Mafia Games by Vi Carter
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CLAIRE
The food that I place in my mouth is tasteless. My heart is refusing to slow down, and this is a new kind of torture: Sitting here with him while he watches me like I’m the most interesting thing he’s seen in a long time. He hasn’t touched his own plate.
“Stop,” I whisper, glancing down at my lap.
“Stop what?” Richards’s voice holds a pinch of humor.
I look up at him and my stomach twists.
“Tell me what Leonard did to you.” The question flows like an average question, but I hear the depth of what he’s asking.
Did it really matter? I place my knife and fork on the plate. My appetite never showed up anyway, so I could stop the pretense of enjoying the meal. “He burnt my parents alive while I listened to their screams.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. No emotion is attached to the words; right now, I just can’t allow myself to feel that depth of pain.
“I remember as a child he loved hurting animals, and soon it turned to people.” I glance back up at Richard. “Soon, his love for inflicting pain turned to me.”
I stumble over the next sentence. I hadn’t even told Rose, my therapist, any of this. The words always lodged themselves in my throat with fear, fear that Leonard would find out I told someone and make my life worse. I think it’s safe to say that my life has hit rock bottom. There is nothing more anyone can take from me.
“Two weeks before my parents died, there was this stupid cat stuck up in our old tree house that Dad had built for us.” I place my hands in my lap and squeeze them tightly together like they might hold me together. My hands grow damp with the memory. Somehow I find the strength to continue. “Leonard loved hurting small creatures, and I knew when he told me the cat was up there, he was giving me time to save it, or he’d kill it. He liked playing games. I went up, and of course, there was no cat.” My gut twists painfully. I reach across the table and pick up a glass of water. I don’t drink the liquid. I’m not sure whether my throat is capable of any more functions beyond letting my story pour from me. I want to ask Richard to allow me to stop. That I don’t want to talk about this, but I have no control as the words continue to flow. “He was there in the hut, grinning at me the moment I opened the trap door. I had no time to react. He kicked me in the face, and I was falling. I couldn’t move, not even as he joined me on the ground, not even as he broke my leg. The fall had broken the other.”
I look at Richard again. His face is impassive. He’s stoic. The look on his face should be enough to make me stop, but there is no stopping the pain or my words. “I was bedridden. I never told my parents what he did to me.”
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” Richards’s words are low, too low.
I should take my words back. “He said he’d hurt our mom.” I blink, and tears fall. I wipe them away quickly. I don’t want to feel right now. “They were screaming, and I couldn’t save them. He made sure I couldn’t.” I’m up from the table, their screams propelling my steps. It’s too much. I should have saved them. I should have dragged my body out of bed. I should have told them the first time I found a jar of wingless butterflies in his room. I should have told them when I found the countless dead cats or dogs hidden at the end of our garden. He always said he wouldn’t do it again, or his reason changed as we got older, that he would hurt our mom and it would be my fault. I exhale a shaky breath as my mind leaves the pain, and I take in the surrounding space. I have no idea where I’m going, but I’m moving past doors— an endless stream of doors. A security man steps out towards me, but something has him stepping back.
I glance over my shoulder, knowing there would only be one person who would have that power. Richard is walking behind me, his eyes pinned on me. Knowing he’s behind me doesn’t slow me down. Nothing does. I have no idea where I’m going. Ahead I see a set of double frosted glass doors that I push open. The air changes as I enter a pool room. The water reflects off the wall tiles, giving the room an illusion as if it’s all water. I stop running and move closer to the edge of the pool. My body shimmers with the water, and I’m staring at myself, standing alone, in his t-shirt, that is, until he appears behind me towering over me. When his hands touch my shoulders, I close my eyes at the contact, but his touch doesn’t make me cower. It extracts more of my confession from my lips.
“I did nothing,” I say. His fingers tighten on my upper arms, he still hasn’t spoken, and that has me opening my eyes. I try to turn in his arms, but his hold is firm and keeps me in place. I’m drawn to the image of us that distorts in the water.
A kiss is pressed to the top of my head, and this time when I try to turn, he allows the movement by dropping his hands. He doesn’t move away from me, making me crane my neck back to look up at him.
“I didn’t know.” His words confuse me.
“How would you?” I ask.
His jaw clenches. “I know now.”
The tightness of his jaw has me wanting to reach up and touch his face. So I do. The muscle in his jaw twitches under my touch. “I used to pray for him to die,” I admit, not looking Richard directly in the eyes. Richard is a dangerous man who does dangerous things. Maybe he will understand my dark thoughts. “After the fire….” I let my hand slip from Richard’s face. He catches my un-bandaged wrist and turns it palm up. Shock races through me as he presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist. “…I stopped praying.” I finish my sentence.
Our eyes lock, and something I see has me touching his face again. He’s looking at me with understanding, and I’m wondering once again what made him into the man he is today. What made him so cruel one moment but so gentle the next?
Richard bends his head, and I do nothing to stop the kiss; instead, I fall into him. I open my mouth and let his tongue gain entry. His large hands grip my sides and squeeze. It’s a reminder of his sheer size, and I break the kiss. A shiver assaults me as our gazes clash. His hunger turns his eyes almost black, and I know I’m not getting away from him. He drags me back and claims my mouth. My hands automatically wrap around his neck, and he uses the moment to grab my thighs and lift me up off the ground. The moment my feet leave the ground, I wrap them around his waist. He moves us to the wall. The cool tiles push against my back as his large erection presses into my stomach.
His lips slip from mine, and he presses one kiss after another along my jaw. I cling to him as each kiss chips some of the hardened pain away from me, revealing the rawness underneath. How long has it been since I shared more than a kiss with a man? I never allowed myself to go too far. I never wanted to feel.
My head feels light like I’m drunk, and my hands glide from his neck to his face. Richard’s kisses stop, but he doesn’t release me. He’s waiting, watching me and our breaths mingle heavily together.
My core throbs. I want him. He wants me. His head dips closer, and I eradicate the distance and kiss him first. His body presses heavily against mine, and I push my core toward his shaft, wanting to satisfy the yearning that makes me wet.
He releases my legs and slowly lets my feet slip to the floor. He doesn’t break the kiss, and the air catches in my lungs as his hand touches the bare skin of my thigh. His long fingers move the fabric of my panties aside, and his finger circles my clitoris. His other hand races down my arm and touches the bandage. He leaves my clitoris, and his finger dips inside me while his thumb presses down on my wrist. His lips leave mine, giving me a moment to breathe harsh and deep breaths that roar through my body. I’m light-headed as he plunges two fingers inside me. His lips crash down on mine again as the force behind them sends me back into the wall. Pain erupts in my back at the impact, but his fingers send waves of pure pleasure through me. His teeth graze my lips, sending a jolt of electricity through me, but I’m distracted as he moves his fingers faster and harder inside me. It’s like someone turning up the volume on a stereo. A soft bite to my lip pulls me away from the bliss, but Richard’s thumb works my clit, moving in fast circles, which reignites my pleasure.
The nips to my lip get deeper until I’m a mix of pain and pleasure. Each time he bites me, he spends longer on my core, giving it exactly what it needs and sending me into a spin. I sense the skin splitting on my lip but once again, I don’t fully register it as Richard’s expert fingers move, bringing me close to my climax. I taste the blood in my mouth as another finger enters me, and I grip his shoulders as I moan loudly. I cry out my release. Each time he enters me slowly, it sets off small sparks behind my eyes and shocks throughout my system. He removes his fingers, and I dare to open my eyes. His gaze makes me swallow the saliva and blood. My tongue automatically flicks out, and I lick fresh blood from the cut on my lip. Richard is staring at my lips, and he bends his head and presses a kiss to the cut. The suction sensation frightens me but also stirs something deep in my belly as he sucks my blood. When Richard leans out, his lips have my blood on them.
He moves closer and presses another kiss to my lips. With his arms pressed against the wall, I’m boxed in. I’m trapped under his large frame. His breath fans across my neck, and I’m wondering if he’s going to bite me. I’m waiting when his large hands leave the wall, and they touch my hips, but there is no pressure under his fingertips.
“He’ll never hurt you again.” It’s a promise. It’s everything I wish I had heard a long time ago. It’s a death sentence.
“Don’t kill him.” My voice is devoid of emotion. I have to say those words, but the truth behind it is I’d be happy if he died. That thought has me wanting Richard away from me. My thoughts are wrong. I shouldn’t wish anyone dead. What would my parents think of me? My father would be disappointed.
A kiss to my neck has shivers racing across my body, and when Richard steps away, I want him back immediately so he can fend off the cold.
“You think he has a right to live?” Richard’s question has me folding my arms across my chest, causing the t-shirt to rise. All the flesh draws Richards’s attention, and I drop my arms to my side, not forgetting for one second how hard he was against me.
I try to focus on his words. “I have no right to say who lives or dies.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Richard steps away from me, putting more distance between us. I don’t move from the wall.
“No, he has no right to live. But that doesn’t mean he should die. He’s locked up where he can’t hurt anyone else.”
Laughter echoes in the pool room. It’s not kind laughter, it’s cruel and angry.
“He continues to hurt people,” Richard says when his laughter stops. I see it in his gaze. My brother hurt him too.
“I’m not playing God. We have no right to take a life.” It’s stupid to say these words to a man who took the life of two people in front of me.
“There is no God, Claire.”
I’m ready to tell him there is, but maybe he’s right, maybe there is no God. Maybe it’s just men and women, war and love, hope and despair. Maybe that’s all there is. Maybe that’s all that makes us up.
“I don’t want Leonard to die.”
A grin spreads across Richard’s face. “I don’t believe you.” He steps closer to me.
I can’t hold his gaze again. “I don’t,” I say again, but I hear it; it’s so clear in my words.
“It’s okay.” Richard reaches me, and I focus on his chest. He takes hold of my chin and raises my head. “It’s okay.” He repeats before pressing a soft kiss to my lips.