20. Rae

An engine gurglesthrough the walls, then shudders to a halt. I groan, rubbing my eyes. A sharp pain throbs in the bridge of my nose. I pinch it, and the pain shifts behind my temples.

A door slams.

Light sears into my eyes.

It's daytime?

Shit.How late did I sleep?

I fumble around for my phone and try to ignore the red stains on the couch and my skin. Bruises darken patches on my wrists, ankles, and hips, and my body is sore as I move around. I find my phone and hold down the power button; an empty battery shows up on the screen.

A hard piece of fabric slides into my lap.

Black leather weathered around the edges. Sheer screens for the eyes. A zipper across the mouth.

Crave's mask.

He must have left it here for me on purpose.

I sniff it. Blood. Metals. Sweat. Oil. Musk. Him.

The night before comes flooding back to me. The rifles. All of that blood. The two men.

Crave sent two men to hunt me. To test me. And in the end, he still saved me.

I swing around. The bodies have to be somewhere. Everywhere I turn, the floor is empty and clean. Even the tile and walls are polished as if nothing happened last night. The only evidence is the red-stained couch and me.

I saw Crave kill two men last night. I know I did. Still, something about it doesn't seem real.

As I stand, the discomfort in my skull moves, my vision sliding across the axis. Each step forward is like I'm spiraling toward the ground.

The doorknob jiggles.

I step back. Who is it now?

The door opens.

Black hair. The widow's peak hairline. Proud shoulders.

The mall cop.

What was his name?

He closes the door behind himself. His eyes meet mine, then widen. I open my mouth to speak, but I cough uncontrollably. Panic swells in his dark eyes.

"Christ Almighty, what happened?" He reaches forward, offering me a hand. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

I finally catch my breath. "I?—"

I hold on to the mall cop's hand long enough to steady myself, then I let go. What can I say without dragging Crave into this?

I start again: "These guys were trying to kill me, and I?—"

"What guys?" He broadens his shoulders, taking up space to exert his dominance.

"I-I don't know," I stammer.

Fear trickles inside of me as I scan my surroundings. I'm familiar with the house—I've been here plenty of times—but I've never been alone in here with a man before. It's like last night is happening all over again.

Bullshit,my brain argues. You're here alone with Crave all the time.

With Crave, it's different though.

Isn't it?

"They tied me down," I say. "They were going to?—"

I stop. The mall cop must think I'm traumatized. It's not that. I just don't know how much I can say. If law enforcement starts watching this house again, then my father's killer won't come to the anniversary party. And if that happens, Crave definitely won't be able to stay here. I won't be able to find him again.

But he'll be able to find you,my brain says.

The mall cop puts his hand on my shoulder like a father figure. Disgust wriggles down my spine. Older men are like that, aren't they? They think they can protect anyone younger or smaller than them.

I stay still.

"I know," the mall cop says. "Men like that should pay the price."

I nod, though I'm not sure why. How can the mall cop be rude to me in the antique store, but inside this house, when I'm clearly the victim, he wants to pretend to be my hero?

"You don't need to worry now, ma'am," he continues. "I'll take care of it."

I roll my eyes. He'll take care of it? He's so caught up in his own idea of masculinity that he thinks I need his help.

I don't need him. I need him to leave.

I need Crave though. And Crave needs me.

"Right," I mutter. "Thanks."

The mall cop spins around, latching onto my sarcasm.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" he asks with that accent so thick, it sounds fake.

I can feel Crave inside of me, egging me on. You almost killed someone last night, his imaginary voice says. You almost died. Who cares about this chauvinistic pig?

Maybe I can pretend this is another test to see what I'm capable of.

I bat my eyelashes at the mall cop. "What?"

"You don't think I can handle the situation around here?" he asks.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what are you saying, ma'am?"

We face each other, both of us staring so hard, that if our eyes were magnifying glasses, the house would catch on fire. The mall cop's narrowed brown eyes judge me down to my core, like he can see each and every female weakness inside of me.

I see him too. He changed from a helpful hero to a judgmental prick so quickly, it's funny. And fucking scary. He'll only help me if I submit to his dominant manly-man side. How cliché.

"It's just—" I say, putting on a show of reluctance.

"Spit it out," he growls.

"You're a mall cop."

A moment passes by, the anger visibly rising in the mall cop's shoulders.

"I'm Officer Gaines," he says, his voice low.

"You're not an officer of the law," I say. "You have no real authority. And even if you did, there were two men. They had me?—"

"And what exactly happened to those two men?" He steps closer, clicking his jaw, his brown eyes scanning me like the eight tiny eyes of a spider, analyzing the prey caught in its web. "I see a blood stain. I see you. I don't see any men."

I huff through my nostrils, crossing my arms. "They must have run away after they attacked me. I'm covered in blood. I did nothing wrong."

"Whose blood?" He angles his head to the side. "Is this one of your games?"

I scowl. "I don't play games."

He puts his hand on his hip to remind me of his weapon. I roll my eyes—a stun gun can't do shit—but when I glance, I realize it's not a stun gun this time.

It's a pistol.

"There was no attack, was there, Miss Sinclair?" he asks, a smug expression on his face, now that I know he has a gun. "No fight. Just you, your loose cunt, and your lying little self."

He's barely taller than me, but I swear he thinks he's a giant, ready to crush me.

I glare at him. I want to squeeze his dick until it bleeds. He has no idea what I'm capable of.

Kill him,Crave's voice echoes in my ear.

An image flashes across my mind: me lifting the rifle from last night. Aiming at the mall cop.

If that gun was here right now, I'd use it.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," I warn.

"Don't I?"

His eyes linger on my skin, taking in each inch of me. I glance down. My torn stockings are hanging from my legs. My breath catches in my throat.

He raises his chin. "On your knees."

I scoff. "You're?—"

"If you want me to forget this ever happened, you're going to drop to your knees and open that pretty little mouth of yours."

What the fuck is this?

He thrusts his chest forward, so proud, it's mind boggling. His fake plastic badge. His gym shoes, as if he has to run and catch people during his crappy little job. I want to laugh in his face.

"You don't know anything," I hiss.

"You're covered in blood, yammering about some crazy men, when there ain't no one here but you. Who cleaned up the bodies for you?" His jaw ticks. "I think you're smarter than your stubbornness, Miss Sinclair. I think you can tell exactly the precariousness of this situation. Besides, I'll tell Ned about how you've been stealing from the boutique and his office."

Blood boils under my skin. Officer Gaines laughs.

"That's right, girl," he chuckles. "I see you. I ain't stupid."

Rage crawls through my skull. Ned wouldn't trust Officer Gaines, would he? Officer Gaines has worked for Ned longer, but I'm the one fucking Ned. I'm the one with power.

I spit at the mall cop's feet. "Fuck you, you blackmailing pig," I snarl. "You're supposed to protect me."

"Oh, I think we're past that point," he says, his voice eerily smooth. "Now. On your fucking knees, girl."

I hastily grab my purse off of the floor, ripping the handgun out of it. I aim it at his head.

"Stay the fuck back!" I shout.

A grin spreads across his face. He cracks his neck to each side.

I pull back the hammer. "I'll shoot!"

"You gonna tell the police it's self defense?" His lips stretch into a smile, showing his teeth, and my heart pulses all over my body. "Self defense or not, it'll feel good to kill me, won't it?"

I close my eyes. This will be worth it. Ned will understand, and if Crave is around, he'll help me get rid of the body.

Yes, it will feel good.

The gun clicks softly, like a button tapping on a keyboard.

Officer Gaines thrusts out his chest.

I pull back the hammer and shoot again and again.

Nothing happens.

"No," I whisper. "No. This can't. I can't?—"

He pulls out his own gun, aiming at my forehead. "I am getting real tired of waiting, Miss Sinclair. You don't want to see what happens when I'm impatient, do you?"

He grabs my shoulder, shoving me down with his sweaty palms, pushing me up against the wall. He unzips his pants and pulls out his dick. A layer of bumps and growths crawl over his cock like he has a disease.

I've always had good luck with this kind of stuff until now. If it looks off or smells weird, don't put it inside of you. If I do this, I may get infected.

Gaines leers down at me.

"Open your mouth now, pretty girl, and your secret will be safe with me," he says.

My shoulders shake. I spit at his ugly dick, and he grabs the back of my head, shoving his length between my lips. The tip tastes like bitter soap and his bumpy, unruly cock goes past my teeth until I'm pinned—my nostrils smothered against him—and energy rushes between my thighs. Warmth. Heat. Need.

No,I think. This is rape. This isn't real. This is just self-defense. A coping mechanism.

I bite down as hard as I can. He slaps my face. I loosen my jaw. He pulls out.

"That's how you're gonna play, huh?" he mutters.

He twists around like a tornado and lowers his ass onto my face, pushing into my face like I'm a seat cushion. My nose is plugged up, and his hairy ass cheeks cover me.

"Can't bite me now, can you?" he chuckles. "Lick my ass with that sweet little tongue of yours."

My core flames with desire. I picture Officer Gaines with a mask over his face and gloves on his hands. I erase his accent and replace it with a gravelly voice, pretending every word is coming from Crave.

Then I smell the soap and heavy, cheap cologne, and that fantasy is gone, replaced with reality. A seedy, disgusting man forcing me to eat his ass.

Heat lowers to my pussy. The unmistakable urge to get off. To thrust my hips. To take pleasure from this too. It's not about the mall cop. It's about the degradation. It's about Crave. It's about being reminded of the way Crave takes me?—

But this isn't Crave.

Officer Gaines grabs the back of my head, digging my mouth into his ass crack, his hairy cheeks crushing me, the thick hairs scratching my face. My tongue reaches out, flicking against those ridges of skin around his puckered asshole, and he laughs.

"God, a girl like you must be hungry after all of that spilled blood, ain't you? Eat up, baby girl," he murmurs. "I'm afraid I can't let you go until your tongue is deep in my ass."

With my eyes up against his skin, everything is dark. I squirm against the floor, grabbing at my thighs. Stars fleck across my vision as I lose oxygen.

I can't do this. Not with him. Not now.

Do I have a choice?

Take him to jail,I think. Let him rot in a cell.

That's not enough. I need more. More violence. More revenge.

And to get more, I need to survive.

"Go on," Officer Gaines says. "My ass ain't going to bite you. Besides, a nasty little bitch like you would like that."

A shiver runs down my spine. I close my eyes, picturing Crave.

Play along,Crave's voice says in my mind. Then we'll kill him later.

I stick out my tongue, sliding it along the ridges of his textured ass. Salty bitterness on my tongue, the taste of soap and sweat. His natural musk drifts in the air, and he moans like a beast. My body covers in goosebumps.

"That's it," he says. "Eat my ass like a good little girl."

The friction of his hand against his dick breaks into a rhythm, encouraging me, and I stick my tongue out farther. If he likes what I'm doing, he'll come, and this will be over. I lick inside of those rings of muscle, his asshole squeezing my tongue, his body tightening as he gets off on using me. I hump my hand, and it feels good, and I don't care because I'm doing this for survival.

You'd like that, wouldn't you? Licking a stranger's asshole, Crave had said. Beg me for it.

No matter how much I try to deny it, some fucked-up part of me enjoys this. I love knowing that a man can want me so much that he forces me to submit. I feel powerful, like I can control him, even as he destroys me.

I'll get my revenge later. Right now, I need to give in.

"You dirty, dirty little slut," the mall cop murmurs. He lifts his ass from my face, and I gasp for air. His cock is bulging with purple veins, those callouses like scratched-off zits speckling his dick. It's the ugliest penis I've ever seen, and yet I still want it inside of me. I need to get him off as badly as every man I've been with, maybe even more than Crave.

It's survival. Pure survival, I lie to myself.

"You're a rapist," I snarl.

"Then why are you grinding on your hands?" he asks. My cheeks flush. I am grinding, rubbing my clit on my palm, practically writhing on the floor. I snatch my hands away, and he laughs. "Something tells me you'd eat my ass even if I wasn't blackmailing you. A little slut like you takes whatever she can get, ain't that right?"

"Fuck y?—"

Before I can finish my words, he sits on my face again, this time resting more pressure on top of me, crushing me. My hands rub my pussy again so hard that my whole body ignites.

I don't care if it's wrong; it feels so fucking good to be used.

"You got something to say?" he laughs. He lifts up. "Go on. Tell me how you feel."

"Fuck you and your dirty ass," I pant.

"Got a mouth on you." He leans down and slaps my tit. "Now shut the fuck up and eat my ass."

And I do. God, I don't want to like it, but I do. It doesn't matter that he's disgusting or that I hate him so much that I want to kill him. He takes what he wants from me. He doesn't give me a chance to consider what I want. I'm so used to being in control, always using men for what I want, but with Crave and this mall cop—this disgusting, piece-of-shit man—I don't have a choice. Right now, the mall cop is so turned on that he doesn't give a shit about the consequences. I'm powerless, and he's going to take complete control of me. I'm under his spell, and he'll do whatever he wants to me.

And the worst part is he knows I like it.

"Tongue out," he barks.

I moan, sticking out my tongue, reaching inside those rings of muscle until I can barely breathe. His smooth ass hugs my tongue, and he pins me to the wall, pressing against me like I'm a toy he's using, rather than a human being. And maybe I am a toy. Maybe I like it that way. My vision darkens, and when he flips around, shoving his lumpy cock down my throat, I grimace, still sore from Crave. Officer Gaines groans like an animal, and I take it all, letting his cum drip down my throat.

His cock twitches one last time, and he pulls out. The bumps on his shaft rub against my lips.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he asks.

I wipe my lips on the back of my hand, glaring at him, but I don't see the mall cop. I see his death. I imagine Crave ripping him apart, limb by fucking limb, until the wannabe cop is nothing more than a torso with a head.

"You're a dead man, you fucking bastard," I mutter.

"That so?"

The mall cop gives a knowing smile, like there's mutual hatred in our bones. Chills erupt all over me. He zips his pants and puts his gun back in the holster.

"We all die in the end, ain't that right?" He winks. "But you calling me a bastard? Something tells me your daddy didn't want you either."

I see red. My body seizes with the urge to grab his gun and kill him myself. Right fucking now.

"You're going to die one day," I whisper. "And I'm going to enjoy it."

"Oh, sweetheart." He grins like a jackal. "I hope you do."

He leaves me there in the living room.

Anger seethes inside of me. I don't move.

A car engine turns on, then rumbles away. He must be reparking.

A man like Officer Gaines is the exact wrong person to put in a position of authority, even if he's only the head of security at a mall. He can't get away with this, and if I tell Ned, he won't. Ned will fire him, and together we'll go to the police. It may take years, but eventually, Officer Gaines will go to jail, especially if I do a rape kit right now.

But jail isn't enough.

Images form in my brain: the leather mask clinging to Crave's skin. The mesh-covered eyes. A knife in his gloved hand. The thrust of the blade into the mall cop's stomach as I sit on his face, making himeat my ass as he dies.

There's something infinitely more satisfying about that scenario.

I won't tell Ned or the police.

But I will tell Crave.