Hell by J.L. Beck

21

Rowan

My life is so incredibly fucked up. I should stop trying to make sense of it.

I spent one week virtually locked away in Lucian’s mansion, and now I’ve spent the past week locked in my apartment.

All things considered, I’m not sure which place I like better. Sure, his house is ridiculously comfortable and much larger than any one single person needs. I had everything I could ever want or need at the tip of my fingers except for human interaction—though it’s not like I’m getting any of that here, either, with my door locked against the rest of the world.

The bottom line is, I’m afraid. More afraid than I’ve been in a while—hell, even more afraid than I was of Eric sometimes. Eric never used me the way Lucian did. He might’ve hit me, and there were a lot of times I wasn’t in the mood, but he convinced me to go along with it.

He wouldn’t have continued fucking me as I screamed and wailed and begged. He would’ve stopped if I used a safe word. No, I have no way of knowing for sure, but I feel it.

Now I’m afraid to leave my apartment in case I run into one or the other. Eric hasn’t shown his face since that day at the mall, and sure, Alexei told me I don’t have to worry about him, but that’s easy for him to say. He doesn’t know Eric like I do.

And even I don’t know what’s going through his sick brain. He could show up any time. Or he might grab me out in the open like he did last time. I can’t predict what he’ll pull.

As for Lucian, I don’t think he would ever stoop so low as to visit someplace I’d visit. Like he would ever go to the mall or out to a diner for something to eat. I’m sure he’s too important to ever sit with other people in a movie theater. So I’m not worried about crossing paths with him out on the street.

But Alexei or one of the other guys? That’s another story. For all I know, he’d have one of them follow me around because he’s a sick fuck like that.

I have to ask myself why it matters if he wants to follow me or whether Eric still has a grudge he wants to work out on my face. They’re both out of my life now, and I have ten thousand dollars sitting in the bank. If I have to, I’ll find an apartment on the other side of the country and start a whole new life. We’ll see how good Lucian’s men are at finding people. Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?

I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have let myself forget who he is at his core. He doesn’t care about people. He cares about his business and about himself, and that’s all. Everything he showed me, everything he did—tucking me in, making sure I had clothes and makeup, even letting me stay with him so I could get away from Eric—all of it was for his benefit. Dressing me the way he wanted to dress me, keeping me waiting until he was good and ready to do some fucked-up thing to me.

For all I know, letting me stay at his house was just another way of controlling me. It might not have had anything to do with Eric at all. If anything, that might’ve been a nice excuse for Lucian to sweep in and pretend to be a hero.

And to think, he actually acted like he had no idea why I was upset. He must not have listened to me at all when I told him I wasn’t going through that again. There I was, so proud of myself for standing up for my feelings and my safety, and what did it get me?

It got me a broken heart; that’s what it got me.

I hate thinking of it that way, to the point where it makes me sick to my stomach, but it’s the truth. He broke my heart. I trusted him, and he destroyed that. And I don’t know who I’m angrier with, him or me. Because I should’ve known better.

Note to self: don’t ever get into a situation like this again. Never, ever can I leave my fate in anybody else’s hands. There was no way I could’ve imagined the night when Alexei found me that things would’ve ended up this way. There are bad people in the world, people willing to use others so long as it benefits them. They’ll say anything to get their way.

Strings are always attached, and there isn’t always a way to know what those strings will be. I could never in a million years have guessed who Alexei worked for, for instance, or how I would be expected to pay my debt.

I’ll never put myself in that place again. If there’s anything I can thank Lucian for, it’s that. He taught me a valuable lesson.

He taught me something else, too, something I’m wrestling with even a week later. I need more people in my life, good people, genuine people because I have nobody to turn to right now, and it’s enough to make me want him back.

How sick is that? What does that say about me? That I almost wish I could look forward to seeing him again? This whole week, I’ve bounced back and forth between hating him and missing him. It doesn’t make any sense. What’s there to miss? When we’re together, we’re usually doing only one thing. The longest conversation I ever had with him was held in the library when I gave him a safe word that he chose to ignore. I should hate him. I should wish nothing but the worst for him.

But then I remember him coming in and saving me from the psycho with the knife. Talking me through a panic attack. Holding me in his arms until I finally calmed down. It’s like he’s two different people. It’s a shame there’s never any telling which version you’re going to get from one minute to the next.

It’s like I keep attracting men like that into my life. Eric was like that too. He could be charming and funny, even genuinely sweet sometimes. I guess even monsters know how to hide that side of themselves when they need to.

I’m grateful for the knock on the door, and not just because I’m starving. At least eating a pizza gives me something to do besides dwelling on the same stuff I’ve been obsessing over for a week. I grab my wallet before going to the door, opening it before thinking twice.

And that’s a mistake. The door swings open hard enough to bounce off the wall next to it, and I barely have time to get out of the way before Lucian barges into the apartment.

It feels like my heart is going to explode right out of my chest. I run for the kitchen, flailing around, trying to find a weapon. There’s a knife in the drawer next to the sink, and I grab it, holding it up at shoulder height. “Stay away from me!”

“Is this really necessary?” He sounds tired, not afraid. Of course, why would he be afraid of somebody like me? I’m nobody, aren’t I?

“Is it necessary that you had to practically break into my apartment? What do you think you’re doing? You don’t belong here. Didn’t I make myself clear? Do I need to remind you?” I grip the knife tighter, watching his every move. I can’t shake the feeling of waiting for him to strike.

“Put down the knife, Rowan.” He begins unbuttoning his suit jacket because, of course, he has to wear a suit everywhere. “I only came to talk.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to listen. Do you ever get tired of shoving yourself into somebody’s life? I didn’t ask you to come here, and I have nothing to say to you.”

“There are still a few things I want to say.”

“You could’ve called me. Alexei has my number.”

“Some things a person doesn’t want to say over the phone. Some messages deserve to be delivered face-to-face.” I can’t believe he’s actually making himself comfortable as though he’s planning on staying. He takes off his jacket and everything, draping it over one arm before loosening his tie. “It’s been a long day.”

“I don’t care.” Still, I can’t help but snicker. “What, did you have to sit behind a desk and collect money for work other people are doing? It must be exhausting.”

He smirks. “You just described the life of every CEO alive. But I didn’t come here for this. I came here to tell you I realize I went too far, and I apologize for that. It was uncalled for and unforgivable. You’re absolutely right to take this attitude with me.”

I can’t help but feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop as we face off from across my tiny kitchen. Does he mean it? Do I want him to? The answer to that is a very pathetic yes. I do. I want him to be telling the truth, and I want to believe him. When am I ever going to stop being weak for men like him?

When he doesn’t say anything else for a while, I shrug. “Is that it? Is that what you came to say?”

“I suppose—no, come to think of it, that’s not all I came here for.”

I should’ve known. “What else do you want? And don’t even consider asking me to put myself through that bullshit again because I won’t. So just forget about it.”

“That’s not it, either. You have to stop jumping to conclusions.”

“And maybe you need to stop being so cryptic all the time.” When his eyes go wide, I roll mine. “I do know words. I’m not a complete idiot.”

“No one ever said you were. I’m just not accustomed to being called out the way you’re doing now.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re looking for an apology, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

“I’m not looking for an apology.” His smile even seems genuine. “I was hoping for a little company, to be honest.”

All I can do is blink at him. “You’re serious.”

“I am.”

“So you came here. To me. Of all the people in your world.”

“What can I say? I enjoy spending time with you.”

I don’t know if I can believe that or not. What’s so special about me? “I’m not having sex with you tonight—or anybody else,” I think to add when I remember all the little loopholes people like him use to trick others.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He nods toward the door. “Who did you think I was?”

“The pizza delivery guy.”

“I can’t tell you the last time I ate fresh pizza. I’m serious,” he insists when I shoot him a look. “Do I strike you as someone who has the local joint on speed dial?”

He has a point. And I get the feeling he’s inviting himself to share the pizza with me. Well, it’s too big for me to eat on my own, anyway.

There’s a knock on the door. We exchange a look. “I’ll get it for you. Just in case it’s another man looking to force his way in.” I’m glad he thinks this is hilarious. It’s my damn life he’s joking around about.

I should put the knife away, shouldn’t I? He hasn’t made a move beyond taking off his jacket. He hasn’t tried to touch me even once. And he did sound sincere when he apologized.

Why am I doing this? I don’t know, but I am. The knife goes in the drawer, and I grab napkins before joining Lucian on the sofa, where he’s opened the pizza box in the middle of the coffee table. “This smells incredible.” He sighs.

“Do you never eat pizza?”

“I tend to stick to healthier foods. But Greta still manages to keep it interesting for me.” Yes, I bet she would. I’ve missed her. “But every so often, I get a craving for extra cheese. It has to be the right kind of pizza, though. That’s the tricky part.”

“What’s the right kind of pizza?”

“Thin crust, but thick enough to have a little bit of bite to it. Puffy at the top, with those little heat blisters.” He points at a handful around the edge of our pizza. “This looks like a good one.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.” I take a slice and dab away some of the grease before taking a bite. Lucian, meanwhile, peels away a slice, folds it in half, and shoves almost half of it in his mouth all at once.

His eyes close. “Oh, my god. Bliss.” So kinky sex isn’t the only thing that makes him do that. Here I was, wondering what made him tick. It was pizza all along.

“Sometimes it’s good to let yourself go a little, huh?”

“No kidding. Fuck. I have half a mind to buy this place so I can have them deliver to me every day.” I bet he could do that, too. Though I keep that thought to myself.

This is too weird. Watching him act like a normal person, asking if there are any movies I’d like to see. He finds a random superhero movie, and I agree since it’s not like I’ll be paying much attention, anyway. We could watch the Weather Channel for all I care.

How am I supposed to pay attention to anything besides him sitting on the other side of the sofa? All I can do is wonder why he’s here and what he wants. Is he going to want to make a thing out of this? I don’t know how I feel about that. Sure, it’s good to have him with me, but that doesn’t mean this will be our new arrangement. His weekly pizza fix or something.

He glances my way after a few minutes. “Why don’t you come over here?”

See, I knew it. There had to be something else. “I don’t want to. I’m still not over what happened, and I told you that night that I don’t want you to touch me again.”

His eyes narrow for a second. “I only want to hold you. Nothing sexual.” When I scowl, he scowls back. “I think we both know I’d have taken you by now if that’s what I came for.”

I hate that he’s right. If he decided he wanted me, he’d get me. Even if I didn’t want him to.

I must be taking too much time making up my mind because his arm darts out and hooks around my waist before I can do anything about it. He doesn’t pull me to him, though, not exactly. I end up lying across his lap, facing the TV. “Did that hurt?” he asks. I choose not to answer.

No, it didn’t hurt. In fact, this isn’t bad at all. Now I know for sure I missed him. His nearness, the way he makes me feel safe—which doesn’t really make sense because he’s made me feel the exact opposite, too. Maybe he learned his lesson.

Either way, when he reaches out to stroke my hair, I don’t flinch away. I’m still not paying attention to the movie, but now it’s because his touch is so soothing. The scent of his cologne is nice, too. Years from now, I’ll smell that cologne somewhere, and I’ll think of him.

Nothing about his touch is demanding. It’s gentle, light, and the steady rhythm lulls me into deep relaxation. I haven’t exactly been sleeping well—no big surprise.

Nope. My eyes open wide. I’m not going to leave myself vulnerable to him.

But I’m so sleepy.

He wouldn’t hurt me. I can fall asleep, and he won’t hurt me. I have to believe that because my eyelids are suddenly too heavy to lift any longer.