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I need to make them bleed, and beg. I need to have them heaving, vomiting, losing consciousness and in tears before I fucking end them. They need to suffer for her.
“Hey, hey what’s going on? I -“
“Tell me you have a fucking hacker for me Riot,” I grit through clenched teeth.
“I got someone for you. He can help manage the club too.”
“Do I know him?”
Riot shrugs his shoulders, “Not sure, but he’s loyal. He won’t say shit to anyone. He has his own business, but he’s been hacking for years, it’s how he paid to start up his tattoo studio. Stealing from the government.”
“Tattoo studio?” I raise my eyebrow.
“Yeah. Zeke Adams.”
Well fuck me. Yep. I sure do know him, and he’s a friend of my friend Declan. He’s so discreet that I’m pretty sure Declan didn’t even know he was a hacker.
“He’ll do. Set up a meet. Fucking yesterday if possible.”
Chapter fifteen
Aria
Rubbing one foot against the other, I curl up on the porch swing and look up at the stars as I fidget, peeling the label from a lukewarm bottle of beer. Once upon a time, I liked to think she was up there watching down on me, protecting me, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that it was nothing more than part of my grief process. If mom were really watching over me, the horrible, wretched things that happened would never have gone down. I wouldn’t be in hiding. I wouldn’t have upended my life by making half-cocked decision, after half-cocked decision.
I find myself always blaming Travis for this fucked up situation, but it’s not really his fault. We were kids. It wasn’t him that set the wheels in motion. It wasn’t him who sold me to the devil in Gucci loafers.
Salty tears pour from my eyes like a river, and Evan’s thumb smears the saline across my lips, smudging the bright pink lipstick across my cheek. The lipstick he forces me wear. On my knees, I tremble. I should be desensitized, it’s become a routine in the months since Travis left. I know it’s coming and I don’t run away. I can’t. There’s no one to turn to. So I accept my fate.
Without Travis to protect me, the devil has come out to play, and it’s been so much worse than I ever could have imagined. Each night he leaves me whatever hideous dress he’s chosen, and the same tube of pink lipstick. He even forced me to bleach all the red dye from my hair. I look like a living, breathing, Barbie doll.
“Face down,” he commands.
Without hesitation I lower myself to my stomach, face down on the bed. I know I should fight him. I know I shouldn’t be so damn compliant, but I learned the hard way not to fight back. There’s no escaping this hell, and fighting just makes him unleash more pain on me.
His fingers run up my thighs and I shake with disgust.
“No panties? Just for me?”
“Just for you,” I parrot, devoid of all emotion.
It’s a game to him. He knows exactly what I’m wearing and not wearing, but somewhere in his sick mind, he likes to pretend that I want this. That I like it.
The tiny clicks from the teeth of his zipper echo through my mind as he removes his pants slowly.
“You’re so wet for me doll face,” he groans.
I’m not.
Lube.
Several weeks ago, I learned I could trick him by lubing up while I’m getting dressed for our time together. It’s a win-win. He believes I want him, and it doesn’t hurt as badly when he invades my body.
Warmth fills my backside, and he slides an arm beneath me, lifting my ass into the air, lining up with my entrance. Tears fall silently as he thrusts into me and presses my face into the mattress. My body rocks beneath him, and I close my eyes.
I disappear and let go.
I’m not in his play room anymore.
