Vengeful Soul by Emma Creed
Iwake up with something wet sliding over my jaw. My head thumping, and a mouth drier than the Arizona desert.
I’m lying out in the hall in front of the living room door, clutching a newly opened bottle of Jack to my chest. And I realize it’s Duke, that’s what I’ve been calling the dog, who's responsible for the something wet as he continues to lick my face and stir me awake.
Pushing him off, I manage to sit up, rubbing my fingers to my temples and trying to focus. How much did I drink last night? I remember finishing a bottle of Jack and it looks a lot like I started on another one before I passed out.
I shouldn’t have been drinking on the job and suddenly I panic, standing up and opening the door into the living room. When I step inside, I’m relieved to see that she’s still there, though if looks had the ability to kill I’d be struck down on the spot from the one she’s giving me.
It looks kinda hot on her though, wild eyes and lips twisted up somewhere between disgust and damn outright fury.
“How dare you leave me like this overnight? I haven’t been able to sleep. My neck is hurting and I’m desperate to pee. Seriously I don’t know what…”
“Give it a rest.” I scrub my hand over my face. I really ain’t in the mood for her shit today. I spent the whole day yesterday keeping out her way. Hoped that avoiding her would shut off all the thoughts in my head. And when that didn’t work, I tried hitting the bottle instead.
This hangover is all her fucking fault.
I know how it works, the girl thinks she can fuck me over with temptation. It’s a smart move on her part. What she doesn’t realize is that I am the master of the head fuck.
Somehow my attempts to avoid her resulted in me spending most of last night staring at her. Imaginarily asking her all the questions I want the answers to, and making up my own conclusions to them.
“Brax, I’m starving, and I’m dirty. I want a shower.” If the brat had the ability to cross her arms and stomp her feet, I guarantee that’s what she’d be doing.
I huff and shake my head as I stomp over to her and pull the handcuff key from my pocket. After releasing her, I take her arm and drag her on to her feet, forcing her out the door and into the hall.
“Where are you taking me?” she snaps.
“You just said you needed the bathroom, so I’m taking you to the bathroom,” I bite back impatiently.
“Does your head hurt?” She stops and turns her body into mine, almost sounding sympathetic.
“A little,” I admit, making the mistake of looking into those pretty, wide eyes.
“Good,” her tone suddenly turns vicious, and she shocks the fuck out of me when she pulls back her head and spits at my face. Warm saliva trickles into the crease of my nose while pure rage claws inside me. Somehow I keep it contained, clenching my fingers deeper into the top of her arm while my other hand slowly wipes it away.
“That was a brave move,” I tell her, flaring my nostrils and letting her think for a second that she’s gotten away with it, before I grab at her jaw with my slippery fingers and tilt her head so she can’t pull away from me. Her eyes seethe at me with hatred, and for just a tiny second, I imagine how they’d look if I took the life out of them.
I roll my tongue around the inside of my cheek and think about what I should do next. I could kiss her stern little lips, that would shock her, but instead I decide to give her a taste of her own medicine, and I spit right back at her.
My saliva hits her cheek, just beneath her left eye, and I watch it slip over her skin with a sick sense of satisfaction that I wasn’t expecting. It’s what distracts me from her palm when it comes out of nowhere and strikes me hard on my cheek.
“You’re an asshole,” she barks at me, and I squeeze my fingers deeper into her flesh, forcing her to move backward. Her feet struggle to keep up with my pace as I push her into the bathroom and when her ass hit’s the basin unit, I slide my fingers down to her throat and make sure the back of her head presses into the mirror behind her. My cock strains hard against her stomach and I don’t give a fuck if she feels it. She won’t admit it, but that’s the part of me she fears the most.
“Don’t you ever raise your fuckin’ hand to me again,” I warn, getting another glimpse of that fear I’ve been craving from her. It’s fucking addictive. Her skin heats beneath mine and her pulse throbs against my fingertips.
“Ya got that?”
“What are you gonna do, Brax?” she taunts. “Leave me chained to a radiator while you wait for your next order?”
“Shut up,” I warn, feeling rage building up inside me. Nothing good ever came out of provoking me.
“No, I won’t shut up. Tell me what you’re gonna do to me.”
“Shut up,” I warn again, tightening the hold I got on her neck. I can feel my restraint slipping.
“Make me… do your worst.” She pushes me to the fucking limit and I shut her the fuck up in the only way I can think how to.
I slam my mouth over hers and crush her in my hand, I expect a fucking fight, or at least a struggle, but instead she opens up her lips and welcomes me. I lose myself for a few seconds, my body pressing tighter into hers and my arm wrapping around her waist, fisting at the shirt she’s wearing and keeping her close. While my tongue invades her mouth and I devour the fuck out of her lips.
My cock throbs in the space between her legs and I have to stop before I take anymore of her. Gotta rein back some fucking control over this situation. Dragging my mouth away from hers, I hear her terrified scream fill my ears when all my frustration goes to my fist and I force it into the mirror behind her head. It shatters to pieces, and the petrified look on her face does fuck all to ease the irritation inside me.
I need to get the fuck away from this bitch, she’s testing my patience. I may not be the one wearing the cuffs in this situation, but I’m every bit as fucking trapped as she is.
“You got five minutes,” I tell her, pulling away and charging out of the door. I slam it behind me, then kick my boot at it. Losing my temper in front of her like that allowed her to see that she’s getting to me. And now I’ve finally provoked that fear I wanted out of her, all I can think about is going back in there and fucking fixing it for her.
I’m losing my damn mind.
I distract myself by pulling some of the glass shards out of my knuckles. I know she ain't going nowhere, I spent some time yesterday boarding up the windows. Her room and the bathroom are now secure thanks to some tools and scrap material I found in the garage.
She comes out about ten minutes later, with my shirt back on, using a towel to dry the wet hair hanging over her shoulders.
“I used the toiletries,” she tells me as she struts past me toward the kitchen. “I hope the toothbrush wasn’t yours.”
Letting out a frustrated breath, I follow her. This little act she’s pulling is ballsy as fuck and starting to piss me off.
I much prefer her helpless and screaming.
She strokes the dog as she passes him on her way to the fridge, then pulls out the eggs that I brought from the store, and some of the leftover ham from the sandwich I made her the night before last.
“What are you doing?” I ask, shocked by her sudden confidence.
“I’m making myself breakfast, you want something too?” She's already using a fork to whisk up some eggs in a bowl. And when I look down at Duke, who has taken a space by the back door, I roll my eyes at him before taking a seat at the table.
Watching her move around the kitchen, wearing my shirt and acting as if I didn’t just fucking kiss her, makes it hard for me to stay on guard. I have to keep in mind that she could bolt any second, yet all I seem to be focusing on right now is how easily my cock could access her if I bent her over the kitchen counter.
Reaching up on her toes, she stretches her body to get two glasses from the top cupboard, then she rinses them out before filling them with water. I watch her throat move as she sips it down. My cock swelling even bigger, and my fingers pulsing to touch her there again. She smiles at me, like she can read the thoughts in my head, and places the other full glass in front of me before getting back to the stove.
“So?” She lands the plated omelet in front of me, then serves one up for herself and takes the seat opposite. “I need to know what you and this Prez guy have planned for me.” She speaks calmly as she digs her fork into her food. Like she’s the one in control here.
I should never have fucking kissed her.
“Why would I tell you that?” I take a mouthful myself, the eggs are fluffy and of course fucking delicious.
“So I can prepare myself.” She shrugs. “Have you contacted Julian for ransom yet? Because if you have, you’re wasting your time. I’m way richer than him.” She smiles, sliding the fork back between her lips to suck it clean. I’m guessing Julian is the fucker I saw back at her house and I choose to ignore the sting of envy that causes, and quickly move on.
“I don’t think you’re here for ransom,” I admit.
“Sorry, I forgot, the bad guy doesn’t know why he took the pretty rich girl.” Her eyes roll, and I swear to god she’s purposely trying to provoke another reaction from me. What the fuck has happened to the scared girl I left in the bathroom?
“You know what, I’m just as curious as you are. Why don’t you tell me why you think you’re here?” I suggest, slouching back in my chair.
“I just did, it’s because of my parent’s money. It has to be.”
“It’s not about the money. We don’t make money outta hurting women and children.” I don’t miss the little glint of worry that returns to her eyes.
“So why am I the exception?” She bites her lip, probably out of concern, but she's doing a great job of making it look seductive.
“Have I hurt you?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow at her.
“I guess not.” She looks surprised at her own answer.
“Then you ain't the exception,” I point out blankly.
She looks sheepish, almost disappointed as she takes her last mouthful and places down her fork.
“Can you think of any people you're involved with that you shouldn’t be?” It pisses me off that I’m stooping low enough to ask her these questions. I shouldn’t fuckin’ care. She’s a job. I’ve killed many men for the club without asking what they’ve done to deserve it.
She shakes her head, and a hunch that I seem to have acquired over the years senses her honesty.
“You ever heard of the Dirty Souls?” I ask cautiously, it’s a stupid idea to bring up the club, especially as I’m not sure how this is gonna finish. But I’m curious.
“The bikers?” She looks back at me confused. “I’ve heard of them.” Suddenly her confusion morphs into panic. “Fuck, has this got something to do with them?”
“You watch that fuckin’ mouth of yours, those lips are far too pretty to be cursing,” I warn, wanting to smash my hand into my own face for saying that out loud.
“Brax, are the Dirty Souls after me?” She ignores my comment, her voice wobbly.
“Darlin’, the Dirty Souls already got ya.” I watch her confidence fade into hopelessness.
“No,” she whispers, her head shaking slowly, as she slides back on the chair she’s on. “Bikers ride motorcycles and wear leather jackets.”
“It's called a cut.” I reach into my duffel bag and slam mine onto the table in front of her.
Why am I doing this, why am I telling her too much?
I tell myself it’s because she needs to know the danger she’s in so she’ll open up to me. But is it because I want her to know who I really am?
Her eyes flick between me and the cut in front of her. “So you really are a bad guy,” she whispers before biting down on that fucking lip again. This time it’s most definitely outta fear, and don’t it just make me wanna do all the things I shouldn’t to her.
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Standing up, I take both plates and dump them in the sink.
“Brax?” She speaks my name cautiously as she takes my cut in her hands and traces her fingers over the patch that reads NOMAD.
“What would people like you want with someone like me?” she asks, and I can sense how she fears the answer.
“That’s what I’m trying to find out… Then maybe I might be able to help you.” I'm furious at myself for admitting that last part out loud. Not just because it shows fucking weakness, but because I shouldn’t be giving her false hope.
“Do you really expect me to trust you?” she questions me.
“No. But right now, I’m the only hope you got of getting out the shit you’re in.” Taking the cuffs back out my pocket, I snap one onto her wrist and pull her up to her feet. She doesn't struggle or fight, and willingly allows me to lead her through the back door on to the porch.
I force her to sit on one of the steps that hasn't rotted, and cuff the other half of the handcuffs to one of the rails.
“What are you doing?” she asks, watching me as I rest a ladder up against the house.
“I can’t sit around doing nothing. I’m gonna try patching up that roof.” I nod up to the hole that’s right above the room she’s sleeping in. “Unless you want to sleep in a damp room again tonight?” I light up a smoke and take a long drag before slinging the tool belt I found yesterday over my shoulder. She doesn’t respond, just watches me as I climb up the ladder and get to work.
I feel those pretty green eyes on me for the rest of the day. When I’ve finished patching up the roof, I find a ball in the long unkempt grass and throw it for Duke. She giggles when he refuses to give it up for me to throw again, and I have to pry his slobbery jaws open with my hand. And I don’t even get mad at her for it. How can I, when the sound of her laughter is one of the nicest things I’ve ever fucking heard?
It’s also a reminder of how lethal she could be to a man like me.
I haven’t figured out how she’s doing it yet, but she seems capable of blanking out her situation. Forgetting the danger that she’s in. The same danger that I can slowly feel myself being drawn deeper and deeper into protecting her from.