His Brutal Game by Audrey Rush
CHAPTER 19
Maisie
The first shades of morning light poked me awake. Wilder’s side of the bed was cold like he had been gone for hours. But I reminded myself that was normal. I stretched, then walked barefoot to the kitchen. The drying rack was empty, and the table was clean.
There were no signs of him anywhere.
I kept telling myself that it was just another day. Another day in our strange, arranged marriage that had finally started to make some sense.
But now, that was all gone.
I perched on the couch near the window. Usually, I saw Wilder cross the area a few times during the day, but I didn’t see him once. A nervous fluttering rolled inside of me, wondering if that meant anything.
Each time the house creaked, my pulse raced. Everything put me on edge. Adrenaline constantly surged in my chest, my body weak. My father-in-law had bound and gagged me through sheer force, and his brother had tried to kill me. And yet, I had never doubted that Wilder would save me. Better than I could save myself.
But Wilder had still pointed a gun at me. It was clear that his family wanted me dead.
At eight o’clock, I ate dinner by myself, then left his plate plastic-wrapped on the table. I stared blankly at the television, my fingers flicking against my legs. The images transformed from laugh-track comedies to cheaply done local commercials. I didn’t see anything but the memory of Wilder the night before, telling me to go to sleep, his tone soulless. As if I would have been better off dead. Like it was easier to pretend I didn’t exist. And the screwed up part was that Forrest and Sawyer could come into our home at any time, and I would have to rely on Wilder again. But I didn’t want that. I wanted to rely on myself.
And Wilder clearly didn’t want me to rely on him either.
I don’t know when I fell asleep. But when I woke up, the television was off and the lights were dark in the house. A long piece of leather bound my arms and wrists behind my back, going all the way up to my shoulders, thrusting my chest out. Needles pricked my insides. Who the hell had me now? I jerked myself to the side to see who it was, but I saw nothing.
Wilder’s grunt came from behind me. I relaxed my posture. It was Wilder. But as he tightened the restraints, causing my shoulders to strain, I whimpered. Did he want to make it hurt? Was he finally going to do what his father and brother wanted?
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He positioned me into a sitting position on the couch, then brandished his knife. He put the blade at the edge of my clothes, pulling at the fabric until it sliced off. I blinked, trying to figure out what was going on. He studied me, covering every inch of my skin like he wanted a photographic memory. His cock throbbed, pushing against his jeans.
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us said a word.
“I killed my mother,” he said.
It wasn’t that simple. “Wilder, you didn’t—”
“My father used to take me to the top of the barn. He’d set these cans all over the farm, teaching me to use a sniper rifle. One day, my mother was outside, hanging up clothes to dry. Had me aim the sights at her.”
Why was he telling me this?
“But you didn’t do it,” I said.
“Not that day. But she was my first kill,” he said. I shuddered, my toes curling up. “Forrest had her restrained. A hood over her head. Like you were yesterday.” His eyes darkened. “That pond, past the second pasture? Forrest said she stole money, but you know what I think?” He balled his fists. “She knew what she was doing. She must have been tired of watching her back.”
I swallowed a dry lump, forcing myself to meet his stare.
“I watched it all,” Wilder said. “She gave it every ounce of strength she had, but it wasn’t enough. Those seconds have replayed in my head. Over and over. An obsession I can’t get rid of, no matter how many people I drown.”
My stomach twisted into knots. Wilder spent time at that pond. Sitting at the bottom, underwater, waiting until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“The fucked up thing is I don’t see her face anymore. I see yours,” he said, his voice calm. “Every time I think of that night, it’s not my father drowning my mother. It’s me drowning you.”
I sucked in a breath, my heart pounding, but I leveled myself as I stared at him.
“You are not your past,” I said.
He ignored me. “When you drown a person, they lose consciousness minutes before they die. But there’s still time, Maisie. I had seen my father do it enough to know that. But he gave me that gun. And I had a choice. I could have saved her.”
Tears filled my eyes. How could anyone put a child through that?
“But how were you supposed to go against your father?” I whispered.
“Don’t defend me,” he growled, gritting his teeth. “I aimed the gun. I pulled the fucking trigger. I killed my own mother, Maisie. The only person in this world who loved me.” My heart broke in two. He actually thought he was unlovable, that he was unworthy.
But as a kid, he didn’t have a choice.
“I’ve been obsessed with drowning ever since,” he said. “How there’s still a choice. There’s always time left. An escape if you want to find it. But I don’t want to find it. I like making them struggle. Knowing that the power is in my hands. That I hold that decision close to me like a bullet in a gun.”
My heart hammered in my chest, my eyes tracing him, trying to figure out where Wilder was hiding inside of that shell. There was still time left for him too; he just needed to see it.
“Before you, that struggle was the only way to arouse me.”
My breath caught in my throat: Before you.
Something had changed, then. We had a chance. I didn’t know how, but something was possible. He just didn’t know how to accept himself yet. It was hard. I still hadn’t truly forgiven myself for what had happened to my little sister.
But I saw Wilder. I knew him. And there was so much more inside of him than he thought.
He picked me up by the waist and threw me over his shoulder, carrying me to my old bedroom. At the top of the bedposts, a bucket was hanging from metal bars, a remote control lying on the comforter. A hood slammed over my head. Fear instantly spiked through me. I thrust myself to the side, trying to escape, but Wilder lifted my hips, moving me on top of him, his dick sliding inside of me, pulling me apart. I moaned, fear catching in my throat. The remote beeped. Water trickled on top of the hood, sliding down, making the canvas suck against my face. I gasped.
“There’s nothing good inside of me,” he said. He pumped into my pussy. His nails scraped down my hips and I cried, the tears running down my cheeks. The remote beeped again and the water splashed on me, making it hard to breathe. “I chose you because I knew I wouldn’t care when you died. Because I knew that was part of your future.”
“Stop it,” I shouted, my words broken by sobs. “Just stop.”
“I can’t save you, Maisie. That choice isn’t up to me.” The remote beeped again, the water soaking me, the canvas on my face, my breaths uncontrolled. There wasn’t enough air. A drop sucked into my throat. I coughed, my throat burning like hell. “You have to save yourself,” he said. “Run away, Maisie. Forget the bindings. Get off of me and run. Go to where our property line breaks with the highway. You’ll find a gun. And when I catch up to you, I’ll cut off the bindings. Then, you kill me, you understand? And you run as fast as you fucking can.” More water dumped onto my head, the cloth pressing against my face. “And never, ever look back.”
I imagined racing as fast as I could. Finally getting off of the property line. Wilder’s blank eyes as he removed the leather braces from my arms. Lifting that gun. Meeting Wilder’s gaze for the last time. Pulling the trigger.
“You have a choice,” Wilder said.
But I didn’t want to live a life like that. If that was my fate, then I would let myself be wrong. Yes, he was sadistic. A predatory animal. A violent storm.
But he cared. About his brother. About me. And he knew it.
It scared him.
“Tell me how you feel,” I demanded. He reached up, holding my neck, the fabric clinging to my face, not letting me breathe. “Just tell me,” I wheezed out, and he loosened his grip, letting me speak. “Tell me that you feel something for me, Wilder. Say anything, and I’ll stay.”
“You are out of your damned mind,” he muttered. He tightened his grip once again, taking away my air. I twitched on top of him, convulsing, my vision blurry. He let go of the hood, but gripped my hips, fucking me so hard my teeth snapped.
“We can do this,” I shouted. “You know we can and that’s why you keep pushing me away. You’re afraid of what needs to be done. Because you know what loving me means.”
He slapped my face, smacking the hood off. The world came into focus. He held my neck, glaring at me, letting his cock go so deep inside of me that it hit my cervix. I wailed.
“Don’t you get it?” he said, his voice low and threatening. He sat up, pressing his forehead to mine. “This is because of me.”
“Everyone dies,” I whispered. “Everyone. Your brother. Your father. Even you, Wilder.” I bit my lip. “Even me.”
His rhythm slowed, his eyes leaving mine as he contemplated my words.
“One way or another,” he said, “you will die because of me.”
Because of me.
His words buzzed in my ears. He was going to kill me, then. He was a Feldman, and that was what the Feldmans did. He was trying to warn me. To let me escape. Because he couldn’t fight it any longer. Unless I ran now.
Run as fast as you fucking can.
But I couldn’t make myself move.
There would never be a way to convince Wilder that he had a choice too. Our future would always come to this. His family’s heritage would always come first.