The hope comes crashing down when I realize that he missed us by only a few hours. He almost found me. He was so close to rescuing me. I squeeze my eyes shut as the reality of the situation washes over me.
“What? Nothing smart to say?” Marcus asks, pulling me out of my moment. I look at him and a smile appears on his face. He’s amused that I’m hurting, the bastard.
I begin thinking about all the ways I would hurt him if I ever got the chance. I straighten my spine and narrow my eyes. “He’s coming for you.”
“He can try. He won’t find us. And it will be us,” Marcus says as he gestures back and forth between me and him while slowly coming closer to me.
“There will never be an us. There’s only you, blissfully unaware of how revolting you are to me,” I say as I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
Marcus moves in closer, straddles the closed toilet seat and forces my legs open so he can stand between them, effectively caging me against the wall with his arm. He grips my face, pulling it up to greet his. “This would be much easier on you if you’d just accept the fact that you’re not going anywhere.”
His hand glides up my thigh as he pushes himself closer until his body is flush against mine. “I haven’t forgotten, you know. I haven’t forgotten how to please you.” His hand reaches up towards my waistband and the vile taste of bile rises from my stomach into my throat. The thought of him touching me ever again makes it hard to swallow the vomit. “I remember exactly how you like it. I could show you.”
He grinds against me as I try desperately to conjure a memory of anything happy to block out the feel of Marcus against my body. I think back to the night that Jesse erased his touch, the night I finally let him in.
He loosens the button to my pants. “Let me make you feel good again?”
I squeeze my eyes closed and reach for the memories of each touch from Jesse, trying to remember all the moments with him that washed away the taint of Marcus from my soul.
I can feel his growing erection through my pants. He continues to grind himself back and forth against me, making my stomach lurch. Between the nausea and the realization that there’s no way to get away from him I am struggling not to panic. There is no way out. I turn my head, yanking it from his grasp, and breathe. Just breathe, Fallon. I need to contain myself to make sure he understands where I will go in my head if he does that. “You can do whatever you want to me. But just know that I’ll be imagining it’s him the entire time. His touch, his face, his everything. I’ll imagine it’s Jesse, because he owns my soul. And my pleasure.”
Marcus’ body stills between my legs. The cold air hits me before I realize the spot where he once was standing is now empty. I open my eyes and quickly scan the bathroom in search of him. My eyes are met with the most evil, icy glare I’ve ever seen staring back at me. I can’t bring myself to look away from the monster that stands before me, for several reasons, but mostly because I resurrected him once again with only a few words. That’s all it took.
“Get used to your imagination then. Because his hands will never touch you again. I’ll make sure of it,” he says. He turns to leave but stops at the door to turn and look at me over his shoulder. “I brought food for you, but I don’t think you’re hungry enough yet.”
Fuck. I’m starving.
Vodka. My drug of choice. It’s the only thing numbing the pain of knowing that Fallon was right under my nose this entire fucking time. It didn’t take us long to figure out who owned the house and connect that person back to Marcus. To my surprise, the house is owned by Maria Hennings, Marcus’s mother. When we got back home, Jade tried to convince me to go to the police. To let them handle this going forward. I couldn’t tell her that I made a promise that I needed to keep. A promise that included no police.
None of that matters. She was right there, in my town, and I had no idea. My control over this place is slipping. The king of Cherry Creek is falling, and I can’t do shit about any of it. The only thing I’m capable of right now is finding a way to numb the hurt inside.
I take a sip from the fifth of vodka in my hand. It doesn’t burn anymore; it stopped burning about thirty minutes ago, around the same time my lips went numb.
I close the bottle and drop it in my bag. We have a game tonight—a basketball game. It’s sickening to know I am going to a basketball game while my girl is out there somewhere, possibly hurt, and for sure being tortured by her worst nightmare. And here I am, continuing my life like nothing happened. It feels wrong. It all feels so fucking wrong. I pick up the bag and throw it across the room just as Cason walks in and ducks out of the way.
“Sorry,” I mumble as I sit on the bed and put my head in my hands.
“You good, man? It’s almost game time,” Cason says. “You know I could call Coach. He’d probably get it. You don’t have to go. We’d all understand.”
“Nah, I’m good. I promised.” I shrug my shoulders just as Cason sniffs the air.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks. He walks over to my bag and, just as he picks it up, vodka begins to drip out of the bottom of it. Well, I guess I’ll be going to the store later. Kenny is
