His Brutal Game by Audrey Rush

CHAPTER 13

Maisie

Adrenaline prickled across my skin, an electrical current running rampant through me with each stride. Every thought inside of me was at war. Wilder had warned me to run. But I wanted to stay. To show him that he was capable of more. To fight for him. To fight for us.

But I couldn’t let go of his warning.

I raced through the trees, relieved I was in gym shoes. I tripped over a root, my chin thudding against the ground. I pushed myself back up and kept going. If Wilder said to run, then I had to run. And he was following me. That he wanted to chase me.

I stumbled with the keys to the SUV. Dropped them. Scrambled to pick them up. Focused on the car. I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. I was stupid to accept this car. They probably had it bugged with a tracking device. That was probably why Wilder had given me my own car in the first play; he would know where I was at all times anyway. And that must have been how Sawyer knew I was connected to the stolen money.

And why was this the first time I actually cared about my actions? I had never cared about getting caught before. I was used to ignoring the consequences until they ran me over, flattening me. Because then, I could only go forward.

But I wanted Wilder to follow me, as much as he wanted to chase me. He wanted the hunt. I wanted him to catch me.

I drove fast, not knowing where I was going, letting my instincts lead me. I concentrated on the road. Black asphalt. White lines. Yellow lines. Green signs. Pierce. Crown Creek. Pierce Mountain. Pierce Park Tunnel. Anything to get me to where I needed to go. I finally took a deep breath. My heart rate slowed. I was in a car. I was getting away. Running like Wilder told me too. But what did that mean for Wilder?

I looked in the rearview mirror: Wilder was following me, only a few car-lengths behind. Even in the rearview mirror, his gray-blue eyes were haunting in the dusky light. Fear and lust destroyed me on the inside. What I was supposed to do? Where was I supposed to go?

Where were we supposed to go?

I ended up in the woods near Pierce Park Tunnel, the only place that was empty and dangerous, like us. I slammed on the brakes, then headed for the tunnel. He parked near my car. The car door shut after him. I held my arms around myself, the skin at the back of my neck tingling.

Wilder had drowned a woman. He was obsessed with water, with what it did to people, with what it did to me. Throwing the wet cloth on my face. Watching me squirm as he poured water on me. Shoving my head in the trough.

And he had killed her. Like he could have killed me.

And I had asked him to do it to me again. Knowing full well what he was capable of. Knowing that he wouldn’t do it. Because I trusted him. Like a damn idiot.

What was wrong with me?

Why did I want to struggle like that?

That rush fueled me, just like it charged him. I had never felt connected to anyone like I did with him.

The tunnel was dark. Light perspiration laced my skin, wrapping me in my own fear. It was late. I stepped along the railroad, then walked on the wooden slats until I was a quarter of a mile inside. I ducked into the first alcove, taking my corner. Soon, Wilder’s fingers fanned across the brick too, coming in behind me. He leaned against the wall. The dim light from the end of the tunnel illuminated him in dim strokes. Energy hummed between us.

This was my safe place. When the call to danger and everything bad inside of me surfaced, where I could be alone, where I could be myself. Wilder sat in the dark next to me. We couldn’t see each other, but it felt like I was more exposed than I had ever been.

“You always come here,” Wilder said. I blinked my eyes at the shadow of his form. I hadn’t come here in ages, since before we were married. Had he been watching me? “Why?”

“Maybe I’m haunting this place,” I said sarcastically. That’s what my mother used to tell me,  that I was like a ghost who couldn’t find peace. A lonely, guilty piece of trash who would only see glimmers of the sun. I peered down the tunnel at the opening, at the deep blue night. “Maybe I died here.”

Wilder sighed deeply. Heat flowered in my cheeks. What did that sigh mean?

“I’m asking you a question. Showing an interest in you. Like you asked from me,” he said. “Give me a straight answer.”

My cheeks burned. I had forgotten about that. In the beginning, I had wanted to know anything and everything about him. Don’t you want to get to know each other before we do this? I had asked, somehow thinking it might give me an advantage over him. But it had made me more curious. Made me want to understand him. Now I knew more than I could imagine, and he wanted to know more about me.

But I hadn’t told anyone about this place, not since it had happened. How could I find the words?

“I used to come here with my little sister,” I mumbled. “Racing. Playing chase. Daredevil stuff.”

“Bambi?” he asked.

Bambi and I weren’t related. She was like a sister to me, but she wasn’t my sister.

“You don’t have a little sister,” he said.

A beat of silence passed, then the air shifted between us. He had figured it out, then. It was easier to pretend like she didn’t exist. Easier for my parents. Easier for me. It was even easier for my big sister, Fiona. That way, there was no one to blame. But it never left us. My little sister was always there, her memory reminding me that it was my fault. That I could have stopped it. And that maybe I deserved whatever came to take me with her. I would never make up for what had happened.

I tucked my hair behind my ear. Wilder’s dark form was shapeless, but I knew he was looking at me. Trying to figure me out.

“By the pond,” I said, changing the subject. “Who was that, anyway?”

“A livestock order.”

And so we were back to our simple answers. At least he was honest.

“I get that,” I said. “But who? Who was she?”

“Eileen Hathaway.”

That name didn’t mean anything to me. And I had this feeling that her name didn’t mean anything to him either.

“Who ordered the kill?” I asked.

“A friend of my father’s.”

My spine tingled at those words. “What did she do?”

“I don’t ask questions,” Wilder said. “It’s not up to me to decide whether they deserve to die.”

In a way, I respected that. He didn’t ask questions because he didn’t believe he was any better than the people he was killing. He fulfilled his orders, his duty, and did exactly what he was trained to do. His brother, Sawyer, had judgments and was convinced that I was a bad influence on Wilder. And maybe I was. Maybe if Wilder actually listened to his brother, I would have paid for my betrayals a long time ago.

“You saved me from your brother,” I said. “Why?”

He scoffed. “Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

“But I don’t know.”

Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the tunnel. I threw a hand over Wilder’s chest, and we both quieted, the sounds of our breaths floating between us. The person walked past us, whistling to himself. I kept my hand on Wilder’s chest, his heartbeat steady. And somehow, it calmed me too. I didn’t want to let go.

Once the person was gone, we both relaxed. I turned toward him, seeing only the shape of his face in the darkness.

“It’s not a dumb question,” I said. “Why keep me alive if you want nothing to do with me? You could obviously get away with it.”

“You must truly want to die.”

“I want to know why you haven’t killed me yet.”

“Fucking hell, Maisie. You know why.”

And I knew that those words were the only answer I would get from him. Only a hint of an admission. He did care about me.

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before, have you?” I asked.

“Are you having fun?” The irritation was ripe in his voice.

“I just want to know.”

The tension was thick in the air. Wilder may have been strange and erratic and controlled in a way that scared me, but I knew he wanted me, and that he wanted to protect me, even if he tried hard not to. He couldn’t help it. Like I couldn’t help but be fascinated by him.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll say it, then. You want me.”

Silence.

He didn’t deny it this time.

“But I try and try to get you to notice me,” I said.

And as those words came out, I realized that he did notice me. It was the perfume requests: smelling my natural scent, but not wanting to. The fact that he always came back in the evenings. That he let me follow him. That he tucked me into bed. He had probably never had a relationship before. He must have always been with sex workers. It must have been why his father sought me out.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “You won’t even have sex with me.” I threw up my hands, the shadows of my arms darkening across his face. “I’ve tried everything. I always crack clients, even the cold ones. But not you. You shut me down every time. And then I think I’m getting close, and you throw me back. Not letting me—”

“Why do you want to have sex so bad?”

My jaw fell, guilt tightening in my chest, remembering the condition of receiving the million dollars.

“I told you,” I said. “Your father offered me a million dollars.”

“Why are you in such a hurry? You know you’ll get your money.”

“Is it really that surprising that I want to know that you want me?” Pain drummed in my jaw. “I’m human, Wilder. I need physical contact, just like anyone else.” I raised my hands in frustration. “Like everyone else, except you.”

He straightened his posture, his shadow looming higher. “It’s not my fault that you need physical reassurance,” he said. “Not everything can be measured by sex.” He came closer, his breath on my face. “And yes, I want you, all right? But I’m not going to fuck you. I won’t let myself.”

Everything inside of me came to a halt. I realized what was keeping him back from me. I should have known it all along. The harsh way he touched me. His jagged movements. His uncontrolled passion. There was nothing fluid about him. He wouldn’t do it, because he had never done it before.

“You’re a virgin,” I said.