Key to Hell (Hell Night Series Book 4), page 23
Rella doesn’t know it, but this is just as hard on me. The pain she’s obviously going through is torture. And I fucking hate thinking about Taza touching her, even if it is at my request.
She jumps when he turns the tattoo machine on, then flinches when his hand rests against her back to steady it. I scoot my chair closer to her until my legs are on the outside of hers and her knees are almost touching my seat. She squeezes her eyes closed and clutches Boo like he’s a lifeline.
My chest feels hollow at the fearful look on her face, and I want to call the whole thing off. But then my mind conjures up the visual of the cuts on her thighs, and I strengthen my resolve. If I didn’t think this could truly help Rella, I wouldn’t put her through this, but I believe once the initial shock of someone touching her wears off, it will. It may mean her body will end up covered with color like mine, but that’s a shit ton better than it ending up covered in scars. This pain will end with something beautiful.
I cup her cheek and lift her head with my thumb. “Open your eyes, Rella,” I rumble thickly, too many emotions running through me at once.
She opens her sea-green eyes, and my heart splits in half at the tears swimming in them.
“You’re doing good,” I tell her quietly. “Just keep looking right at me.” I grab one of her hands, lace my fingers with hers, and set them on her lap.
She inhales and lets it out slowly, struggling to regain control. This woman is so strong, I have no doubt she can overcome this.
Fifteen minutes pass, neither of us looking away from the other, before she finally starts to relax. The panic and fear slowly leave her face. The buzz of the machine fades into the background. She runs her tongue over her lips, and my eyes unconsciously follow the movement. There’s a light sheen left behind, and I want nothing more than to lick it away. It’s an impulse that’s getting increasingly difficult to deny.
Since that day in the shower, I’ve caught myself multiple times staring at her lips, wondering if she’d taste the same as she did the first time we kissed. Then my mind wanders to something deeper, more explicit. Like how her skin would feel under my hands. Or how her naked body would feel pressed against my own naked body. Would she be as soft as she appears? Would she smell like peaches and cream everywhere? What would she taste like if I traced my tongue over every part of her beautiful body? Shame and disgust at myself heats my blood when I remember all the times over the past week that I’ve nearly given in to my need to find out the answers to those questions.
Rella’s breath quickens and her pupils dilate. Something tells me the change in her isn’t from fear of Taza touching her or the pain of the tiny needles constantly piercing her skin. My heart rate picks up, and so does my need to feel her lips against mine again.
Fuck me sideways, backwards, and every way in between. Temptation isn’t something I normally feel. It never gets to that point because if I want something, I take it. But I can’t take Rella. She’s not mine, and I sure as shit don’t deserve her.
I try my best to ignore the fact that her shirt has risen up in the front and is tucked underneath her breasts, unveiling her smooth and trim stomach.
She licks her lips again, and damn it to hell, but it only ramps up my need.
“Rella….” My voice is a hoarse whisper. It’s both a warning and a plea.
“Kiss me,” she says back, just as low.
I swallow down the thick lump in my throat and force out the words I wish I didn’t have to say. “I can’t.”
Sadness enters her eyes, replacing the sensual look of before. She nods, dropping her head so I can no longer see her eyes, taking away the light in my ominous and dreary world. I don’t want to recede back into the darkness. I want to hold on to the light forever and never let it go.
I lift her head again. “You kill me with these sad eyes,” I say, gently swiping my thumb over her cheekbone.
She smiles, but it’s not a happy one. “Sorry.”
I hate that word coming off her lips. As if she ever has anything to be sorry about.
Well aware of Taza working on Rella’s back, I decide to give into the incessant need coursing through me. If I was honest with myself, I’d have recognized it was inevitable anyway. I don’t have a chance in hell of denying Rella anything, even if it’ll damn me forever.
Leaning forward so Rella doesn’t have to move, I slowly bring my face closer. Her mouth parts, her breaths turning into little pants. I brush my lips faintly across hers. She releases a sigh at the same time a deep rumbling groan leaves my throat. We’re barely touching and it’s already the best feeling in the world.
I flick out my tongue and let it run over her bottom lip, just how I wanted to do earlier. She tastes like an oasis to my dehydrated body. I could live off the taste of her for the rest of my life.
I scoot forward in my seat, needing to be closer. Using the hand still cupped around her cheek, I easily tilt her head to the side, then slip my tongue past her beautifully waiting lips. She meets me halfway. I know in the back of my head this is wrong, and I should pull away, but it feels so damn good and right. I’m not ready to give it up yet.
Her breath hitches, and her small moan vibrates into my mouth. My cock hardens uncomfortably in my jeans, begging to be let out.
I’d give anything to not be who I am, to be the person Rella needs.
“’Less you want this design to come out all kinds of fucked-up, I suggest you hold off on making out until I’m done.”
Taza’s words knock me back to reality, and I pull back from Rella’s mesmerizing lips. I rest my forehead against hers, pulling in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, trying and failing to calm the raging hormones running through me. I run my eyes all over her face, glad to see her cheeks are flushed a pretty red instead of the ghostly pale she was earlier.
Things shouldn’t have gone as far as they did. It was only meant to be a simple kiss to distract her and to satisfy my craving. But I’m finding it difficult to feel regret. She claimed the kiss in the shower was perfect, and it was, but this one was beyond that. I don’t know what word would mean beyond perfect, but whatever it is, it’s that. How can someone regret something like that?
She blows out a slow breath, her lips tipping up into a faint smile. The look quickly becomes one of my favorites.
We spend the next few hours locked in each other’s gazes. Most of the time, the only sound in the room is the buzz of the tattoo machine. We take a couple of breaks to stretch our legs, but that’s it. Rella seems to be impatient to get it done in one sitting. She doesn’t flinch or twitch at all as Taza marks up her back.
By the time he’s done, my back is killing me from hunching over. Rella wanted to be close to me, and since she can’t move around, it was left up to me to bring myself closer to her.
Taza applies a thin coat of ointment on her back, and while he’s packing up his equipment, I grab her hand and pull her down the hallway to my bedroom where there’s a full-length mirror. I haven’t seen the finished design yet; I want us both to see it together.
I stop in front of the mirror and turn her back to it. Before she can turn to look, I grab her shirt that’s still on her shoulders and look down at her.
“Is it okay to pull this off and you hold it over your chest? It’ll be easier to move around without it getting in the way when you look.”
She nods, looking a bit nervous. When she leans forward, I slip the shirt over her head and press it into her hands. Clutching the shirt, she peeks up at me, her cheeks a shade brighter than normal.
I gesture to the mirror with my chin. “Take a look.”
I stay in front of her as she twists her neck and looks over her shoulder, her breath catching once she sees the canvas on her back.
“Oh my God,” she breathes in awe. “It looks amazing.”
My eyes leave the stunning view of her face in the mirror and travel down to the center of her back. Taza did a damn fine job capturing the old lighthouse just the way I wanted him to. It’s faded white with cracks down the walls and the windows shattered and is about twelve inches in length.
Rella’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Not that I don’t like it, but why a lighthouse?”
“The lighthouse is old and worn, enduring abuse from Mother Nature for years, but the light at the top still shines bright. After everything you’ve been through, all the pain and heartache and mental turmoil, your light was never extinguished. You shine just as bright as you always have and light up everything you touch.”
She stares at me for several silent moments before she turns to face me and cups one of my cheeks. “That’s beautiful, Aziah.”
“You’re beautiful.”
I feel ten feet tall and invincible when she smiles. Her hand slides through my hair at the same time she lets go of the shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and leans up on her toes, tugging my head down for a kiss. For once, I don’t fight it. I seal our lips together and wrap my hands around her waist, pulling her flush against me. I silently curse the shirt I’m wearing because it blocks me from feeling how soft her breasts are.
Both of her arms are around my neck. I groan, deep in my throat, and marvel in her delicious taste as we tangle our tongues together.
Why is it the one woman who breathes life into my dead body is the only woman I can’t have? I know why. It’s my punishment for all the sins I’ve committed.
Rella moans against my lips, and it takes every ounce of control I possess to not carry her to my bed, lay her down, and worship every inch of her body. I want her so much I can feel it in my bones. It’s a need that’s slowly making me forget why I can’t have her.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I reluctantly pull away. It feels wrong. Like I’m going against the universe by not keeping Rella right where she is.
When I open my eyes, the look on her face almost has me relenting. Her lids are half-closed, her face flushed, and her lips glisten and are swollen from my kisses. I lick my lips, just to see if I can still taste her.
I can, and it does nothing to help the raging hard-on I have.
I try to keep my eyes on her face, but they have a mind of their own. Before I know it, they’ve slipped down to her chest. Creamy smooth mounds the perfect size for my hands tipped with hard little nipples tempt me to reach out for them.
Fuck, I’ve never struggled this much when it comes to women. Hell, I don’t struggle at all, because women don’t tempt me. Not like this.
I release a shaky breath and bend down to grab Rella’s shirt.
“Let’s get this on you. I need to go check to see if Taza is finished cleaning up.”
It’s a bullshit excuse. Taza always gets his shit together and leaves on his own. He’s probably already gone, especially since he would assume from the kiss Rella and I shared while he was tattooing her back that we would want to be alone.
Rella’s expression displays dejection, and it makes me feel like the lowest asshole on earth. I’d give anything to be the man she thinks I am, but I’m too far past redemption.
CHAPTER THIRTY
RELLA
I SIT WITH MY BACK FACING Aziah as he gently rubs the ointment over my new tattoo. Earlier today, I was both surprised and touched at the reasoning behind the design. He likes to claim he’s not good enough for me, that his “sins” make him less than a man. He’s so very wrong. Aziah is my equal in every way. I’ve come to realize, he’s my other half.
I play with the ends of my loose hair and unabashedly enjoy the feeling of his fingers running over my flesh. The area is sensitive, but Aziah was right. It hurt getting the tattoo, but it also felt good. It actually felt the same as when I cut myself, so I can see how it would help my cravings.
A delightful shiver races down my spine and settles in my stomach when he leans down and kisses the back of my neck. I wish he would do more. I want to test myself to see how far I can go, but I know he won’t allow it.
After he carefully pulls down my shirt, I turn to face him.
“There’s something I’ve been wondering about. You said you and the others always check up on the victims of the ones you kill.” He nods. “What about someone who was saved before they were a victim?”
“What are you getting at?” he asks with a frown.
I sit up straighter and fold my hands in my lap. “The baby,” I state. “The one Marco and Gabriela were trying to adopt. What ever happened to her?”
“I’m not sure. JW normally has people look into the victims’ lives to see how they are doing. Then offer assistance if they need it.”
“Could you find out?” I grab his hand and squeeze it, my eyes pleading. “I hate the thought of that baby being a ward of the state. But it terrifies me that she went to someone else who would hurt her.”
I may have had a sheltered life by my own choosing, but I still know of the horror stories of being in foster care.
Aziah nods, and some of my anxiety fades. “I’ll go see him tomorrow to find out. And if there’re no updates, I’ll find out myself.”
My shoulders droop, and I give him a relieved smile. “I just want to make sure she’s okay. If she gets adopted, could we look into the family to ensure they’re good people?”
“I promise, wherever she ends up, she’ll be given the best care.”
Impulsively, I lean over and press a kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”
He clears his throat and jerks his chin up.
“Come on. Let’s go grab something to eat.”
I follow him into the kitchen and take a seat at the table as he pulls out the makings for spaghetti. I’m fascinated watching him cut the onions, dice the tomatoes, and brown the hamburger meat. He moves around the kitchen so naturally, like he’s done this a thousand times. His mother died during childbirth, and if I remember correctly, his father had someone come in each day to cook for them.
“You look so domesticated cooking.” It certainly doesn’t go with the whole dark, brooding vibe he gives off.
He smirks and lifts his eyes to me from across the bar as he continues to cut an onion. “Mae made sure all her boys knew how to cook before we left.”
I should have known. Of course, Mae would ensure they knew how to take care of themselves.
“How in the world are you able to cut that without tearing up? My eyes always pour anytime I’m around an onion. Even sitting here, my eyes are misting.”
He shrugs, looking back down at the counter. “I don’t know. They’ve just never bothered me.”
“Lucky,” I mutter, blinking rapidly to keep back the tears. Outwardly, I ignore his chuckle, but inwardly I melt.
“Is there anything I can do to help? I feel useless just sitting here while you’re doing all the work.”
“I’ve got it. You just sit. You don’t show it, but I know your back has got to be sore and your shirt rubbing it will make it worse.”
On the contrary, my back is fine, just a slight burning sensation. The aftereffects of my cuts are worse. Even so, I stay seated, enjoying watching him puttering around the kitchen.
He’s just pouring the sauce in the pot with the hamburger meat when there’s a knock on the front door. He moves to set the sauce down, but I get up and wave at him to continue.
“You stay and finish. I’ll grab the door.”
I turn and leave the room before he has a chance to stop me—because I know he was going to—and go to the door. After everything that’s happened to me, I’m cautious by nature, so I look through the peephole. I stumble back a step when I see a blonde-haired woman on the other side. It only takes me a minute to remember who she is.
Grace.
Aziah’s old lover.
The woman who would beat him at his request.
I’m tempted to just ignore the knock and tell Aziah we must have misheard. That there was no one at the door. But I can’t do that. For one, I’m sure she’ll knock again, and I won’t be able to explain away two knocks. And two, I’m simply not that type of person.
I pull in a deep breath, compose myself, and pull the door open. From her expression, she’s just as surprised to see me as I was her. Her pretty light blue eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly parted.
“Hello. Can I help you?” I try my best to sound cordial, but I’m not sure I pull it off.
She clears her throat. “Umm…, I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m—”
“Grace. Yes, I remember.”
She nods, her short blonde hair swinging forward and hitting her cheeks. She licks her lips and darts her eyes around nervously, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere but here.
“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” she says timidly, her voice trembling. I frown when tears appear in her eyes. “I was wondering if I could see Emo for a moment. There’s something I need to tell him.”
I don’t know why, but seeing her on the verge of breaking down pulls on my heartstrings. In all honesty, she’s done nothing wrong. She simply fell for a man who didn’t reciprocate her feelings. As far as hitting him with a belt…. Remi’s words come back to me.
“Sometimes we hurt the ones we love when we know the alternative is a lot worse.”
I don’t want to think about what Aziah would have done if he didn’t have the outlet Grace provided for him. Him being beaten by a belt is horrible, but there are so many worse things that he could have done. Remembering what it felt like down in the basement when he had me hit him still haunts me. I can’t imagine doing it more than once. If she cares about him half as much as I do, I have no doubt it haunts her too.
I soften my expression and take a step back, gesturing for her to come in. I’m just closing the door when Aziah steps into the room, wiping his hands on a dish towel. His confused eyes lock on Grace’s.
“Grace,” he states, stopping a few feet from her. “What are you doing here?”
Her eyes flicker to me and she shifts from foot to foot.
“I’ll just go check on dinner and give you two a minute.”
I really don’t want to leave them alone, but it’s the polite thing to do. They have history together.
