16. Tommy, no

SIXTEEN

TOMMY, NO

I guess I should be grateful that he tests the puckered skin with his thumb first. It burns as he forces the digit past the tight, inner rim of skin, but after he prods and stretches and adds just a touch more lube, he seems satisfied.

I'm keening beneath him as he mounts me.

"Relax, Cyn," he murmurs, replacing his thumb with the head of his cock. "It'll feel so much better if you relax."

"I have a killer fucking my ass," I snap. "You relax."

He laughs. The insane fucker laughs. "No," he says, pushing the head inside of me, pausing when I tighten up as the intrusive sensation. "You have your husband fucking your ass. Remember that, baby. I'm your husband and it's not your ass. It's mine."

Another inch. I take a shallow breath, breathing through the discomfort. It won't last. It never did. When Clay first worked his dick inside of me like this, I could never escape the feeling like I was going to burst. He would take his time, making it easy for me, and eventually, the uncomfortable fullness fading to something closer to pleasure.

And if I needed a little help relaxing? Clay would reach around me, find my clit, and rub it until I was so distracted by the sense of coming, I barely noticed that he was rocking into my ass, fucking me with short, shallow thrusts.

They don't have to be full ones. Clay used to tell me my ass was so tight, only a few pumps was enough to have him shooting his load inside of me. That's why I put up with it. He wouldn't last long, and my grateful husband would spend the next hour eating my ass, eating my pass, giving me as many orgasms I wanted as a thank you for letting him have me like that.

I don't expect the same treatment now. I'm almost sure that he decided to fuck my ass out in the open as a punishment for moving on with Tommy. Hell, he probably wishes that Tommy was the one I was forced to kill so the could have sex with me next to my most recent lover's body.

A lover who cheated on me.

I can't forget that. I don't know if it's true. Clay's already proved himself to be a liar. That could be another one, but part of me senses that it is true. Tommy cheated on me. Doesn't matter that I did it first, or that—technically—I'm doing it again.

When I think of Tommy and Summer together? I have to do something, and that something is Clayton Rivers.

So I rear back, taking as much Clay as I can. I scream. I don't know why. It hurts, but I'm used to pain. It feels too intense, but I don't care about that. I scream because I want to, just like I wanted to fuck Clay.

And now he's fucking me.

"Oh, Cyn." He braces his arms on both sides of me, his sweatshirt rubbing against my back as he moves. "My perfect whore. My good girl. My fucking amazing wife. I thought I imagined how good you felt, wrapped around my cock like this. I can't wait until I can lose the condom and have you hugging my cock again. This… this right here? It was worth the wait. It was worth the blood ."

I'm glad he thinks so.

He ducks his head, burying his nose in my loose hair. "I promise. I'll make it up to you. I'm back. I'm not going anywhere. Nothing… no one… will separate us again? You understand me?"

I do. Do I believe him?

That's a trickier question.

When I don't answer, he reaches around me. He finds my clit, playing with it like it's his favorite toy, and even if I wanted to deny him giving me an orgasm like this, my traitorous body has other ideas.

I scream again, but this one is pure pleasure. My legs go weak. My nails dig in the dirt as I ride out my climax, all while Clay refuses to release my clit until I finally collapse beneath him and he moves his hand to alter his angle a little. He's still fucking me, but it doesn't last. Two more pumps and Clay fists the grass, grunting through clenched teeth as he finishes inside of me.

Only then, when he's done, does he let his weight settle on my back, keeping me trapped beneath him.

Somehow, we ended up by the knife. He grabs it, wiping as much of the blood off of it on the grass as he can. Once he's pleased with the blade, he moves it in front of me, our reflections staring back at us.

I look well-fucked. Clay looks well-pleased.

He grins. "Oh, yeah, baby. You understand very well, don't you?"

I don't know what's worse: that Clay ties up the used condom and pockets it, or he gets on his knees behind me, plugging my sore asshole as he checks to make sure he didn't do any damage while he was fucking me.

Without the lube, he would've torn me in half. Even with the lube, he barely could thrust, I was that tight. The sex act wasn't about pleasure. He made sure I got mine whether I wanted it or not, and he sure as hell got his as evidenced by the load in the condom, but I know better. It was an act of possession, and now that Clay's proved to himself that I'll still give in to him even after all this time, something about him… shifts.

He changes.

I see a glimpse of the man I married in the way he assures himself that I'm in as good a shape as can be expected after killing the man, then being fucked in the ass next to his corpse. He palms my cheek, dropping a kiss to the small of my back, then gets to his feet.

He finds my clothes. My panties go in another pocket. He leaves my ruined bra behind, then helps me pull on my jeans before easing my blood-stained shirt over my head. I give no resistance as he threads one arm through, then the next until I'm covered.

Clay disappears his knife back into its sheath. I never for a moment forget that it's there, and that's the main reason I allow him to curve my hand around his shoulder as he tilts me back, lifting me in a bridal-style carry.

We abandon my shoes with Chase. Because it's easier to focus on ridiculous bullshit instead of the very real fact that my husband's returned from the dead as a psychotic murderer, I'm grateful I have another pair of sneakers back at the cabin. When I run again… because I will run again if given the chance… at least I won't be barefoot.

I'm not exactly a light-weight, but Clay absolutely refused to put me down again until he's brought me to the cabin I've shared with Tommy these last couple of days. Only then does he return me to my feet, never once giving any sign that he struggled carried me all this way as he uses the keys who somehow stole from Tommy to let us in.

Closing the door behind him, he jerks his head at the couch. It's halfway in the middle of the front room, most likely from when Clay used the key to let himself in before he chased me out through the back door.

"Go on, Cyn. Take a seat. Get comfy."

"Why?" I ask, even as I drop down on the couch. My fingers are trembling nervously. I fist them before Clay can notice. "What are we doing?"

What is he doing?

He takes up a position near the front door. Crossing his ankles as he leans back against the wall, Clay crossed his arms over his chest. His knife is out again, and the expression on his face would be irresistible if it wasn't for what he says next.

"What are we doing? Waiting for Tommy."

No . "You said you wouldn't hurt him. If I?—"

He clicks his tongue. "No. I believe I asked you what you would give me if I spared him. I didn't make any promises, Cyn. Not like you did when you vowed to be mine, for better or for worse."

Anger makes me hot. It makes me reckless . "I guess this is the ‘worse' part then, huh, Clay?"

He shrugs. "If that's what you want to think. It doesn't matter anyway. The night's not over yet." With a smirk, he adds, "Let's see how much worse it can get."

Time crawls. Every second on that couch is an eternity as I listen for any sounds that Tommy's approaching.

If I can believe Clay, he's not dead yet. It would be the most fucked-up thing he did all night if he lied, telling me we're waiting for Tommy when, in reality, he'd dead somewhere on Halo Island. I have hope that Tommy is okay, hope that he'll survive until morning and get to the ferry instead of returning to the cabin.

But I know better. If there's any chance that I survived the masked killer on the island, he'll come looking for me. He'll have to check the cabin. He'll come through the front door, and he'll be killed without even having the chance to protect himself.

He obviously can. With everything else that has happened, I haven't been able to really come to terms with the fact that Tommy is also a killer. It doesn't matter that Chase didn't die from his injuries, or that I had to show mercy and finish him off after Clay insisted. Tommy used the cover of Clay's insanity to get revenge on the boy who hurt me a decade ago. He had to have thought that, when Clay was caught, he could blame Chase's murder on him.

But that's assuming he survives Clay first…

He's whistling. Twisting his knife, whistling a song I know to the marrow of our bones— Stand by Me by Ben E. King, our unofficial wedding song after we eloped—he goes from watching me with a possessive stare to peeking out the window, searching for his last victim.

And then, about a half an hour after we returned to the cabin, everything shifts again. A sense of anticipation creeps into the room as he moves away from the window, resuming his position on the other side of the door, ready to spring out again.

Clay's green eyes twinkle madly as he puts his fingers to his lips, the flat of his blade against his cheek. "Sh, babe. We don't want to ruin the surprise."

I nod frantically, mind racing as I try to figure out how to get Tommy away from here before Clay confronts him.

Confronts him, I think, hysterical and terrified. No. Kills him. He's going to kill him.

But he won't kill me. I'm sure about that now. He was bluffing before, threatening my life so that I could feel justified obeying his commands to get on my knees and suck him off. And if part of me just wanted to crawl to him because he is—was— my husband, I refuse to examine that too closely, not when I'm going to be responsible for another death.

I actually care about this one. And if that makes me terrible to admit it, I don't give a shit. If Tommy's only crime was loving me, that's not enough to sit here quietly while Clay plots to murder his former best friend.

And that's why, the second the unlocked knob begins to turn, I take a deep breath and shoot, "Tommy, no!"

I'm too late.

The door pulls outward. Tommy… Tommy fucking Gillis… with his handsome face and those beautiful curls and the eyes that have always been so loving, so kind … Tommy walks into the cabin, lips splitting into a relieved smile when he sees me sitting on the small couch on the far side of the front room.

Clay steps out from his hiding spot, his knife high.

Tommy goes still.

I sob, but I'm frozen in place. I can't stop what's about to happen. I can't even find the nerve to get up from the couch. I'm stuck, and I watch helplessly as Clay's arm moves.

But the knife never lands. Clay turns the point of the blade inward, angling it away from Tommy as he throws one arm around his shoulder, an awkward one-sided hug. With his other hand, Clay clasps Tommy's in his as he pats Tommy on the back in welcome.

My mouth falls open as my heart just about stops .

"Fucking hell, man? What took you so long? We've been waiting."

What?

Tommy claps Clay on the back, then backs away. He ruffles his hand through his sweat-damped curls, the heights of his cheeks redder than usual. "I know. Sorry. I circled back to make sure that we got everyone."

What?

"I know. You left Chase alive."

Tommy shrugs, the gesture so impish and, well, Tommy that I know it's my Tommy despite all other evidence to the contrary. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. I know it went against what I was supposed to do, but fuck me, Clay. Even when I forced him to spill his guts, he still insisted that Cyn came onto him that night. He needed to suffer."

"I figured. That's okay. He's dead now."

"I saw." Tommy points his finger at Clay. "Nice work. You're a natural with a knife."

"Guns are too easy," Clay answers, and I can't shake the feeling that I've somehow left Halo Island, transported to some weirdo bizarro world instead. Or a horror movie. This is a B-rated slasher film with an ending that makes no fucking sense. "Besides, after all the planning we did for tonight, I wanted the kills to be up close and personal. They all deserved that. But Chase… that wasn't me. Cyn got to finish him off."

Tommy's eyes widen, turning to me. Relief flashes across his face. "So she understands. She gets it."

No, the fuck I don't .

Planning?

I'm so lost. So damn confused, too, and it's obvious.

That's not the only thing that is, either.

"Cyn? Love?" My stomach revolts as he uses that pet name for me. "What's the matter?"

What's the matter? What's the matter ?

"You… him… you knew about this? About all of this?"

The murders… I thought Tommy took advantage of what Clay was doing. I was wrong. He didn't kill Chase on a whim. Oh, no. This shit was planned.

Why? How?

What ?

Tommy's brow furrows. With a frown, he cocks his head at Clay. "You didn't tell her."

"Tell me what?" I demand.

Clay sheathes his knife, a further clue that I got it was wrong when I thought he was going to kill Tommy next. "I was waiting for you. If it came from me, she wouldn't believe it. She'd think I was lying."

I get to my feet. "Because you're a liar," I accuse.

He thins his lips. "I did what I had to. Right, Tommy?"

To my horror, Tommy nods. "Don't blame Clay, Cyn. He was just following the plan."

"Plan," I echo. "What fucking plan?"

Tommy gentles his voice. "Why don't you sit down. It'll be easier to explain if you're relaxed."

A shitload of xanax could't relax me right now. "I'm good. Now tell me what the hell is going on."

"You know most of it already," Clay says. As an aside to Tommy, he explains, "I told her why Vee had to die. How Tyler needed to go because of Summer. How I had fun with offing that bitch, and Aaron… well, just because we bought the island, that doesn't mean I could sneak on without my own ferry." He glances at Tommy. "Maybe we should've gotten a ferry. Ah. Next time."

I blink, trying to make sense of what he just said. "You… you bought the island?"

"Sure did. Through an LLC I set up before I had to fake my death. It was Tommy's idea. Actually, everything was Tommy's idea. But the island especially. We know how much it means to you, babe. If we were going to show you how far we were willing to go to make you ours, it needed to be here. Everything started on Halo Island. It's only fair it ends here, too."

"Right," adds Tommy. "Because the lives we had are over with now. We're starting over now. You. Me. Clay. Just like it should've always been."

"Don't be worried if this is all too much. Believe me, it took years for Tommy to convince me this was the right thing to do. That it wasn't fair that he had you first, and I stole you. So we made an agreement. I got you for five years. Seventeen to twenty-two. With me out of the picture, he got the next five years to make you love him. Then, once you did, I get to come back and we both get you for the rest of our lives."

"You love me," Tommy says. It's strange, though. His words are soft. Gentle. But they ring with steel. "I know you do. Just in time, too. This Halloween… I was going to make this anniversary of Clay's death one you'll never forget." He grins that crooked grin. "By letting you know that he was still alive, waiting to return to you."

So he did know. He knew all along that Clay was alive.

I can't believe this. I mourned him. I cried on Tommy's shoulder. We were the only two fucking people when I buried that empty casked, and he knew ?

They planned this?

Well, at least I know how Clay got the key from Tommy without killing him first now…