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She’s silent, something I should appreciate, but somehow her silence is unnerving.
I refuse to consider I took things too far.
Hell, I refuse to think at all.
The scent of sex fills the cab of the truck, but I don’t lower the window. I revel in the scent of me still on her skin, riding back into town, the entire time wondering if she even made an effort to get my cum off her skin.
I don’t ask and she doesn’t offer that information.
Chapter 12
Lauren
My body is humming, the emotions so high that my hands are trembling when he pulls up to a gas station to refill his tank.
I want to stay with him. That’s why when he goes inside to pay, I grab my bag and climb out.
I have no clue if he can see me walk away, but I get the distinct feeling that he doesn’t care at all.
It thrills me, the way he ignored me before dragging me out of the truck.
I know it’s fucked up. I know it’s wrong to keep putting myself in these situations, but I can’t seem to help it.
It feels like an addiction, like I’ve somehow managed to form a dependency on the man.
I love it as much as I hate it because I’ve prided myself on never needing anyone. I’ve lived my life alone, and despite having this itch to see how far he’ll take things, I know I can’t stick around. He’s giving me exactly what I crave, feeding into my darkness, and, although punishing in his actions, it’s exactly what I want. I can’t keep it up. I can’t keep seeking him out, hoping he’ll give in to my demands.
I screamed and cried during what he was doing earlier. It’s my mind and body’s natural reaction to those types of situations, but I was also in heaven, enjoying the pleasure instead of getting off on the pain and brutality of it. The change is leaving me feeling off-kilter.
I watch as Angel leaves the gas station, pumps his gas, and drives off without so much as looking around for me. The indifference shouldn’t make my blood pump faster, but I don’t seem to be in control of such things these days.
We drove around for hours in silence after he picked me up on the side of the road, and as I walk down the street, I try not to wonder what it means that he came back and picked me up.
He doesn’t fucking care about me, that’s evident, but there has to be a reason.
Did he want to hurt me again, fuck me again?
If so, he made no overtures. He didn’t look at me a certain way or suggest I suck his dick. He didn’t pull up to a motel and demand I go inside and strip.
He watched the landscape, drove slowly past old buildings, and even drove through a trailer park without a word. When he drove down the same road where he took me against the hood of his truck, he didn’t even bother looking at the side of the road where it happened.
But he picked me back up. It means something even if I refuse to listen to that part of my head.
The bikes parked outside ofJake’s, the local bar, should make me turn around and leave. This is the Cerberus Club’s hangout. If they’re home from work, this is where the single men and Slick, the only single woman in the club, choose to hangout. They go trolling for company, although trolling isn’t the best way to describe it. The women in town flock to this place once the guys show up. Women in town are either looking for a wild night or trying to figure out a way to have a permanent spot at the clubhouse.
Landing a Cerberus man means devotion, security, family. The women have declared themselves lucky to end up with an enduring man fawning over them are in search of such things. It all makes my skin crawl.
Someone building you up only to let you down later, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, is worse than a man who shows you his dark side right from the beginning.
I nod at the bartender as I step inside, taking a spot at the bar.
As I guessed, the women in the bar are either chatting with the Cerberus men or are drooling from afar.
I’ve noticed many of the men looking at Slick like they want to approach but are too intimidated by her to make it happen. I’ve overheard some men trash talking her, expecting women to be weaker, less formidable.
These are the type of men that hurt women for fun. They like to overpower and dominate, but carry around so much little dick energy that they don’t register but a blip on my radar. They’re the ones pretending. They’re nothing like Angel who has proven more than once in the last two days that he doesn’t have to growl to have actual teeth.
I resist lifting my fingers to the bruise on my neck as Drake, the bartender, approaches.
