The words tumble out of me in broken sentences, “My…my secondary school boyfriend…uh…he tried to have sex with me, but I always told him I wasn’t ready, and he was mad about it so he…drugged me and stripped me. I was frozen on the bed as he turned my body left and right. I was screaming in my head, but no sound came out. I was calling for help, but no one heard me. All I could do was watch as he removed every piece of my clothing. I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t fight, couldn’t do anything as I lay there and smelled his putrid cologne and cigarettes. He tried to rape me, but the moment he put his thing in my mouth, I vomited all over him. He called me disgusting and left, but not before taking pictures and videos of me in compromising positions. He said…he said if I told anyone or reported him, he’d release all the material he had on porn sites.” I choke on my words. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t even tell my own parents. I was so scared and wanted to confide in them so badly, but that would have meant that Papa would see his little girl all drugged and stripped and think he couldn’t protect me. Mum would feel so bad, too, and hurting them would’ve killed me. So I preferred to keep it a secret. But I think—no—I’m sure I overestimated my ability to get past the traumatic experience. Ever since then, I go into these phases where I’m helpless, unable to scream or move or ask for help. Just like then.”
Silence falls in the room except for my harsh breathing and the involuntary sniffles that accompany my tears.
I try to stop them, but I can’t.
I can’t help the breakdown that storms through me and destroys everything in its path.
My heart hurts and everything in me aches with a force that I can’t contain. And the sole witness of my pathetic, vulnerable state is none other than Jeremy.
The devil Jeremy who forced me to tell him about a part of me I’ve kept buried for so long.
The monster Jeremy who has no heart to feel what I’m voicing for the first time since it happened about two years ago.
But maybe this is better. If I’d told this to Papa, Mum, Ava, or the others, they would’ve been devastated. They would’ve blamed themselves and blamed me for keeping it hidden. Emotions would’ve been at an all-time high and it would’ve broken me.
But Jeremy is an emotionless vault. A heartless man who only serves his own agenda.
He won’t pity me.
He won’t judge me.
He just listened, and for some reason, that’s comforting in a bizarre way.
His grip remains firm on the trigger and his body language doesn’t change.
But then he pushes my finger.
Click.
My sobs echo around us as the rush of life surges through me with a ferocity I’ve never felt before.
I could’ve died just now, but I didn’t.
It’s like I’ve been reborn.
Calmly, almost methodically, Jeremy pulls the gun from between my clammy, numb fingers and places it against his temple. “Your turn.”
“Stop, please.” I barely see him through my blurry eyes.
“Don’t you want to see if I survive or blow my head off? If it’s the second option, you don’t have to worry. It’ll be ruled a suicide.”
I whirl around and fist both hands on his jacket. “You might be content with this game, but I’m not. I don’t want to watch you die.”
“Is that worry I hear in your tone, Lisichka?”
“It’s common sense! Who in their right mind would play a death game?”
“Me. So either ask the question, or I will.” He starts to remove the gun.
I have no doubt that he’ll keep his word.
Jeremy is no different than an unmovable mountain. A merciless apex predator.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I blurt, my voice hoarse and my nose clogged from all the crying.
“Because your darkness calls to mine. I want to unleash that repressed part of you and toy with it, with you, like when I smeared your innocence all over my cock. I want to own you, Cecily, every part of you, what you show and what you hide beneath self-imposed shackles. I won’t stop until you’re fully, thoroughly, and undeniably mine.”
I shudder at each of his calmly spoken words, at the assertiveness behind them, the determination coating them.
And for the first time since I stumbled into Jeremy’s path, I realize just how screwed I am.
Because this man won’t stop. No matter how far I run or how well I hide, he’ll flip the world upside down just to find me.
He doesn’t want me for me. He wants me due to his fixation on me or whatever image he’s created of me in his twisted head.
So when he pulls the trigger, a sane person should wish for his death. As he said, it’ll be ruled a suicide and I’ll get rid of him.
But I find myself holding my breath, trembling and pining for the thud of his heartbeat beneath my fingers.
The evidence that he’s alive.
That he’ll keep his promise and strip off my every self-imposed shackle.
In a last-ditch attempt, I reach for the gun and I gasp when he pulls the trigger. I slam my eyes shut, not wanting to see the bloodbath that could explode on his face.
A click sounds in the air and a long breath whooshes out of me.
His heartbeat doesn’t thud beneath my fingers, doesn’t spike—it remains the same. Alive but completely unaffected by the near-death experience.
That rush of life from earlier buzzes to the surface again, hooking against my bones and leaving me breathless.
I slowly open my eyes to find him watching me in that intense way that knots my insides.
“Your turn.” He hands me the gun.
I want to scream.
I want to hit him with it upside the head.
But instead of doing that, I grab it with unsteady fingers and then throw it with all my might at the window.
The shattering of glass nearly deafens me. Soon after, the gun falls to the wood porch outside with a thud.
My chest rises and falls so heavily, I can’t contain it, or the tears that are still staining my cheeks or the way I look at Jeremy.
It’s new, slightly spooked, slightly apprehensive, but it couldn’t be any more true. Real. Powerful.
He’s a force to be reckoned with and I’m right in his path. I finally accept that, even if I’ll never accept the reason why he’s so obsessed with me.
Or more like, I don’t understand it.
He offers no explanation or excuses so that I can see his point of view.
As he stares in the direction of the shattered window, I slip out of his hold, all but jumping back like a scared kitten.
I overestimate my ability to remain standing. My legs are like Jell-O from all the adrenaline and I have to grip the table for balance.
Jeremy pushes up to a standing position, and a ripple of fear rushes through me and locks my limbs. No matter how courageous I try to be, this man is still the most intimidating force of nature I’ve ever encountered.
Especially when his features are closed off and he’s risen to his full height.
“Are you going to run, Cecily?”
I bob my head up and down.
A sadistic gleam illuminates his usually dark eyes. “You sure about that? I won’t take it easy on you.”
“When have you ever?”
“True that.” He steps toward me and I take several back as his voice lowers, deepens, and crowds with tension. “I won’t give you a head start.”
Not thinking about the consequences of my choice, I run. All I know is that this option is better than a game of death.
The adrenaline from earlier rushes through my limbs and I climb the stairs that lead to the first floor. At first, I don’t hear him, and I think maybe I’m faster due to the superhuman energy that I gained tonight.
But then a thud of steps follows after me and I shriek when I feel his overwhelming presence behind me. I grab a fake plant and throw it at him.
But he dodges it and the pot crashes to the floor.
Blimey!
If I stay in the house, I’m going to get myself trapped. In a snap decision, I slip from between the stairs’ wide railings and jump.
My legs take a hit, but it barely hurts under the circumstances. I roll down on the ground, then leap to my feet and sprint without looking back.
I pause at the threshold of the kitchen door, casting a glance at where I threw the gun.
Only, it’s not there.
I don’t hear any footsteps or sounds.
The next second, a fistful of my hair is grabbed from behind. I shriek, clutching his hand to stop him from tearing at my scalp.
“Caught you.” His hotly murmured words drive me into a state of madness.
I claw at his skin, kick, and bite. Or try to. Most of my attempts end up an epic failure.
He’s a beast who’s come out to play and I’m his prey of choice.
He shoves me against the porch railing, pressing my stomach into the wood.
My hair nearly rips out from the savage hold he has on me and I can feel him bending down behind me.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of him grabbing a shard of glass. Before I can panic, he releases my hair, grasps a fistful of my jeans, and cuts them from behind.
Crimson red explodes on his palm from the glass and drips all over my thighs—warm, dark red, and absolutely fucked up.
But he doesn’t seem to care about that as he shreds my shirt, bra, and underwear so that I’m standing there completely naked.
Then he spins me around to face him and switches the red piece of glass from his injured palm to the other one.
I watch in stunned shock as he slides his bloodied fingers from my hip to my stomach, my breasts, coating them in red before he wraps them around my throat.
My eyes bulge even though he’s not exerting force. “W-what…”
“Shh.” He runs the shard of glass over the tip of my nipple. “Are you scared?”
I nod. Scared is an epic understatement. This man is crazy. The calm type of crazy, which is the most dangerous type.
“Good. I love how your cunt feels when you’re scared. It tightens and swallows my cock like my favorite slut, but first…” He releases my throat and reaches in his waistband, then pulls out his gun. The same gun I threw away earlier. “We’re not done.”
He slides it in his mouth, licks it, and I gasp when he glides it between my inner thighs, over my folds, and then drives it inside my pussy.
I’m soaking wet from the chase, from how he savagely caught me and shred my clothes off me, but I’m not ready for a gun inside me.
The metal feels cold as it’s swallowed by my walls, but then he thrusts it in, and I get on my tiptoes.
A carnal sensation grips hold of me the more he rams the weapon inside me. My skin tightens, my thighs clench, and my nipples pucker and stiffen.
I’m being fucked by a gun.
Holy. Shit.
Does he really want to kill me?
And why am I getting wetter and slicker?
I can’t stop staring at his punishing eyes, at the sheer power they exude without him having to say a word.
It’s like I’m caught in a trance no one can save me from.
“You pretend to be all righteous and morally superior, but you’re nothing but a greedy little whore.” He slides the gun inside. “Is this how you’ll milk my cock, too? It’s bigger, but you’ll fit me, won’t you? You’ll swallow and take every inch of me.”
A whimper rips out of my throat.
It’s weird how I never liked anything sex-related before, but I’m enjoying how he blows my world to pieces in the most unconventional ways. How he speaks to me in that crude manner.
The man has a gun inside me and a shard of glass to my nipple that he turned red with his blood, and I can’t stop wanting him.
“Say my name,” he orders, the command nonnegotiable.
“Jeremy,” I moan, ready to tell him anything right now.
“Say you wanted me that first time, not some other fucker, me.”