AllFreeNovel
Share Us
In silence we wait for the police, standing apart, each leanin
g on a pillar, as if supporting the dark sky.
When they arrive, it’s John himself who climbs out of the unmarked car, together with another cop, looking tired and unhappy. They greet us and come up the steps to examine the cleaver, while Octavia goes back inside to check on the kids.
The cops put on rubber gloves and pull out the cleaver, bag it, bag the piece of paper, and after asking all the usual questions, go away with the promise to let me know if anything comes up.
Yeah. Right. I won’t be holding my breath, that’s for sure. Whoever this prankster is, they know how to cover their ass.
Invisible. Silent. Leaving no tracks.
The sun has gone down, and the night is pressing in around me. I’m getting a bad feeling about this, so bad it reminds me of a hospital that smelled of death, a white room where my wife lay on a narrow bed and a doctor’s harrowed face when he gave the diagnosis.
The security company is coming tomorrow to install cameras, and knowing that is not enough to settle my heartbeat.
Octavia has taken the kids upstairs for an early night, and the night smells of something bitter, like poison.
I head back inside the house, into the dark kitchen, and locate the whiskey bottle under the kitchen sink. Unscrewing the lid, I take a few long gulps, the booze burning a path down my throat to my chest.
It’s a damn relief, to feel something other than anger and fear. And yet it’s not enough. So I drink more. Slam the bottle into the sink. Scratch at my cheeks. Clench and unclench my hands, rub at my scar.
Punch a dent into a cupboard. And again, until blood smears the wood from my knuckles, already busted from punching Ross earlier.
Needing to feel more.
By the time she comes down the stairs, the sound of her steps ringing too loud through my brain, I’m straining on my tether, my control barely hanging by a thread.
She stops at the kitchen door, a shadow framed by the light, and I lick my lips, leaning back against the counter, taking her figure in.
I’d blame the adrenaline, the frustration, the fucking nightmares for the way my cock’s hardening, but they have nothing to do with this.
This goddamn lust that’s coursing through me every single time I see her, every time she’s near. I just can’t stop it, can’t rein it in.
Not anymore.
“You should go,” I rasp.
“Matt…” She takes a step inside, and I throw a hand up, to stop her.
“Stay away from me,” I say, my voice strained. My pulse thuds in my ears. My body is taut with arousal, my stomach clenched, my dick aching.
“I can’t,” she whispers, stepping closer, lifting a hand to cup my face. “I’ve tried, believe me, but I just can’t.”
Chapter Twenty
Octavia
I can’t pull my hand away, can’t stop touching him. His beard bristles under my palm, tickling, and my fingertips touch his cheekbones, moving over soft, warm skin, and his eyelashes, dark spikes.
He’s staring down at me, a hungry look in his eyes. I trail my fingers lower, over his mouth. It’s sinfully soft. God, he’s so frigging tall and broad and strong. So warm and alive.
So sexy.
A low growl leaves his throat, and in the half-light, he looks like some mythical creature, a dangerous creature lurking in wait for me.
I whimper, aching between my legs, and deep inside.
His body is tense, his arms trembling. When I trail my hands down his corded neck and forearms, his biceps are bulging, his hands fisted. I can hear his breathing in the quiet of the house, and it’s fast and ragged.
