Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wyn
My heart crawls up into my throat as Lucas locks the door and steps farther into the room. He has blood all over his hands, his bracelets, and he looks crazed.
Shit.
I take a step back, bumping up against his nightstand as I mumble a half-hearted apology about being in his room. All I wanted was my purse, so I could get the fuck out of here and go home. But he doesn't respond to my apology. He doesn't stop advancing. His blue eyes are locked on me like a predator sizing up his prey.
And he has me cornered. In his bedroom. Alone.
"W-where's Kai?" I'm somehow brave enough to ask. I'm not Kai's biggest fan right now, but given the amount of blood on Lucas' hands, I'm afraid Kai might be in for another hospital stay, or worse. I know the Sacred Sons have killed people.
"You don't need to worry about Kai," he responds flatly.
My gaze falls to his bloody hands. "Why did you take him down to the basement?"
We all know what happens down there. The basement is where shit gets real for anyone dumb enough to make a move against the Sacred Sons. The tortured screams that rise from the bowels of this house are legendary. I've heard them. And when the anguished sounds echo through the halls on the ground floor, it's terrifying.
Lucas' eyes are normally stunning ocean blue, but right now they're darkened by hatred. For me. And I don't even know why.
"Kai touched you," he says evenly. "And now he knows what a mistake that was."
This is insane. I lift my hands. "Why does it matter who touches me, Lucas?"
I've tried asking him this before, and he never really gives me an answer. Fuck, maybe he will this time.
"Gabriel has only been gone two fucking months ."
I summon every ounce of bravery I have and look him dead in the eye. "Isn't that a bit hypocritical? Saving me for your dead cousin, but finger fucking me in the bathroom?"
I shouldn't talk to him like this, not after he just beat the shit out of someone. The blood on his hands should remind me what he's capable of. But I'm so fucking tired of his vague answers and convoluted rationale.
He reaches out so fast I don't even see it coming, and I yelp when he grabs my elbow and pulls me roughly against his hard body. I can smell the blood on his hands. "Say it again, Wyn. Call me a fucking hypocrite."
I swallow back the fear that rises like bile in my throat. I don't want him to see me afraid, so I lift my chin and steady my voice. "Isn't that what you are?" I say. "You call me a whore, and then you make me one."
He releases me abruptly and steps back like he's just touched a live wire. There's an unreadable look in his eyes, but if I had to guess, I'd say I hit a nerve.
"I'm not doing this with you, Wyn." He pulls his shirt off and shakes his head, exposing his tanned, muscled torso. Then he steps up to me and grabs my face, pulling it up, so I'm looking directly into his cruel eyes. "Let any of these guys touch you again…" he growls. "...and you'll be sorry, Wyn. No more warnings."
"Even if that guy is you?" I snap back.
" Especially if it's me," he says, pushing me, so I stumble back. Then he walks into the bathroom and slams the door behind him.
Back at my apartment, I park in front and make a beeline for my door. In my mind, I'm running through every detail of what just happened with Lucas, and I'm so distracted that I'm on autopilot. It's not until I step inside and turn my light on that I remember I should be on alert.
My muscles tense up as I scan my small apartment, looking for anything that could be out of place. There's nothing on my bed, and the bathroom door is open, exactly the way I left it. At first glance, everything looks fine, and I release the breath that was caught in my lungs.
Maybe all of my new security measures actually worked. Tell me why, then, as I start getting ready for bed, a sense of disappointment washes over me. It's not like I was looking forward to my stalker showing up, but now that I know he hasn't been here, I feel his absence.
Ugh, I'm so fucked in the head.
First thing in the morning, I'm looking up psychologists in the area. For real. I'm a pretty open-minded person, but even I know these thoughts about my stalker aren't healthy or normal.
It's warm tonight, so I put on a fresh pair of panties, and one of Gabriel's old T-shirts, then brush my teeth, and crawl into bed. I grab my phone, so I can mindlessly scroll through social media until I get sleepy.
But every single time my mind wanders, I see Lucas' gaze locked on me. What the fuck is going on with him? There's an undeniable energy between us, and I get the sense that he wants me, but hates himself for it.
How is that any of that my fault, though? Why is he punishing me ?
Fucking psycho.
Turning my fan on high, I use an app to switch off my overhead light, then plug my phone in and place it on the nightstand. Closing my eyes, I try to relax, so I can get some sleep. Tomorrow is a busy day at school.
But thanks to Lucas, I'm all hot and bothered now. The blood on his hands, that frightening look in his eyes. He looked like a Viking fresh off the battlefield, and thinking about Lucas standing there like that, ready to either kill me or fuck me, makes my clit pulse.
Goddamn. If I'm getting any sleep tonight, then I'll have to rub one out.
Reaching into my nightstand, I find the razor blade and my vibrator, then I settle against my pillows and slide one hand beneath the waistband of my panties, touching the tip of my finger to my clit. I'd use my vibrator, but I just need a quick release.
With my legs spread wide, I'm just starting to find a rhythm when movement at the end of my bed catches my eye. My fan is loud—the white noise drowns out my noisy ass neighbors—so I don't initially hear the French door open. But I do hear the click when it shuts, and my heart immediately kicks into red-alert territory.
Didn't I double-check to make sure the patio doors were locked? I'm sure I did. It's part of my bedtime routine now. But I was distracted, so maybe I didn't?
Slowly, I drop the small razor blade and pull my hand out of my panties. I'm frozen, not sure what to do. In the dark, I see a figure come into view, backlit by the light coming in from the French doors. His large frame is silhouetted by the street light streaming in through my semi-transparent curtains.
For several long seconds, he just stands at the end of my bed, watching me. In the dark, I'm almost certain he can't tell that I'm awake. I can't see him very well, so I'm sure he can't see me either. I take the opportunity to study what I can see, which, admittedly, isn't much. But his large frame and the way he's standing both feel familiar to me.
Silently, he moves around to the left side of my bed. The closer he gets, the faster my heart thumps against my ribs. It feels like every last drop of blood has been drained from my body, and I'm starting to feel lightheaded.
When he reaches out for me with his gloved hand, I can't help it, I flinch instinctively, which gives away the fact that I'm awake. Fuck.
"W-what do you want?" I ask, my lips trembling.
A low chuckle is the only response I get. He reaches for me again, catching me by the elbow this time. His grip is hard and tight, and I yelp as he hauls me out of bed. I trip over my own feet as he drags me over to my small, messy kitchenette.
I'm pulling against him, but he's too strong, and he yanks me around like a fucking rag doll.
Gabriel had a mean streak, and he was selfish as fuck, but he never manhandled me or forced me to have sex with him. But, then again, he never had to force me, did he? I could see him doing it, though. He could be very controlling when he wasn't getting his way.
But then again, half the guys in the Burning Crown are the same way. Who's to say the masked man isn't one of them?
"I'm going to scream," I threaten. Only after the words leave my mouth do I regret them, though. Why am I giving him a heads-up on what I'm about to do? Fuck . I guess I'd hoped that if I made the threat, it would get him to back off.
Spoiler alert; it doesn't.
Instead, he just spins me around, and yanks me harshly against him, my back colliding with his rock-hard chest. Then he pulls his gloves off, shoving them into his pocket before clamping one hand over my mouth, making it impossible for me to scream now.
"Oh, you'll scream, but not until I let you," he whispers harshly against my ear, the soft fabric of his mask brushing across my cheek. "Do you understand?"
When I don't answer him, he tugs me against his chest again sharply. "Do. You. Understand?"
I can't speak, obviously, so I nod in response.
Satisfied, he removes his hand from my mouth. I'm still pinned against him, his arm encircled around my waist, making it impossible for me to get away. I push against him anyway, though. Even though I know it's pointless.
"Tell me what you want," I say. "I don't have any money. I don't have anything valuable."
I don't know why I said that. Panic, maybe? If I had anything worth stealing— and I don't —he's had countless opportunities to break in and make off with it. He moves in and out of my apartment with ease, apparently. Even with my upgraded security measures.
"Nothing valuable," he laughs roughly. Do I know that laugh? Do I recognize it? One strong hand slides down my body, dipping between my thighs. He rubs my clit through the thin fabric of my panties. " This is what I'm here for."
Clenching my jaw, I try desperately to keep my body from responding to his touch. This is wrong. Me enjoying this depraved thing is wrong , so I force my thoughts to my business ethics class, which is quite possibly the most boring subject in human history.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I imagine my professor droning on about social norms and ethical decision-making, while the stranger pulls the crotch of my panties aside, and brushes my pussy lips lightly with the tips of his fingers.
Fucking hell.
"Get off me you fucking psycho," I grate out, using my elbow to try and create distance between our bodies. But the more I push, the tighter his arms clamp around my body. "I don't want this."
It's like he doesn't even hear me. After teasing me, his fingers push into my channel, which means he has to lean forward a little, pressing his masked cheek against my temple, his warm breath penetrating the thin fabric and brushing over my skin.
I bite back a moan.
"You don't want this, eh?" I can hear the amusement in his deep baritone. "Your cunt is soaking wet for me."
"I was touching myself before you broke in."
Gah! Why did I just say that? I don't need to give this guy a visual of me masturbating. Goddamn, I'm an idiot.
He pulls his fingers out of my pussy briefly to stroke my clit. "No," he says. "This sweet honey is for me." Then he pushes his fingers back into me, and instinctively, I rise onto my tiptoes, my head tilting back against his chest.
"It's not for you," I say, my voice quivering under the force of his invasion. "I don't even fucking know you."
Removing his hand from my panties, he shoves me forward, and I stumble, using the refrigerator to catch myself. Spinning, I lift my hands, so I can protect myself if I have to. I know, without question, if this guy wanted to snap me in two, he could do it easily.
His hand juts out, and he grabs me by the throat, pushing me against the refrigerator, and lifting me back up onto the tips of my toes. I can breathe, but barely, and panic immediately sets in. I claw at his gloved hand, my head spinning, struggling to draw what little air I can into my lungs.
He holds me like that for a few seconds, then leans in. "Everything about you is for me, " he growls. "When you breathe, it's for me. When you cry out, it's for me. When you come— It's. For. Me."
I just nod, but the movement is restricted by his hand around my throat. And oddly, I'm more angry than scared, though fear and panic are definitely still in the mix.
But I've always been defiant, even as a kid. Sometimes I would do shit just to prove I could, despite the consequences. It's why Gabriel and I fought so much, actually. I was always doing shit that pissed him off, but the more he told me not to do something, the more I did it, simply to defy him.
It must only be seconds, but it feels like years before he finally releases my throat, and I fall, sagging against the cold metal refrigerator. My hands fly to my throat, and I pull air into my lungs so quickly, I start to cough.
Once I've caught my breath, I straighten and glare at his shadow. If he's going to kill me, then he's going to kill me. I might as well get a few licks in before he takes me out…