13. Jaxcen

Chapter thirteen

Jaxcen

S winging my hand out, I try to stab Devon’s leg, but all it does is slice over the top of his jeans, his fist in my hair tight and unyielding.

“Stop!” he snaps against my ear, his strong hand finding my wrist before I can take another backwards swipe at him, his grip tightening as he twists my wrist in an unnatural way. “Drop the fucking knife.”

I cry out as pain shoots through my wrist, the knife clattering to the sticky tiles beneath my feet before Devon’s arms wrap around me from behind, pressing me against the back counter.

“Do you think I kidnapped all of the women that are here, little mouse?” he rasps against my cheek, and I catch his gaze in the mirror lining the back of the bar with dozens of bottles perched on glass shelves.

His eyes are so dark. So menacing that it sends a chill up my spine, and heat to pool between my legs.

Why, oh why does my body respond like this to him? He’s a monster. A predator. Am I really that starved for a man’s touch that I melt even if it comes from the most vicious beast?

“Why else would they be here with you?” I grit between clenched teeth, curling my lips so he sees my disdain.

“Maybe they chose to be here. Maybe they feel safe here with me. Ever think of that?”

I scoff. “More like they are too scared to tell you how they really feel.”

He smirks. “ Unlike you, Miss Summers. You’re getting good at telling me what you really think. It’s a shame your body doesn’t hold the hate for me that your mind does.”

He cups my breast, and I try to squirm free, but he has me trapped against the bench, his strength too much for me to compete with.

“Fuck, little mouse. Do you feel that?” His hot breath fans over my cheek as his lips graze the blazing skin. “Your nipple is straining under your dress.” As if to show me, he gives the pebbled traitor a pinch.

“Stop.” I breathe, and he chuckles quietly.

“You say stop, but your body says please don’t stop.”

Dammit. Why am I like this?

“Do you know how easy it would be for me to slip your dress up, Jaxcen? How easy it would be for me to slide my cock into your tight pussy?”

“Stop being crude,” I pant, hating the way my voice gives me away.

“Why would I stop when you enjoy it so much?” His lips press to my cheek then, the kiss gentle yet his gaze still hard in the mirror. “You’re such a dirty girl, Jaxcen. So dirty and filthy and it’s fucking beautiful.”

Tears pool in my eyes.

Not from fear, or because I’m hurt. But because of how much I’ve yearned for someone to see me. The real me. And not be disgusted.

Why did it have to be this monster?

Because monsters know each other, Jaxcen. Monsters belong together.

“I’m not a monster,” I whisper, shaking my head.

“I never said you were.”

His voice startles me, and I realise I’d sunken into my torment so far that I must have spoken the words aloud.

We stare at each other for a long beat in the mirror, and I know the moment he feels me relax, because he does too.

“I want to make you feel so fucking good that you forget your own name, little mouse. But I can’t do that here.” He gestures his head to the old couple at the end of the bar, and the crazy haze that had swept over me lifts as my embarrassment sinks in.

Oh my… I threatened people with a knife. I tried to stab Devon.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” I whisper, and he smirks.

“Sorry for trying to stab me or for wanting me to fuck you right here in the bar with an audience?”

My cheeks heat at the idea of people watching. Of the roles being reversed and instead of watching, I’d be the one being watched.

I need my head checked.

“Let’s take this upstairs.”

Devon suggests, stepping away from me, and hell, why do I miss his nearness?

“No,” I protest quietly, eyeing the couple at the end of the bar that are staring into their drinks still. What is with them?

“No?”

I glance up to see Devon frowning at me, then to the knife in his hand. The one that I tried to stab him with.

My gaze darts to his thigh to see the denim sliced a little, but there’s not much damage, and since there’s no blood, I assume I didn’t knick his skin.

Dammit.

“I’m not going upstairs to have sex with you,” I mutter, trying to remember what I was even talking about.

“We’ll see.” He smirks, gripping my arm and leading me out from behind the bar, placing the knife on the counter before he calls out. “Ronnie! All clear!”

The door to outside opens, and I notice there’s no music playing anymore as Ronnie steps back in, his eyes scanning the space.

Shit. They must think I’m batshit crazy. And perhaps I am. Perhaps I’m unhinged again.

Again.

What will my parents say?

Words are spoken, but I hardly hear them before Devon is leading me from the room and back up the stairs. I think I can still hear him talking, probably to me, but everything is muffled, as my brain goes back to ten year old me at Sunday School. Back when I tried to help, but it only made things worse. Back when even the scariest of grown ups looked at me like I was the monster, and not them.

Them.

“Jaxcen?”

The deep rumble of Devon’s voice shakes me out of my memory, and I blink a few times to find myself already up in his suite, sitting on his sofa as he cups my cheeks, his expression pinched with concern.

“Where’d you go?”

“I…” I snap my mouth closed because I can’t tell him. I can never tell anyone if I want them to look at me the same.

My parents know of course. As does my sister.

And Eddie.

He knows everything.

No one else can know.

“What’s going on inside that head of yours?” Devon asks, and I wonder if he’s not the perfect person to tell all my darkest secrets too.

Monsters would understand monsters, wouldn’t they?

“So many fucked up things,” I whisper, and his lips kick up.

“I’d love to hear them.”

Sighing, I try to shake my head, but his hands are still framing my face, so it doesn’t budge until he finally releases me, sitting back with his own sigh.

“I have so many questions,” I say instead.

“I’m sure you do.” He smirks.

“What are the chances you’ll answer them?”

“Slim, but you knew that already.”

Huffing, I roll my eyes. “I just need something. I don’t understand what’s happening here. Why you brought me here? What’s going to happen to me, and I just wish you’d stop talking in riddles and give me the truth.”

For once, the playful guy that usually lurks on the surface slips away, and in its place is a serious version. Not the deadly version I’ve met a few times already, but just serious. No bullshitting.

“You can ask me five.”

My brows shoot high at his declaration, and my spine straightens with hope.

Finally, I can get some answers.

“I’ll answer one.”

My shoulders slump.

Damn him.

I swear he likes messing with my emotions. He just takes them and dangles them over a pit of vipers, every damn time.

“Why are you like this?” I mutter and he shrugs.

“Because I am. Take it or leave it, little mouse.”

“Fine,” I huff, taking a moment to narrow down the hundreds of questions I have to just five.

“Take your time.” He rises off the coffee table he was perched on, to sit next to me on the sofa, hooking one foot up to rest on his knee as he relaxes back into the cushion.

He reminds me of a king, sitting lazily on his throne.

I guess he is king of this Palace.

“So I ask five questions and you’ll choose one of them to answer truthfully?”

“Yes, little mouse. Correct.”

“Okay then. Why is the main population women?” I ask as my first question, watching his expression which doesn’t change, so I ask my next. “Why don’t you let people practise religion publicly?”

His brows shoot up at that question, and I feel victorious for some strange reason. He didn’t know I knew that.

“Are all the women your wives?”

This time, his lips spread wide with that stupid shit-eating grin again.

Ugh. I want to slap him.

“Is Marilda’s little boy your son?”

Again his brows shoot high. “You’ve been busy today haven’t you, little mouse. Snooping around and asking questions.”

I shrug, like it’s no big deal and ask my next question.

“Do women throw themselves over the cliff because they can’t stand to be your sex slave?”

This question makes him angry, his brows tugging in as he glares and stands from the sofa and starts pacing.

“All your questions are about my town. Don’t you want to know why you’re here?”

“Well, der.” I scoff, immaturely, rolling my eyes until his hard gaze snaps to mine and I stiffen. “I’ve asked that before and you refuse to answer so I figured it would be a waste of a question.”

“You’re right. It would have been.”

Ugh. He’s unbearable. He starts pacing again, obviously trying to figure out which question to answer, before he responds.

“Religion has a history of creating unnecessary tension. This is a small community, and we don’t need different religious beliefs dividing the town, or turning this place into a cultish religious faction.”

Of course he chose the religious question to answer. As if he’d give me the truth about the women.

Dammit. I should have thought of something else to ask. Like why does he have teenagers as his slaves as well.

“I’d like to retract that question and ask another.”

His feet halt as he stops pacing, his gaze shooting to me as he chuckles. “Not a fucking chance in hell.”

I roll my eyes.

As if he’d be reasonable.

“Fine,” I huff. “Why do you oppose the religious thing so much if you yourself are religious?”

“I prefer to keep my beliefs and worship to myself. There’s no need to rub it in others’ faces. And I sure as shit don’t want them rubbing their beliefs in my face either.” He starts pacing again. “There are a few other reasons why public practise of religion isn’t a good idea, but I’ve answered the main one.”

“Funny how you chose that question and not the ones surrounding how sick you are.”

I expect his infuriating chuckle, but instead, a frown contorts his face.

Guilt pangs in my gut, and I wish it away, needing to remind the good samaritan in me that this man is a monster, but it doesn’t work.

My words have upset him.

“Whatever it is that you think is going on here,” he turns his harsh glare in my direction, and I sink back in the cushions, wishing I could hide, “you are fucking wrong. I know I haven’t given you any reason to trust me, other than keeping my word and not killing you, but I’m not the monster you think I am.”

Standing taller, as if that is even possible, he rolls his shoulders back and glares. “But I can be that monster if that’ll help you paint the picture you have in your head. I can be your worst fucking nightmare if you want to be right so fucking badly.”

I flinch, feeling like ten year old me being scolded for calling the monster out and having it turned on me.

“I don’t want you to be that monster,” I whisper, and he lurches forward, gripping my jaw and angling my head up roughly so he can stare into my eyes.

“Why not?” he asks, and all I do is whimper. “I’ll tell you why you don’t want me to be that monster, little mouse. It’s because you secretly like it. You fucking love how I make you feel. You fucking love that no matter how crazy you get, wielding a fucking knife and trying to stab me, won’t scare me away.” He leans closer, hovering his lips over mine. “You fucking love how right I make your depravities feel.”

A tear I didn’t know had formed pops from one eye as I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

“As soon as you start being honest with me, I’ll be honest with you and answer your questions.” He stands tall and shoves my face away harshly before striding across the room. “Until then, keep pretending you hate me all you like. I’ll be back in a few hours to get you for confession.”

Swinging the door wide, I leap up about to protest as he steps out into the hall and stares back at me. “I’ll have Mabel bring a tray up for dinner.”

Frowning at his words, he pulls the door closed, and then I hear it. The snip of the lock as he locks me in.