Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 44
“You might not like it,” Bowen reaches behind his head and pulls his shirt up over his back. He balls it up and swipes it across his forehead before tossing it into the bed of the truck, “but you still have to deal with it.”
“I know,” I shift back and forth on the smooth patches of dirt under my feet, “but I appreciate you caring and wanting to keep me safe.”
Bowen narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “Are you offering an apology?” he asks, popping his spearmint gum in his teeth.
“Yeah,” I nod, “I guess I am.”
“You guess?”
“Yes,” I say firmly.
He stares at me for a few moments, then the corner of his mouth lifts. He takes a step toward me. Then another. And another.
He glances down at the pieces of the ladder still lying on the ground, “Help me finish loading this and I’ll consider it.”
Bowen jumps up into the bed of the truck and kicks a pile of tie-downs, sending them clattering against the back of the cab. Then he reaches down and I start handing him the pieces of the ladder.
“Come here,” he extends his hand and I take it, letting him hoist me up onto the tailgate.
He motions for me to follow him up to the back window of the cab and then crouches down to begin untangling the mess of nylon straps and buckles. Some are loose and some are still affixed to the back rack covering the window where I’m sure a dead animal or two were secured not long ago.
When I kneel down next to him, he hands me an orange strap and then a black one, “Hold these so they don’t knot back up.”
I let my eyes wander while I wait, inhaling the sultry night air, thankful it’s warmer than usual. I still scan the tree line, my eyes now adjusted to the darkness. I don’t know how Bowen can see to untangle knotted tie-downs, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just relieved that Waylon is safely tucked into the cab of Bowen’s truck and not being eaten by coyotes.
I’m also relieved to have found Bowen and he seems to be in a better mood than when I last saw him. All I want to do is push the last conversation we had out of my mind. It was eerie and I don’t want to think about it. I don’t even want to think about how much I don’t want to think about it.
“OK,” Bowen’s voice snaps me back to the present.
Before I can even look down, I feel a sharp tug at my hands and my knuckles slam into the floor of the truck bed. The black nylon strap tightens around my wrists, digging into my flesh and making me wince.
What the—
I follow both ends of the strap to a rubber-coated hook jutting out from the middle of the rhino liner. The strap snakes up between the rear window and the back rack, loops once around a support bar, and then attaches to a large blue carabiner hooked in the middle of the rack. Even in the sporadic moonlight, I can see light brown and white hair peppering the black liner beneath my feet and stuck between the fibers of the tie-downs where they secured a dead coyote earlier. I try to raise my hands and reach for the carabineer at chest height, but my hands barely move an inch in either direction.
I jerk my head up to Bowen, still crouched next to me. He’s motionless, his fingers hooked in the black metal rack bars. My eyes dart up and down in confusion, panic mounting.
“Baby girl,” he shakes his head with a smile, “your self-awareness is for shit.”
“Well,” I scowl back at him, swallowing hard, “I didn’t think I needed so much when you’re around.”
Bowen reaches behind me and squeezes the back of my neck, “That’s exactly when you need it.” Then he leans forward and kisses me on my cheek, breathing into my ear, “You should probably save your apologies. You’re going to need them.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My eyes round and I let out a huff as he stands up and saunters back to the tailgate, leaving me tied to the floor. He jumps down onto the dirt path and slams the tailgate, a sinister smile seeping across his face. Locking eyes with me, he moves along the side of the truck, dragging his hand along the edge as he goes.
He throws open the driver’s side door and calls over his shoulder, “You ride in back, ‘til you can behave.” Then he ducks into the cab, giving Waylon an ear scratch as he slams the door.
The truck roars to life, the noisiest thing in the entire forest. Bowen immediately cranks up his music, heavy bass splitting the air and Maria Brink’s false chord screams echoing through the trees. I feel a shudder and the truck begins rolling down the path, but we’re going the wrong direction. He’s not driving back toward the house, he’s driving deeper into the woods.
“Bowen!” I tug at the ties and slam my shoulder against the cage.
My shouts are easily drowned out, only drawing a glance from Bowen in the rearview mirror. His grin widens until he bares his teeth and waggles his tongue at me. I can only glare back at him in disbelief as his head starts bobbing to the beat.
The truck picks up speed, jostling me with every rock, root, and tree branch the tires hit. After a few minutes, I begin to wonder where I am. During the daytime, I never really think about how vast these woods are or how far the paths stretch through the thick brush. I’ve never been this far into the woods. After a few minutes, the truck lurches to a stop and Bowen kills the engine, but leaves the headlights on. The door slams and he emerges from the cab, still shirtless and his swath of black hair hanging over his brow.
Bowen comes to a stop in front of me and rests his elbows on the edge of the bed, leering at me over his arms, “This is a beautiful picture, right here,” he drawls with a salacious grin.
“I bet,” I reply, hopelessly twisting and tugging at the nylon straps.
After a few moments, he turns and slowly continues to the tailgate, letting it drop with a thud. Gnashing his spearmint gum in his jaw, he jumps up into the bed. His boots land with a bang and he straightens up, eyeing me from the end of the truck, contemplating. Even in the dark, I can see something working behind his eyes. He looks so tall he might as well be a tree sprouting out the end of his truck, his black tattoos like vines and moss growing on his skin.
I sit motionless on the rough lining, my eyes locked with his as he ambles toward me, the suspension creaking with each step he takes. His dusty boots come to a halt a couple feet from my knees and I watch in silence as he reaches behind his back and lifts his Glock from the holster in his waistband. My chest feels like it’s about to cave in on itself as his arm swings back into view and the familiar cold sensation I’ve grown to hate washes over my body.
Bowen cocks the gun and aims into the trees, peering down the length of his arm through the crosshairs. When he shifts his stance, the moonlight catches him through a break in the trees and casts a blue tone across his arm muscles. I crane my neck over my shoulder, following his gaze as he takes aim at a fallen log about 30 feet away with nubs of broken limbs jutting out from its bark.
“It’s illegal to hunt bigger game like deer right now,” he concentrates on his target, “but not you.”
He pulls the trigger and detonates the broken limb, the concussion echoing through the forest. I flinch at the ear-splitting shot and let out a yelp as the wood splinters into the air.
Bowen lowers his gun and turns to me, giving me a once-over. No matter what I do, no matter how many times I’ve seen him shoot, the muscles in my back and shoulders still tremble uncontrollably. Even though my face is fixed in a disinterested glare, he knows what it’s doing to me.
His mouth shifts into a grin, “Are you still scared of it?”
I take a deep breath to steady my voice, “I’m not scared of you,” I retort with irritation, knowing full well that’s not entirely true.
He cocks his head and bites his bottom lip, “I’ll give you a head start.”
I take a deep breath and gather my wits before lifting my head and looking right back at him, “What happens if you don’t find me?”
He tucks his Glock back into the waist of his jeans and kneels down, “Impossible,” he pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger, glaring at me, “I’ll always find you.”
“Good,” I shoot him a sardonic smile, refusing to succumb to the fear responses riddling my body, “because I’ll never run from you.”
Bowen pops his gum in his teeth, eyeing me for another moment before releasing my chin. When he stands up, he’s so close that his boots nearly touch my knees.
He glances at his waist and then back at me, “I’d tell you to take my belt off, but I can see your hands are otherwise occupied,” he winks as he unbuckles his belt and slides it out of the loops in one slow, fluid motion. Then he kneels down again and starts feeding the end of his belt through the buckle, “Tell me,” Bowen brings the looped belt to my chest and slides it up my throat to my chin, “who do you belong to, baby girl?” he asks as he lifts the belt over my head.
I feel a warm rush deep in my belly and a dangerous apoplexy of adrenaline and dopamine start to build the longer I stare into Bowen’s black eyes.
“You,” I exhale, goosebumps skittering down my back as he cinches the leather strap around my neck.
He rolls his head to the opposite shoulder, his muscles popping, “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” he asks as he tightens the belt, pressing his fist into the base of my skull.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I press my lips together with a quick shake of my head.
Bowen’s eyes have the same darkness they did in the kitchen earlier today, “Because I don’t like it when someone thinks they can come take what belongs to me.” My heart hammers the longer he stares at me with the same scrutinizing look. “And you seem like you need me to remind you who runs your shit.”
He lets the belt go slack and trails his index finger down my sternum, hooking it over my tank top into my cleavage. He just sits there for a few moments, chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s sizing me up. Suddenly, I feel a tug at my shirt as he reaches up and rips the front clean open in one motion. I flinch with a gasp, feeling the night air rush over my bare skin. He flashes a condescending smile as he pops the straps from their seams and pulls my shirt, reduced to a mere rag, through my arms and tosses it aside. I’m sure he’ll just use it to clean his guns later.
Bowen rises and starts unbuttoning his jeans, “Who’s always going to take care of you?” he asks, sliding his jeans down low on his hips, low enough to reveal his tattoo of Cerberus guarding Hades.
“You,” I murmur as he reaches into his pants.
When he takes out his cock, it’s already stiff, formidable, and dripping with anticipation. But by the way he’s looking at me, I’m not sure whether to be excited or afraid. Maybe he is Hades and he’s about to unleash hell upon me, after all. Bowen fists it in one hand and then places his palm upright, next to my chin.
“Spit,” he commands.
Glancing up at him, I start sucking my cheeks in and out, moving my tongue to gather the saliva in my mouth. After a few moments, I lean over and spit the mouthful into his palm. He takes it and starts lubing his cock with it right next to my head. And when he’s done, he reaches over and drags his palm across my face, from one cheek to the other, like he’s wiping mud off his hand.
When I recoil, Bowen grabs my chin in the crook of his thumb and gives my head a shake, “What’s the matter, baby girl—you don’t like getting dirty?” he jeers, “But isn’t that what you are—a dirty fucking whore?”
He tosses my face to the side with abject disdain, and I don’t even care because I deserve whatever he has planned for me, regardless of what exactly he knows or how he knows it.
Bowen reaches around my head and grabs the belt with one hand, fisting his cock with the other. He strokes it slowly, from top to bottom, so close to my face that his knuckles graze my temple as he moves.
His tone has a warning edge, “Are you sorry?”
I nod, his belt pinching the back of my neck the harder he squeezes. Because I am.
Suddenly, I feel a smack and let out a gasp when I realize Bowen just smacked me across the cheek with his cock.
He bends down, “Are. You. Sorry?” he repeats, his voice more sinister now.
“Yes,” I croak.
“What are you sorry for?”
I hesitate too long and feel another sharp smack against my cheek, “What—” before I can cough out the words, there’s another.
And another.
And then another, in quick succession.
I purse my lips, inhaling deep breaths through my nostrils as I glare up at Bowen. He runs his tongue along his teeth, gazing down at me with amusement.
After a few seconds, he gives my neck a tug, “You done being a little bitch?”
I long blink and clench my jaw, his voice sending a searing rush down my back and into my thighs. It shouldn’t, but it does. Part of me loves the degradation he’s giving, basking in his cruel attention while it washes away some of the guilt gnawing at me. But another part of me wants to smack him upside the head for it.
I let my head fall back and gaze up at him with indignance, my chest fighting for shallow breaths.
“Don’t make me ask you twice, Brett. I’ll hang your ass upside down from my tailgate like the coyotes I left at Jay’s. Tell me what you’re sorry for.”
He loosens the belt enough for me to speak, “For—” I take a breath and try to swallow, “for not listening to you.”
That covers everything, doesn’t it? I didn’t listen to him when he said don’t let Colson get too close. And I didn’t listen to him when he tried to tell me how Colson isn’t done with me yet—that he’s going to wreck my life and finish what he started.
Bowen releases the belt, dropping the slack at my back, and grabs the handle of the green storage tote near the wheel well. He slides it behind his feet and sits down in front of me, his knees flanking my arms so that I’m kneeling between his legs. Then he rests his elbows on his knees and reaches around my head for the belt.
He tips my head back, hovering over my face, “Why should I take you back home with me?” he snarls, “Why should I let you back into my house?”
At this rate, I half expect him to leave me out here. He wouldn’t, would he? Then again, maybe he would since he’s implying his house isn’t mine anymore.
But I’m not some whiny dish rag. I can play his games.
Locking eyes with Bowen, I gather my nerves and scowl back, “Because you like what I give you,” my mouth curls to match his venomous smile, “and because I haven’t given you everything you want, yet.”
It might be dirty, but he’s playing dirty right now, too.
Bowen’s eyes flash and I can’t tell whether he’s intrigued or infuriated. Oddly enough, it looks the exact same, but my response hits its mark. He leans down, his mouth twitching with malice.
“Then show me how sorry you are, wife,” he growls, pressing his nose into my cheek, “open that filthy little mouth so I can gag you with my cock.”
I do what he says and lean forward, letting my jaw drop. Gripping the belt, he slowly pulls me in, sliding his cock over my tongue. A low groan reverberates through his chest the deeper he goes, until I feel him tickle my gag reflex.
“I never asked you,” Bowen leans back on one arm and pulls out a couple inches, “how many babies are you going to give me?”
I look up at him, my chest heaving as I move my tongue around him, spit starting to drip down the corners of my mouth.
“You must have some idea,” he pushes my head down, sliding deeper, “One?” then he pulls out, “Two?” he pushes me back down, tapping the back of my throat before pulling back, “10?” he squeezes the belt and, this time, doesn’t stop pushing.
My reflex catches and I shudder, pulling frantically at the straps around my wrists. I squeeze my eyes shut, my neck muscles seizing as wet sounds sputter from the corners of my mouth.
“Come on, Brett!” Bowen rolls his head back, “How many?” he calls into the treetops, his deep voice echoing through the woods.
My legs tense and my bottom half wriggles as he pulses my head. Finally, he pulls out halfway and lets me suck in a lungful of air, coughing it back out around his cock that seems to get harder the longer he suffocates me. Once I catch my breath, I take him in again, sucking harder and flicking my tongue along the underside of his tip.
“When are you going to let me breed you, baby girl?” Bowen starts to roll his hips, “When are you going to use my cum instead of wasting it?”
Each word sends a jolt of electricity deep into my stomach until I can feel the heat pooling between my legs. Fortunately, I can’t extract the synthetic hormones coursing through my body, otherwise I might let him do it right this second, high on dopamine and mad with desire.
Bowen suddenly jerks the belt and snaps my head back, pumping his cock and groaning as he shoots his thick cum all over my chest. Gulping air, I stare up at the slivers of inky sky through the trees until Bowen’s movements slow. He runs his hand over my breasts, smearing his cum over my skin like lotion. When it’s nothing but a thin film, he gives my breast a sharp slap and drags the rest across my cheek.
He runs his hand over my face, smearing his palm across my mouth and cheekbones, “See?” he shoves my face back and forth as he goes, “A dirty fucking whore, just like I said.”
“Can you…” I flex my fingers, the straps digging into my wrists, “let me go, please?” I croak through my constricted windpipe.
He gazes down at me with a smile, trailing a fingertip down my breast, “Dirty and polite,” he brushes over my nipple, turning it hard enough to cut glass, “but, no,” there’s a sharp snap as he flicks it, making me gasp in pain, “because you still never answered my question.”
I twist back and forth, trying to rub my bound arm against my breast to quell the sting, “Which one?”
Bowen bows his head and lowers his voice to a diabolical rumble, “When can I breed my whore?”
I stare back at him, my mouth ajar.
