willingly offered.

Even through my confusion, and even with the disappointment in that knowledge, I don't have it in me to deny her.

Maybe she's still using me. Maybe she has other secrets, and it won't be the last time I ask myself whether she's lying, but for now, I
choose
to take her at face value.

It might be a dumb decision, but I
choose
to trust her, and love her anyways.

Yes, love.

Fuck.

Chapter
Nineteen

Milla

My body aches, the heightened senses and adrenaline from when Calder overpowered me giving way to an unbearable fatigue and emptiness. After all that, he
won
. I don't know why I'm surprised. I think I've known he would for a long time, even if I didn't want to admit it to myself.

With my head on his chest, my eyes are drawn down the length of his legs, even to the tops of his calves, still stiff with fresh-formed scar tissue. It's not exactly an image that's good for my sleep. At one point, it would have been. But my heart's not in it. I can't look at that pain and see a purpose to it anymore. I think he already
knew
the lesson, and a letter would have done the same as my hatred and vengeance.

He's not who I thought he was. I don't think he
ever
was. I think I built him up in my mind, but who I was really looking at was his family. They overshadowed him, burying a good man in monstrous doings, and leaving him no place to start digging himself out.

It's a painful realization, that I've spent so much of my life hating a scarecrow, and fantasizing about killing an innocent man. And I've corrupted him, pushed him to the edge. Pushed him until he'd use his very fucking body against a crying woman to control her.

First, I broke him. Then, I put him together again wrong.

This is so fucked up.

Maybe in a different world, I'd have cornered him and yelled at him about his family's doings. He'd have listened, but been impressed by my gumption. We would have talked, and argued politics, until he had a solid plan of action in mind. But he wouldn't have been able to get me out of his head, and he'd have asked me out for coffee.

Maybe in a different world, I'd actually
deserve
his affection. I wouldn't be ashamed to share my pleasure with him. I wouldn't be afraid of how he could use it against me, with me knowing I deserve everything he dishes out.

Maybe in a different world, we'd still hurt each other, but not as adversaries, only as partners pushing for the same shared goal. Certainly
he
was aware that I enjoyed our back-and-forth. Even when he was threatening my life, the
challenge
of it... There was no fear. Only pleasure at how far I could push him, and how intriguingly he pushed me.

I don't know who I am, without this. I don't know what's left for me, aside from an eternity watching things go to shit, powerless to stop them, but knowing that he's just as powerless as me. That
no one
has true authority over our situation.

I don't think I can kill him. It's not a question of desire or need. The urge isn't there. He could wake up, wrap his fingers around my throat, and I wouldn't fight him.

I don't know who I am, anymore.

I set out to break him, but
he's
broken
me
, as well.

*              *              *

I go about my nighttime errands in a daze, bringing more food here and hiding it in the cistern, wrinkling my nose at the faint odor remaining from my dried pee. Not even
that
fazed him. He was an
animal
. Someone I could truly understand.

Everything finished, I still have the idea that something's left undone. I trek up to the control room to look, make sure I'm not forgetting anything, but there's nothing there, except for Dad's gun. I pick it up, savoring its weight in my hand. I look through the camera, but it's not enough seeing a vague shadow where Calder and I sleep. Maybe it's that that room feels like
home
.

Maybe I'm not strong enough to hold to my convictions. Maybe I'm weak for letting him dominate me, not just fuck me. But I
like
him more and more, and today's made it perfectly clear that we can
never
be together, even if I chicken out, if I let us all wake up to the open door.

I make my way back to the engine space, and sit a level above where he's sleeping, with a view of both him and Allen. All I can see is the top of his head, and a dangling arm.

There
is
no happy ending. There
is
no mutual respect and growth. And there's no purpose to putting my feelings aside, killing him, and killing myself. The machine'll go on without him, one way or another. Setting him free, he'll just get himself killed trying to fight it.

I don't want to be around to see it, and I know I can't kill him myself.

I always promised myself I was gonna call it quits after those who impoverished my community were held responsible. And I've made a damn sizable dent, even if the systems are still in place to let someone else step in and continue it.

Before I realize my hand's moved, the gun's muzzle is in my mouth, cold against my tongue. I look at Calder one last time, gathering the courage to pull the trigger. The seconds stretch into minutes, and the gun warms to the temperature of my skin. Still, the tears fall, and I can't quite tighten my finger on the trigger.

I stare at him, memorizing the features of the beautiful monster who is my match.

Three...

Two...

And he sits up. “Milla?” he calls, and before I've thought it through, I've jerked the gun away from my lips, and shoved it in a shadowy corner.

“Yeah,” I call down. “I couldn't sleep. I'm coming back.”

Chapter
Twenty

I don't get the chance to leave bed again. Several flights up, the door I used is still unlocked, and my gun is still just a flight above us. But Calder holds tight to me, his face buried in my hair, and every inch of my back and thighs pressed against his hard muscles.

He'll never understand.

I'm not sure what there is for me, other than to do it tonight. He woke up at a bad time. That's it.

Still, I can't chase away the guilt spreading in the wake of an idea that just occurred to me:
I'm exactly like my dad, right on down to shooting myself while the people I love sleep
.

I start to pry Calder's arm off me, but he just rolls over, trapping his wrist under me as well. I'm not getting away without waking him completely.

So I lie there, eyes open, until Allen starts stirring, rousing Calder, and our hellish day begins again.

We start sluggish, both Allen and I injured, and Calder fatigued from the force of subduing me. Allen's limp looks
bad
, and his demeanor not much better.

Calder squeezes my hand. “I think he's been really depressed, and the leg can't be helping.”

I duck my head. “He's not happy being the odd man out. And he's got some guilt over his ex...”

Calder looks at me in surprise. “I didn't think you two talked much.”

“He said something a bit back, in passing.”

“Correction: I didn't think you two spoke
at all
. I thought you were terrified of him.”

I purse my lips before responding. “Just a bit. But he's tried to support me with some of the... friction...” I don't know how else to put it. “I don't think he's a bad guy, even if I'd really rather not be stuck with him.”

“Umm, I don't think he knows that. I think that's why he avoids us so much. Maybe go talk to him? Show him the sunny woman I know's in there?”

I roll my eyes, at that. “I'll see what I can do.”

*              *              *

Allen glances at me when I find him, three flights up. “How're you holding up, Millie?”

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Aren't we all? How's the arm?”

“Not bad. How's the leg?”

“Not bad. Do you think he's left us in there this long just to see if we tear each other apart?”

“If so, it seems like a solid plan.” I smile bitterly.

“I'm glad you're here... I didn't want to attract any attention, but...” He hesitates, and then presses forward. “I'm really worried about you. I don't think Calder's healthy, and I think he's taking it out on you.”

I shake my head. “Oh, it's nothing like that. Just a series of misunderstandings...”

“That gave you a shiner, and put a knife in you.”

The concern is actually kind of sweet. “No, it's—”

He cuts me off. “I know that thought process. It took me years to call what Caleb did abuse. And by the time I could, he'd rewritten me so there was nothing left. I chased away the wife I took after he left me. After I thought I had healed.”

“It's not—”

“Whether it is, or isn't, just know that if you want someone at your back telling him to stay the hell away from you, I'm there.”

It's a long way for him to go just to put one over on Calder. And I haven't seen
anything
of his old aggression. Maybe his intentions actually
are
sincere.

“I appreciate that. Really I do. But it's not needed.
Truly
.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, until he finally breaks it. “You know the worst thing, Mil?”

I don't even call him on appropriating Calder's nickname for me. It's marginally preferable to Millie.

He continues without waiting for an answer. “The effect it had on the kids. The youngest just got brought in for domestic violence, and I
know
he got it from living with us. The oldest has called the cops on her partner
twice.
”

He hesitates, and glances at me, as though debating whether to continue. Finally, he says to hell with it, and grins wickedly. “Won't be
three
times, though. I helped her move her stuff out, packing while she drove it back to our place. He came back while she was gone, and I let him in, put a bullet in him. Called the police, said he'd broken in, since she changed the locks, and no one checked it twice.”

I shiver, but stay quiet. I never would have guessed Allen had it in him. But I respect him for it.

“She suspects; she won't even talk to me. But she's safe.” His mouth twists. “I can die knowing she's safe.”

Tears come naturally to my eyes, wondering whether she took the call that he was missing.

“Do you mind, Millie? I—I think I want a little privacy.”

My voice comes out throaty. “Yeah. Of course.”

Chapter
Twenty-one

Calder

Mil's been gone a long time, which I can only assume is a good thing. Still, in these confines, large as they are, her being out of sight makes me feel like I'm missing a leg. She's the wry, argumentative voice at the back of my brain.

I've got to tell her I love her. When whatever's coming next happens, I need her to know the depth of my care. Now, more than ever, she needs it, after what I did to her.

Waking up without her, but with her smell in my nose... it was a flashback to a time I don't want to think about. I know she's restless; I expected it, but I hope to
hell
it doesn't last long, lest her anxieties spread to me.

I can't believe I gave her the opportunity to scrap our arrangement, and she chose to stay with me. Still with the knife in her, she made that choice.

She's the most resilient person I've ever known, but she knows how to forgive. It's downright refreshing, after a lifetime of Mom's passive-aggressive complaints, and George's grudges.

Something creaks above me, hopefully Mil making her way back down. I want to touch her, just to reassure myself I didn't kill her. I want to replace every bit of pain I've caused with a nice sensation, even if not the ones that I
wanted
her to feel all along.

Even above the creaks, there's a loud crash. Without thinking, I'm up the stairs, and halfway up the next flight, I bowl into Milla, nearly knocking her into the rail. I pull her to me protectively, and she points up, looking for the source of the noise. Her eyes are wide and frightened, but I can't blame her in the least, between yesterday and the inherent creepiness of the scenery.

Her eyes widen as she spots something, a catwalk above us and on the other side of the room. Allen, picking up what looks like a... a
gun
from the floor. “
Shit
,” she breathes, her voice husky with panic, and I tug her behind me as we race over there.

“What're you doing?” I ask him, putting my hands up, wondering if he'll let me get close enough to get the gun away without knocking us both over the rail.

Milla doesn't wait anywhere
near
as long. “Allen.
Drop it.
You don't want—”

He looks at her with a half smile, and shakes his head. Only then do I make the leap that she apparently already had.
What the fuck did they talk about
?

“You two take care of each other,” he says. “Or at least leave each other before someone dies.”

Guilt knots my gut;
surely he knows I wouldn't kill her
. But what else can he think after yesterday? Tears well in Milla's eyes, and she speaks as though it's just the two of them. “Don't worry about us. Put the gun down, and help us find breakfast.”

He shakes his head. “I'm not gonna watch the cycle again. I—I can't.”

I step forward, hoping Milla has him distracted enough to mask it. But his eyes flick toward me, and then the gun is below his chin, and the echo of the gunshot deafens us. His head explodes upwards, and Milla screams. It's nothing like I've ever seen, a mix of moisture and smells that bring the bile to my throat immediately, before the echoes have even faded.

The gun falls, and numbly I reach for it. It's warm in my hands; he must have been holding it a while before he dropped it. The revolver seems to be full, minus one.

Milla's shaking, her eyes fixed on his corpse, and I yell her name, wondering if she's as deafened as I am by the shot. “Mil.
Mil.
”

Finally, her eyes stray toward me, but it doesn't seem to be
me
she's seeing. Her eyes are dark, and narrowed. I press a hand to Allen's neck, but can't find a pulse; if there
is
one there, it's too faint to feel.

“Birdie. Please. Talk to me—you're scaring me.”