Wicked Little Words Part 12

"h.e.l.lo, gorgeous," he says, a beer in one hand, a tired look in his eye, but a smile still on his face. "I'm glad my emails didn't scare you off too much." He sidesteps and puts a hand out for me to come in.

"Nope. Not at all." I step inside.

He closes the door, sighing. "It's been a h.e.l.l of a day. It's nice to see a friendly face."

He leads me to a couch in the front living room. The inside of his house is bare except for the artwork he most likely found at a garage sale. No photographs or personal touches. Only essential furniture and an old box TV.

"Can I grab you something to drink? I've got beer or some whiskey or vodka."

"Sure..."

"Well, I can't really pour 'sure' over ice, so what'll it be?" he asks with a snarky smile.

"Vodka's fine. Thanks." I settle back into the couch, watching as he makes his way into the kitchen adjacent to the living room.

He opens the freezer and pulls out a bottle of vodka. "So how's working with EA going?" With a grin, he drops ice into a gla.s.s, fills it with vodka and water, and walks it carefully over to me. He hands me the drink before retrieving his beer from the coffee table and taking a seat beside me. Really close beside me.

"Uh, okay, I guess..." I bring the gla.s.s to my lips and take a slow swig.

He sips his beer and reaches for the TV remote, flipping through a few channels before turning to me with a hopeful look in his eye. "Speaking of... when do I get to meet this guy?"

"Yeah..." I laugh and shake my head. "Trust me, you're better off not meeting him. It'll ruin the image you have, I a.s.sure you. The more time I spend with him, the more certain I am that he is actually a psychopath."

He laughs loudly, shaking his head, and sets the remote back down. "Yeah, I'm sure he is. I'm sure Stephen King has seen his fair share of dead bodies too. You gotta be a little f.u.c.ked up to write that kinda stuff. I mean, aren't you?" He winks, his lips spreading into a smile-and those d.a.m.n dimples...

At first I'm put off, offended. But he must be joking. So I pretend to be that girl. "Yep." I smile. "Sure am, and you invited me into your house." My eyes drop to his full lips, and I inch just a little closer to him. "And now you're all alone with me."

"Lady, I've spent four years on the streets of Asheville and three more before that killing towelheads. If anybody in this room is bordering on psychopath, it's me." He lets out a nervous laugh, and his hand comes to rest on my thigh. He lifts the beer bottle to his lips but doesn't take a drink. "s.h.i.+t." He chuckles, his thumb gently gliding over my leg. "You must think I'm nuts. I'm totally kidding by the way."

Shrugging, I take another drink of vodka, trying to not pay so much attention to his hand on me. "Sure you are."

"Oh, I only mean it wasn't any of that stuff that knocked my screws loose. That came looong before."

"I'm not worried. At least, if you plan to kill me, make it quick. I wouldn't be much fun anyway. I'm not the begging type..." I immediately bite my lip and shove the drink back in my face.

He slants an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk on his face as he removes his hand from my leg. "Begging, you say? Now, there's a thought..." He taps a forefinger against his chin.

I give him a good shove in the arm. "Don't even think about it."

"Hey," he says, nudging me back, "you brought it up. I'm a man. I can't help where my mind runs from there."

I glare at him, my heart slamming against my ribs because I want him to make me beg. I want to f.u.c.k him. I shouldn't, but I do.

"Oh, and I have handcuffs," he says with a laugh, pulling back as if bracing for another hit.

"Are you really supposed to use those off duty? Wouldn't that be abusing your authority or something along those lines, Detective?"

"Well, Ms. Cross, who exactly is going to know other than us?" He looks around then back at me. "I won't tell if you don't." He winks and clicks his tongue.

Heat floods my cheeks, my chest, every last inch of my body. I'd let him handcuff me and choke me. I'd let him do a number of things to me I wouldn't let any other man do because he looks capable. He looks as though he would ruin me. And that dirty part of the soul that every last one of us has, it wants to be tainted. It yearns for something to make me feel filthy.

A smirk inches across his face, and he grabs my jaw, his eyes dropping to my lips as he leans in. His mouth is warm and soft and right against mine. His tongue parts my lips. His fingers work into my hair. And the next thing I know... he's dragged me into his lap. I'm straddling him, slowly grinding my hips against his and moaning into his mouth like a wh.o.r.e. Like a dirty, filthy wh.o.r.e. And all that does is make him kiss me harder, more deeply, more brutally. His teeth rake over mine, his hands now on my waist, his fingers skimming underneath my s.h.i.+rt.

"f.u.c.k, I want you," he says against my lips, and I nearly lose all control. He wants me...

He grabs the waist of my jeans, pops the b.u.t.ton, and rips the zipper down. And just like that, his hand is between my legs, his thick finger rubbing over my c.l.i.t, across me, sliding into me. It's been so f.u.c.king long since I've been with a man-never a man like him-and I find myself holding my breath, my head tossed back. His lips work over my neck, every few inches biting and nipping at me. His knuckles press against me, bruising me as he f.u.c.ks me with his hand.

All I want to do is touch him. Timidly, I trail my hand over his s.h.i.+rt, his hard chest and stomach evident beneath the thin material. I hesitate when I get to the waist of his jeans. I take a moment to feel his fingers inside me, flexing and bending. I swallow, my chest rising in ragged swells as I slip my hand inside his jeans, the head of his d.i.c.k already wet from pre-c.u.m. My fingers slide over him, my body drowning in a heat of want and need and primitive desire. And just as I pull his fly open, just as I wrap my fingers around the girth of his d.i.c.k, just as I feel my muscles clenching, my body submitting to his touch... doubt slams over me.

I push away from him, stumbling as I stand and back away from the couch, out of breath. "I, uh... I, um..." I swallow. I feel my cheeks heat. My gaze strays from his d.i.c.k to his hand wet with me to his shocked expression. "I..."

"Do you not..." His brow furrows. "I mean, I thought..."

"I just, um. Give me a minute."

I turn and hurry down the hall to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I stare at myself in the mirror. Red lipstick is smeared all over my face, my chest splotchy. I'm going to f.u.c.k him, and he'll leave me, and then I'll hate him, and I think the biggest problem is I don't want to hate him. I want to pretend there is something good in this life. Pure and like those G.o.dd.a.m.n romance novels I so despise because at the end of the day, the idea of love weakens even the most cynical of creatures. The thought of owning someone the way that emotion does... it's addictive. And if I f.u.c.k him, that stupid f.u.c.king fairy tale will be incinerated.

f.u.c.k the fairy tale. This is real life, Miranda. f.u.c.k him and leave him. Use him just like you were used by all those people. That man-I need to look at him as an experience. A muse. Because love is bulls.h.i.+t. People are selfish. And that feeling of having a man inside you, having a man need you so badly, even if it is only for a few moments, well, I guess it's better to have that than nothing at all.

I call his name, staring at my reflection and telling myself not to regret this. "Jax, will you come here for a minute?"

I hear his footfalls come down the hallway. They stop outside of the door. He pushes it open, one brow arching when he peeks around the door. I motion him in with a curved finger, a slight smirk on my lips.

The second he steps in, I grab his face and kiss him. Hard. My palm glides over the front of his jeans, his swelling d.i.c.k evident. I grab it and bite his lip. And then hands are on my shoulders, slamming me against the wall. Jax covers my mouth with a brutal kiss. His fingers dig into the curve of my waist, and a low growl slips from him. His teeth rake over my bottom lip, and he presses his body against mine, pus.h.i.+ng me hard against the wall as he grabs the bottom of my s.h.i.+rt, bunching the material up. His rough hands drift up to my neck, his fingers slowly wrapping around my throat just below my jaw, the kiss growing deeper, rougher with each pa.s.sing second.

I grab his arms, my fingers grasping his hard biceps for dear life. I want him to f.u.c.k me to within an inch of my life. To the brink of death. And this slow teasing is winding me up like a tight coil, the tension nearly unbearable.

One of his hands drifts down my stomach, his fingers skimming the waist of my jeans before he grabs between my thighs, palming me. I can't resist this urge to push against him, ever so slightly grinding against his hand. I should fight this, drag it out, but his warm lips, the taste of his tongue, the way it feels as if he's everywhere on my body but not nearly enough, not in the way I need him to be-I'm close to losing every bit of f.u.c.king control I have. His hands find their way into my hair, and he fists it, yanking my head to the side as he tilts his head ever so slightly, his eyes locked on mine in a stare so intense I fear I may lose a piece of myself I'll never get back if I give in to him. And you know what? He can f.u.c.king have it.

"f.u.c.k, Miranda," he breathes before his lips meet the crook of my neck, his teeth sinking into my skin just enough to force a hiss from my mouth.

"G.o.ddammit, f.u.c.k me already," I say in a breathy moan, a plea, my fingers grasping for the bottom of his s.h.i.+rt and tearing it over his head.

And with that, clothes are ripped off, hands are all over the place, feeling, touching, gripping. His naked body presses me into the wall, the heat of his skin driving me completely mad. He fists his c.o.c.k, and I open my legs, giving myself to him. His mouth is on my throat, each uneven, ragged breath rus.h.i.+ng over my skin. Each groan right at my ear. He rubs the tip-the warm, hard tip-against me.

"s.h.i.+t, you're f.u.c.king wet," he says right before he grabs my a.s.s, forcing my hips against his. The head barely goes in. He moves away from the wall, dragging me with him, his fingers digging into my a.s.s as he lifts me and sets me on the edge of the sink. "I'm going to f.u.c.k you right here."

I grab my knees, opening my thighs as I pull my legs to my chest. He looks at me spread out just for him, for him to do whatever the f.u.c.k he desires. That look-that is what every woman wants. The way he's looking at me is completely unhinged, out of control. Like an animal, a beast.

There is no foreplay, no warning, no soft caresses. Jax slams into me so hard I have to grab the sink edge to keep from falling into the bowl. I gasp just like a wh.o.r.e. I moan. I pant. And at moments, I hiss because he is f.u.c.king me hard. Using me. Skin slapping against skin. And to be honest, I've never felt more like a woman than I do with him buried so deep inside me it hurts, his hands gripping my hips with such strength I know I'll be bruised.

His hands move up my sides, trailing up my back until he's cupping the back of my head. He presses his sweaty forehead against mine, his gaze boring into mine as he f.u.c.ks me. And I'm losing it. I want to scream. And I do.

"f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k!" My hands slip over the counter, knocking most everything-cologne, toothbrushes, bottles-into the sink. "Oh G.o.d. Oh f.u.c.k. Oh f.u.c.k." I'm about to fall over that edge into an oblivion of moans.

"Oh, no, hun. Not yet you don't." He drags me off the sink and turns me around, bending me over the counter. "I want you to watch me f.u.c.k you." He stares at my reflection with a slight smirk. He grabs my hair, wraps it around his wrist, and yanks my head back as he leans down by my ear. "I wanna watch you come, Miranda."

He thrusts back inside me, and I watch him tear into me. Jaw clenched, head thrown back-until I can't keep my eyes open any longer, until my vision starts to swim. My chin drops to my chest.

"I said watch me," he says in a growl, his hands wrapping around my throat and forcing my head up. He squeezes, and I moan. His fingers twitch over my throat, and I gasp. "You like that?"

I want to nod. To say yes. But I can't. I reach out to grab onto whatever I can. The tumbler on the counter is knocked to the floor, gla.s.s shattering all over the tile. Heat drowns me, buzzing over every last inch of my flesh, and my body goes limp within his hold. Weightless. In a fog of bliss and filth. Seconds later, Jax releases me, pulling out, grabbing his d.i.c.k, and staggering back. I look up, watching him in the mirror as he tosses his head against the wall. His eyes close; his mouth hangs open, hard breaths coated with primitive groans rumbling from his chest as he comes on my back.

As soon as his o.r.g.a.s.m has worn off, he glances up, his eyes locking with mine in the mirror. "f.u.c.k."

I smile, pretending I am that girl who will just walk away from that guy. But I'm not. I'm really not.

"Down with the Sickness"-Disturbed I can feel myself unraveling one strip of sanity at a time. What once I thought was normal, owed to me, now makes no sense anymore. My head is spinning, rage tearing through me like a drug. And it's all because of her, because I allowed myself to feel something for someone else for the first time in my life. And how the h.e.l.l could I let this happen? I'm stronger than this... or so I thought.

It's all moot at this point. I'm bloodthirsty, blood-starved despite my kill on the side of the road. With the potential of being caught looming and the only woman I've ever loved ripping the charcoal heart out of my chest, I don't give two measly f.u.c.ks anymore. Let me die a murderous legend. I guarantee my books sell ten times better than they already have. When they know that the murders were real and they can quietly live in sick fascination of my work, hiding their true selves from everyone, I will live on forever.

Before any of that happens though... I'm going to kill everyone. Starting with Chast.i.ty, then Janine, then I'll play with Miranda and her lover just a little bit. I'll make them f.u.c.k for me. Not with his d.i.c.k though-that'll have been long cut off, seared with a blowtorch to stop the bleeding. No, he'll f.u.c.k her with a loaded gun-maybe a machete. The one thing that is certain, as certain as the setting sun, is that they will pay, and they will feel my wrath.

Chast.i.ty climbs quickly into my car, shutting the door and eyeing the interior. "A Range Rover. Nice!" She slips a hand on my leg, and I nudge it away. Her gaze falls on me, a confused expression on her face. "Everything okay, Taylor?"

"My name's actually not Taylor," I say, my eyes still on the road. "It's EA Mercer." I wait for reaction but get none.

"It's not surprising. A lot of people go by different names." She slips her hand onto my knee again, and once more, I brush it away. "Seriously, what the f.u.c.k?"

Her b.i.t.c.hy tone makes me want to slam her head into the dashboard until it's painted with brain matter.

"f.u.c.k is exactly right. That's all I want tonight."

She looks around, finally realizing we aren't going to our usual motel. "Where are we headed?"

"To my house," I say, pulling the Range Rover onto the highway. "So the name EA Mercer doesn't ring a bell, huh?" I look at her, my eyes narrow, and she subtly backs away, a confused look on her face.

"Should it?" she asks, looking once more at the pa.s.sing pines and moonlit road signs.

"It figures it wouldn't. People like you, Chast.i.ty, can't appreciate the art of the written word. G.o.d didn't gift you with that ability." I eye her up and down, my lip curled in disgust as if she had the plague. "He didn't gift you with much other than good looks and a tight p.u.s.s.y." I scoff and direct my attention back to the road. "And let me tell you, sweetheart, both of those fade, and as a f.u.c.king worthless street wh.o.r.e, I'm a.s.suming they're going to fade real fast for you."

She backs up all the way to the door. "I want out of this f.u.c.king car right f.u.c.king now!"

"You're not f.u.c.king going anywhere." I shoot her a glare. "This is your destiny, sweetheart."

She starts to tremble, slamming her hand against the unlock b.u.t.ton, but nothing happens.

A smile spreads across my face. "You think I'm that stupid? Childproof locks, my dear. Or s.l.u.t-proof in this case."

Pulling a fist back, she thrusts it toward me just as I pull a cattle prod from my side door compartment and hit her in the stomach with it. Her body thrashes, eyes rolling, then she slams against the dashboard. Her body is limp, her eyes still open and staring right at me.

"Night, night, dear," I whisper, brus.h.i.+ng her hair behind her ear before I turn my attention back to the dark, winding country road.

"Eyes on Fire"-Blue Foundation I startle awake, and chills sweep up my spine. I'm still sore between my legs from Jax f.u.c.king me the other night, and I s.h.i.+ft uncomfortably as my eyes adjust to the dark. But the second they do, I jump and scream.

Edwin's at the foot of the bed, one hand on the footboard, his dark eyes locked on me. "Didn't mean to startle you." A smile flickers over his face. "But we need to write. The inspiration's just hit, and it's..." A soft laugh bubbles from his lips. "Well, it's the most inspired I've found myself in such a long time."

There's a long moment of silence-maybe minutes-because the one thing I've grown certain of over the past day is that Edwin is not stable. And while I don't want to be near him, it's probably in my best interest to appease him in any way I can.

"Uh, yeah, okay." I toss off the covers and plant my feet on the cold hardwood floor. "Sure..."

His smile deepens before he turns and opens the door. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I stumble into the hallway after him with my stomach in knots. Edwin goes straight to the desk and turns on the lamp, then he pulls out my chair for me.

"After you, my dear." He brushes his cold hand over my shoulders as I take my seat, and my skin p.r.i.c.kles.

I turn the computer on and wait for the program to boot up. The entire time, I feel him staring at me. I swallow before turning to face him.

"You are beautiful, Miranda."

"Thanks," I whisper as I direct my attention back to the computer screen.

"Beautiful little Miranda..." A short, ominous laugh rumbles from his chest, sending my heart into a panicked sprint. The program pops up on the screen, and Edwin begins to type. "Now, pay close attention."

She has no idea the ways in which the universe has lined up. No idea what a trivial piece of the puzzle she actually is. And that is exactly the way I want it. I want her to wonder whether I intend to kill her or whether I want to keep her. Forever. And ever and ever....

The typing stops. I can't force myself to look at him because I can literally feel him staring at me, so I keep my eyes trained on the screen. On that flas.h.i.+ng cursor. On the word "ever."

"Dear Miranda... tsk, tsk, tsk, what ever shall I do with you?" The legs of his chair sc.r.a.pe over the floor, and I cringe. "Water?" he asks as he makes his way through the living room toward the kitchen.

"Uh, yeah." I clear my throat and make a conscious effort to keep my voice from shaking. "That'd be great."

I watch as he rounds the corner, and the very moment he disappears, I open my email and type Jax's contact into the recipient line.

Please come get me. Edwin's scaring me.

I press Send, but the email remains on the screen, the cursor now turned into that little blue circle that keeps cycling around. I hear the door to the fridge shut. Footsteps. My heart is in my throat, pounding so hard my vision pulses. Come on. Come on. I attempt to close the browser, but the entire screen is frozen.

"I think we're at the climax of the story and we can-" He stops mid-sentence.

I close my eyes, wanting to burst into tears because I know he's seen the email message that is still centered on the screen.

"Well." He places a bottle of water in front of me. He doesn't say another word, simply turns around and crosses the room. He stops at the front door, pulls a key from his pocket. It's now that I notice there's an exterior lock on the inside of the door, and a knot forms in the pit of my stomach. Edwin locks the door. "You just don't understand, Miranda Cross. You really don't."

And with that, he disappears down the hall.

"R&R"-The Cla.s.sic Crime Leave it to me to find the type of woman who's going to sneak out on me in the middle of the night. I've sent a few texts over the last two days, an email too... still nothing. I try to tell myself not to relentlessly check my phone and inbox, but it's a losing battle.

It couldn't have been the s.e.x. I'm talented at very few things in this life beyond police and military work, but s.e.x is definitely one of them.

I read her breathing patterns, her facial expressions, how her toes curled. I made sure to get it just right. Slow when I needed to go slow, when she was just about there, hard and fast to take her the rest of the way. I'm all about satisfying the women I'm with. Seeing them come and puddle into the mattress in a state of complete euphoria is everything. Them getting off gets me off.

So no, I won't even entertain that thought. My best guess is that she just played me like a dude. f.u.c.ked me and left me. Back to writing. Back to EA.

He's a legend, beyond rich, and considering she only spent one night with me, I guess he's a better lover too.

The email on the screen, which I've read at least twenty times, makes it perfectly clear I was played, and I was played hard. But at least I can say I got EA Mercer's girl. That's something. I read it one more time for good measure, a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t to say the least. I revel in the pain.

I don't know who the f.u.c.k you are, and to be perfectly frank, I don't give a f.u.c.k. You need to stay away from Miranda. She's mine. I've seen the emails between you two. I know she's been seeing you. How does my d.i.c.k taste by the way?