The last thing I see is Roman’s eyes flickering with excitement before I spin on my heel and bolt as if hellhounds are snapping at my ankles. A scream claws at my throat, itching to be released, but nothing comes out.
My sock-covered feet slip on the warm liquid splattered on the floor. I try not to think about the fact that it’s probably Marcus’s as I stop myself from falling at the last second.
Roman stalks closely behind me, moving slowly as if this weren’t a chase my life could depend on. Each of his measured steps echoes through the house, creating a haunting melody that pairs horridly with my racing heart.
Roman Riviera doesn’t play with his food, but he loves playing with his toys.
My vision tunnels on the front door, cream-colored and covered in greasy handprints. An escape. If I can get outside, I can scream.
Just one little scream.
Someone will hear me. The police will come, and this whole nightmare will be over. I’ll be free of this house and finally be able to move on. The state will move little Jeremy to a new house, and if Millie is alive, she’ll get this god-awful place and the store. I can take what I’ve managed to skim from the tills, maybe steal a few of Greg’s and Marcus’s things for extra cash, then go to a new city with no one but myself to look after.
I just need to get past the door and scream.
Freedom is so close, but just out of reach.
Adrenaline floods my veins, ratcheting up the roaring in my ears. “Bella,” he sings, and goosebumps erupt over my cold skin.
We’ve played this game a hundred times before; he gives me a look, and I start running. Back then, it was an innocent game that got my blood racing as the fear of getting caught pumped through me.
It was our own version of tag. He was forever the chaser, and I was forever the one who ran. He’d catch me every single time, no matter how hard I tried.
Back then, it was childish and innocent—even though he never gave up the game when he became legally allowed to vote. Somehow, I don’t think he’s just going to throw me over his shoulder or wrap his arms around me in a soul-crushing hug.
My clammy hands curl around the door handle, and hope springs in my ribcage for the first time in a long time. But the seed that sprouted withers when powerful arms curl around my waist and up my chest until burning fingers wrap around the column of my throat.
“Got you,” he hums against my ear, dragging me back against his firm body and away from any hope of freedom.
“No, no! Let me go!”
I drop my full weight onto him and kick against the door as hard as possible. My escape attempts are futile when all he does is huff and tighten his grip on my throat. A reminder that he can take what he wants, whenever he wants.
“You know better than to run from me. Predators love to hunt.” His hot breath caresses my ear as he whispers.
“Roman, please.”
Please, what? I don’t know.
He buries his head into the crook of my neck, spreading blood from his face and inhaling deeply as he groans. “God, I love it when you beg.”
I freeze, feet suspended in the air, when my mind pieces together what the hardness pressing into my back is.
“Do you realize how much I fucking missed you? I was going insane thinking about you.”
His teeth scrape against the soft skin of my neck, forcing a shiver from me. I’m not sure where his gloves disappeared to, but he lowers me so only the balls of my feet touch the ground, and I have no choice but to lean into him for support.
I realize too late what his plan is when his hand descends to my lower stomach, toying with the waist of my shorts. I gasp, feeling his hard-on pressed up against my ass, grinding ever so slightly. I know this is wrong, and that I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I can’t help the unbridled desire this ignites deep within my core.
He hums in approval, dragging his tongue along the column of my throat, trailing liquid fire in his wake. “You taste like every sinful thought I’ve ever had.”
You need to scream for help, my mind whispers.
I stay silent.
Despite everything that makes this wrong, it has never felt more right. After all these years, I hate that the only thing that has ever felt right is being in his arms. Despite all the blood spilled tonight, I hate that this is the safest I’ve felt in three years.
Roman’s fingers disappear beneath the hem of my top and dip into the waist of the pajama shorts he gave me four years ago. Clawing at his arms only seems to encourage him. Still, I don’t stop my desperate movements, even though my body is begging—fighting against my mind—for this to continue.
“Just as I thought,” he rasps. “Fucking soaked.”
“Don’t! Let go of me, Roman.” If I don’t stop him now, I don’t think I’ll have the strength to keep fighting.
“Don’t let go of you?” He laughs darkly. “Oh, that was my plan. You’re all mine now.”
I squirm when another finger joins. They do nothing but rest there, yet it’s enough for me to squeeze my legs together in a useless attempt to soothe the climbing need for friction. The rumble of his voice, his intoxicating scent, every inch of space where we touch, it’s enough for me to almost forget what he’s done.
I’m sick and depraved. I haven’t accepted it, but I acknowledged it long ago. It’s difficult not to turn toward the darkness when I spent my days fantasizing about the boy with a sadistic grin and bloody fists, whose knuckles were always split for me.
“Do you know I was thinking about you all that time away?”
My voice disappears with every other thought except one: I was always on his mind. All this time. He missed me.
If that were true, then why didn’t he come back? Why did he leave in the first place?
“I was going crazy thinking about another guy laying a hand on you.” His hold tightens almost painfully. “Do you know what that does to me? Thinking that someone else is touching what’s mine,” he snarls into my neck and demands control over my breathing with the flex of his fingers. “I kept wondering if I consumed your every waking thought, just like you consumed mine.” His fingers inch lower. “I kept thinking about what you felt like in my hands, all the little sounds you made. Fuck, and how fucking divine you felt beneath me.”
I don’t resist when he tips my head to the side to nibble on my jaw. With heavy lids, I stare at the door leading to my freedom while being in the arms of a man who broke me.
“My memories could never compare to the reality of you. Don’t you realize you were made for me? We were made for each other.” Each syllable from his lips is raw and guttural, like he’s hanging by the last threads of his control.
The whimper that escapes me says more than words ever could. We might be a match, but matches burn. Stories end even when the love hasn’t died.
“Say it, Bella,” he whispers. “Say my name.”
I can’t bring myself to say it—to call him the name that started it all. If I do, I’ll let him back into my life and fall back to the bottom of the pit I’ve been trying to crawl out of. My traitorous body melts into his hold, only to stiffen a moment later when one of his fingers brushes the sensitive skin between my legs.
Shaking my head, I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from moaning. My nipples harden underneath the thin material of my shirt, showing him exactly what his wicked words and possessive touch do to me.
He gives me the friction I so desperately need, and any attempt at staying silent disappears. My lips form into an ‘O’ as I try and fail to drop lower to the floor to chase his touch.
I need to—no, have to stop this. But just a second longer, maybe two. I can give myself that much. I can feel my mind screaming, but I lock it away. I deserve to feel good. Right?
“So beautiful,” he mutters.
A blush scorches my flushed cheeks from the guilt of taking pleasure from this gruesome scene, but my body doesn’t care. The gory mess behind us doesn’t stop my hips from buckling to his touch. My nails dig into his arms to pull him away and bring him closer simultaneously.
He moves his fingers with expert precision, knowing which cords to play without reading the notes. I close my eyes and imagine he never left, that I’m still whole.
My breath comes out in short pants, living the fantasy of a life I lost as I move my hips to the rhythm of his fingers. He chokes me a little tighter to remind me who is in command.
Knowing how much death he’s caused with his bare hands and that I could be his next victim with nothing more than a squeeze is frightening. But the thought only adds to the symphony. The crescendo is in sight, and my hips jerk, chasing the high. Just as I’m about to reach the peak, Roman’s touch disappears, and a needy whimper falls from my bitten lip before I can stop myself.
“You’re so breakable like this.” The smirk is evident in his voice. He wants me to know that only he can bring me pleasure, and he can just as easily take it away. “Completely at my mercy.”
His warmth returns. The swirl of his fingers is agonizingly slow, like he has all the time in the world. I know better. Roman is never lazy when it comes to me. It takes every bit of energy I have not to groan and buckle in frustration, so he goes back to the blissful pace he’s set.
“Tell me you want me.”
“Go to Hell.”
His laugh is pure mirth and carnal sin. “You’ll be right there with me. You’re my favorite sin.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I bite out while straining my muscles to stop them from moving with his motions.
“Hmm,” he muses. “So feisty tonight.”
He flicks my clit, and I jump in his hold from the sparks rushing through my veins, making him laugh like the demon he is.
“You seem to have forgotten our promise.”
He drags the neckline of my shirt down my shoulder with his teeth, kissing the exposed skin. I keep blinking, trying to remain focused as his thumb rubs against my clit, and he dips his finger inside me. Just the tip. Just enough to send me reeling for more.
I’ve dreamed about feeling him back inside me for the longest time. I always imagined he would watch me with hooded eyes, a hand gripped in my hair while his expert fingers stole my climax.
That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. In everything outside of our bubble, Roman is a conqueror, true to his name. He’d take without asking, and any scraps left behind would be a mercy.
“I’ll forgive you for forgetting.” His gruff voice curls around me. “I’ll just have to remind you who you’ve always belonged to. Let me make it up to you.”
I cry from the stretch of my pussy, taking the brutal thrust from two of his thick fingers. Stars dance behind my eyes as I grip his arms tighter to keep upright. The added friction from his thumb on my clit makes any attempts at keeping my mouth shut nearly impossible.
Nothing about this is loving or gentle. This is pure possession, just as he said. He’s commanding my body to give him exactly what he wants, and I have no say in the matter. He can have my climax and the knowledge he is the cause for the heat dripping down my legs. But I’m keeping my voice—he can’t have everything he wants.
The hold around my throat is replaced by his lips as he sucks the soft skin into his mouth, bordering on pain and falling onto the side of pleasure. He yanks my shirt up, exposing my breasts to him. I’ve never been well endowed in that area, but he still treats them like they’re the definition of perfection, kneading them and twirling the hard buds between his fingers.
I don’t see the climax before it hits. The force of my orgasm has me arching back into his body, opening my mouth to a silent scream. He continues to take from me, plunging his fingers in and out of me until I slap his hand to stop.
The chill of the night air against my nipples lessens with my lowering shirt. I’m struck with a feeling of profound emptiness when my panties become free from his intrusion.
“Better than I remember,” he mutters against my neck. “You’ll regret letting me feel your cunt coming all over my fingers. I promise you, next time, I’m breaking you on my cock.”
Then the lust-filled haze over my vision fades away, and my mind suddenly remembers what I was doing before my long-forgotten libido replaced my brain.
“There won’t be a next time,” I say between pants.
“Don’t doubt me. We need to go,” he says dismissively.
My muscles wind tighter, walking the thin line of falling from the adrenaline high. As soon as I’m completely free from his hold, my animalistic instinct takes over once more, and I bolt for the door, swinging it open. I can hear Roman cursing under his breath before I break into a run.
I just need to scream.
I just need to open my mouth and call for help.
But neither of those two things happens because I can’t bring myself to make a single sound, not even when he catches me. I kick and thrash, and I’m unsure if it’s just for show. I’m telling myself the only reason for giving up on my freedom so easily is because I don’t want him to get in trouble.
“You’re being a very naughty girl, Bella.”
The ominous tone of his voice sends a shudder down my spine as he drags me back inside with nothing but the flickering streetlight to guide the way. As soon as the front door shuts, he’s caging me against the wood with his body, pinning my arms above my head with a single hand.
“It’s like you’re begging to be punished.” The sentence is laced with hope that I’ll fight him again, letting me know how serious he is by pushing his bulge against my stomach.
“What—’ My eyes widen when his free hand joins his other, and something soft wraps around my wrists. The door groans as I shift to glance at the black rope Roman is binding my wrists with.
Mouth hanging open, I notice he’s not using just any rope. It’s not the kind found in a department store, and it’s certainly nothing like the abrasive hemp rope he used on Marcus. The realization that he’s using silk rope kicks me in the gut.
Roman knew I would fight him, knew I would try to run. He planned it all. The mask, the method of torture and death, the different ropes, the message he left when I arrived home yesterday.
I don’t know who this man is. Roman never planned ahead when spilling blood was involved. He was impulsive—acting first, avoiding consequences later. Which begs the question, what else does he have planned?
“Don’t do this,” I beg.
I can see the concentration in his pinched brows as he works to tie my wrists firmly, but not to the point of pain, as I thrash.
“I don’t want to do this, Bella. Do you think I want to hurt you?” he asks through gritted teeth.
“Yes.”
The muscle in his cheek pulses as he pauses and looks down at me. “Never.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He tenses, and something flashes in his eyes too quickly for me to figure out what it is.
I look behind him toward the kitchen, where two dead bodies remain. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur.
He tilts his head, raking his gaze over my face as the corner of his lips curves upward. “You could have stopped me.”
“How?”
His eyes soften, and I see the man I used to know for the first time tonight. The one who reserved all his genuine smiles for me and would only truly laugh if it was just the two of us alone.
Roman’s voice is dangerously low. “I would do anything you tell me to.”
I swallow and hold his stare, hoping he will see whatever I’m feeling so I don’t need to admit it to myself. “Let me go.”
“Anything but that.”
“Roman,” I plead.
Any evidence of the man I knew slips away with a flash of hurt, quickly replaced by his menacing grin. “Come on. It’s just you and me from now on.”
He throws me over his shoulder, knocking the wind from me before I can say anything else.
“Put me down,” I hiss, hitting his toned back with my bound wrists.
He chuckles, and I yelp when he slaps my ass. “Fuck, I missed you.”
My legs flop against his chest, and my dark hair sways with his movements. What’s worse is that I miss him too. I miss his voice, the nicknames, the constant entertainment, and the way he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
He grabs a duffle bag off the floor, opens the door, clicks the internal lock, then shuts it behind him. I squirm against his shoulder, still beating his back and kicking his front, growling obscenities under my breath.
But if I’m completely honest with myself, it’s all for peace of mind that I tried—that I wasn’t an entirely willing victim. We both know the truth. It’s right there in front of us and undeniable under the cloudy night sky: If I truly wanted to be free of him, I would be.
I could scream, and everyone around would hear. Other than us and the insects of the night, there isn’t a sound to be heard in the less-than-safe neighborhood. But still, I stay silent as he carries me through the empty street.
Roman’s steps are so leisurely and confident that even the best detective could be convinced he isn’t abducting someone. I manage to prop myself up on his shoulders to watch the place I lived for the past four years shrink in the distance until it’s hidden behind trees. It’s hard to believe everyone is fast asleep in their beds, unaware of the carnage in house number thirty-four.
Roman drops me to my feet beside an unassuming pickup truck, clamps his hand on my arm, and tsks. “Don’t even think about it.”
I frown at him. I wasn’t even thinking about running; I was just waiting for him to unlock the truck so I could step inside. What is wrong with me?
The second he opens the car door, I rip myself from his grip and slip inside. The more he touches me, the more my anger toward him wanes, and I deserve to be angry for everything that’s happened.
He’s breaking my resolve too quickly.
When the door shuts, I’m left alone in the quiet darkness of the car. Suddenly, everything comes crashing down—the adrenaline, the nerves, the ache between my legs, and the tender skin beneath the ropes. A single tear trails down my cheek, and I wipe it away before he can see.
This is really happening.
Roman used to be terrible at chess and sub-par at mind games. He’d prefer inflicting the type of pain that comes from his hand and a well-chosen weapon. But that’s part of the problem; he used to be that way. The person who smiled at me when I first came down the stairs earlier tonight is all man. He’s physically changed in ways I can’t even begin to describe, with broader shoulders and a sharper jaw. What about on the inside?
Has this man mastered owning the board and come to play with a different type of toy? Something else he can use and discard once he’s bored.
The air electrifies when he drops himself into his seat with the same grace as a lion, humming an unknown tune as the car comes to life. Roman drives us away from the neighborhood and onto one of the back streets, tapping the wheel and filling the silence with his sounds.
He’s relaxed and at ease.
He’s fucking crazy.
If it weren’t for the evidence of his brutality splattered on his face, I wouldn’t believe him if he told me about what he just did.
There wasn’t a single secret between us for almost twelve years, and now I don’t even know how to speak to him and break the silence. The dynamic between us has shifted. It’s no longer the princess and her knight. It’s something far simpler: the prisoner and her captor.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask when I can’t stand listening to any more of his goddamn humming and tapping.
“Home.” He doesn’t hesitate with his answer, and his tone has an almost patronizing edge, like his response was a given.
“You just took me from it.”
He snorts. “That was a house, but it wasn’t your home.” Roman adjusts himself in his seat and checks the rearview mirror. I’m guessing it’s to see if we’re being followed. “Our home is wherever we make it.”
Our. We. He’s talking like someone who isn’t just going to disappear again.
“You went too far.”
“No amount of blood spilled will ever be too much for you.”
“When will it end?”
He smirks. “When I’m in a grave, and even then, Hell won’t keep me from you.”
I jump when his warm hand lands on my leg without a single thread to separate our skin. The contact makes me heady in my already delirious mind. I have to squeeze my legs together, because my body hasn’t forgotten the state he brought me to in the house. I grab his wrist to try to push him away, but my pathetic attempt does nothing against his brute strength.
I know what he’ll find if he dips his hands into my shorts again. No matter how much I tell myself that I shouldn’t want this or that I am meant to be angry at him, my body has other ideas. He has the face of an angel and the mind of the devil.
“But you’ll ruin me,” I whisper.
I watch as his smile turns ravenous, and the desire to run kicks in. “Does that excite you?”
His hand inches higher until it’s at the junction of my thighs. My voice hitches when I say, “No.”
“Don’t worry. If you break, I’ll put you back together. If you run, I’m running right behind you. If you burn, I’ll burn with you.”
When I look down at his hand, I tense for an entirely different reason. Under the fading lights of the city, I spot a black-and-red embroidered friendship bracelet peeking out beneath his long sleeve shirt.
He still has it.
I glance at my own wrist and swallow.
The bindings dig into my skin, and he catches sight of my wince, frowning to himself.
He moves his hand to fiddle with something on the center dash, but the absence of his touch doesn’t make me breathe any easier. It isn’t until soft chirping filters through the speakers that I stop breathing altogether.
I haven’t listened to a nature podcast in years. We had a list of all the podcasts we wanted to listen to, then every day, we would plan which one we’d listen to that night as we fell asleep under a different roof. He said it would be like we were right next to each other, hearing the same sounds and learning the same things.
When he left, I couldn’t listen to them anymore, because I was too busy wallowing over someone who wasn’t there. And now here we are, listening to the same podcast like the past three years never happened.
I watch skeptically as he pulls a blanket from the back seat and drapes it over my lap.
“Go to sleep,” he says, tone filled with the warmth he’s only ever directed at me. “You’ve had a long night. I’ll wake you up once we’re there.”
I know I should protest, and self-preservation requires I stay awake to see where I am going.
His hand moves languidly up and down my leg, lacking any pretense other than comfort. Against my better judgment, the hypnotic touch makes my muscles relax.
Before sleep pulls me under, I hear him ask, “Do you remember what I told you, Bella? Do you remember what I promised you?”
Of course I do. I could never forget his promise.
