Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 65
Granted, I half expected Evie to be handcuffed in a basement with a dog chain around her neck once I realized Bowen was involved, but I still want to vomit. And now I also want to rip his dick off and feed it to him.
Bowen grabs her ass and starts rolling her back and forth on him, “Keep doing that…” he lets go of her and leans back against the wall, clasping his hands over his head while she rides him, “faster, pretty girl,” he commands, “let me see those tits bounce.”
She bucks up and down while he stares at her, groaning as her thighs smack against his and her tits hit him in the face. I audibly shudder when I hear her gasping and moaning against him.
“Goddamn, baby girl, you ride me so good.” The mere sound of his voice turns my stomach. “You sure you don’t want to invite Col over here to watch you come all over my cock?”
Are you fucking kidding me? Did he really just say that to her?
“Shut up, Bo,” Evie groans as her head rolls back.
I let out a laugh but only for a second, because he can’t shut his goddamn mouth.
He pulls her close and starts squeezing and sucking her tits, “You’d love letting him watch me play with you, wouldn’t you?” he says as he cocks his head slightly and looks at the camera again.
He stares right at it while he opens his mouth and flicks her goddamn nipples with his tongue, grinning the entire time.
God, he’s fucked up.
Her jaw drops as his hand disappears between her legs, “Watch me lick that pussy,” he hisses into her neck, “let you suffocate me while you come all over my face. We’ll put on a fucking show for him.”
Does he always talk this much when he’s fucking? Maybe Evie’s just used to hearing his bullshit all the time.
“Oh, Bo…” her whisper cracks, “faster…”
Bowen looks up at her, his bicep shaking as he works her clit, “You still glad you asked me to take your cherry tonight?” he’s talking to her but looking at the camera.
No. Fucking. Way.
I shouldn’t care. And on any other night, I wouldn’t. Evie can be with whoever she wants, whenever she wants. But Bowen Garrison is a fucking slime. She chooses him and what does he do? He broadcasts it to her brother just to be an asshole.
Evie turns his head toward her and strokes his cheek. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out except for a jumble of airy moans into his mouth. All she can do is nod while he grins up at her like the fucking Joker from Batman.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I let out a groan and cover my eyes. I can’t believe I’m hearing this and I can’t decide whether I want to scream or smash my phone. Peering through a slit in my fingers, I continue watching in horror, like I’m a fucking baby.
“You know I’ll always take care of you, baby girl,” he coos to her in his sickening drawl, “I’ve been waiting for you,” he kisses her chest, “you’re my goddess. My fucking queen. Nobody exists but you. And I’ll give you anything you want.”
At that, Evie starts humping him harder and pulls his head back so her face is hovering just above his, “I just want you, Bo,” she murmurs between breaths, “you and nobody else.”
God, no. Just no.
Bowen wraps his arm around her waist and starts thrusting his hips up, harder and faster, making her tremble on top of him, “You’re never going to leave me, are you?”
“N—no…” she gasps.
“Say it,” he hisses through clenched teeth.
“I’ll—” she presses her face against his, speaking through gasps, “I’ll never leave you.”
A grin spreads across his face, “Because you’re mine, and I’m yours, and nothing is ever going to change that.”
Oh, come on Evie, he’s a lying snake!
Bowen grabs her waist and propels forward, away from the wall. He rolls onto his knees and throws her down on her back beneath him. Eyes wide, I watch him look over his shoulder at the camera. He glances down at Evie’s hips and then shifts her a couple inches to the right, then splays out her legs, showing me her soaking wet cunt, bright rosy red from all his abuse.
Ah, I roll my eyes, the grand finale...
Bowen leans over Evie and kisses her, but my eyes are watching his right hand, and nothing else. He trails it over her thigh and then reaches for his dick. But he doesn’t start fucking her with it. He grabs around his shaft and starts tugging, rolling the condom until it comes loose, and then ditches it somewhere out of frame.
No, he fucking didn’t.
Bowen rises up, grabs her leg and looks down his shoulder like he’s getting into position. This time, he shoots the camera another depraved smile. I want to reach through the phone and shove my fist through his ass.
“Get ready, E,” he murmurs, “you’re getting it fucking deep this time.”
For Christ’s sake…
Bowen opens her wide and rams his dick inside her, completely bare. I squint my eyes shut as Evie’s muted whimpers and Bowen’s sick grunts assault my eardrums.
As shameful as it is, I have to refrain from whipping out my own dick and beating one out right then and there. I’m so hard right now, and I want to fucking die of embarrassment.
What can I say? The flesh is weak. It’s fucked up.
And that’s the hypocrisy, isn’t it? If it had been anyone else on that video, I’d do it because it goes along with my own penchant for rough sex and revenge-fucking some girl just because her brother pissed me off. I’d do it because, in many ways, Bowen and I are the same.
And I hate it.
But this is different. It’s Evie, and it’s me, and now I want to kill him more than ever.
When Bowen’s done, he pulls out and scoots down on the bed. Then he throws one of Evie’s legs over his shoulder and spreads her wide to show me what he’s done. His cum is dripping back out of her and I bet she can’t feel any of it. He opens his mouth and lets his giant, freakish tongue fall out like a rabid dog and then starts licking it off of her to get rid of the evidence.
In the middle of tongue-fucking her, his eyes shift to the camera and he makes one long sweep from the bottom of her pussy to her clit, shaking his head back and forth as he goes. And when he reaches the top, he looks at the camera and winks.
The video abruptly ends just as there’s a bang on the bathroom door and I almost fall backward into the tub.
“Dude, are you watching porn in my bathroom?” Mason calls through the door.
Were you listening at the door, creep?
“No! Bowen’s fucking with me,” I brush him off, “spamming me with his fucked-up bullshit.”
I flush the toilet and flip on the faucet to make it seem like I was doing something other than watching my sister get fucked by Bowen, and then splash a handful of cold water on my face while I try to get a grip. When I open the door, I flinch when I see Mason standing right on the other side, blocking my path.
“Bowen sent you porn?” he looks excited, “Let’s see it!”
“No, dude, I only clicked on the first one. It’s probably full of malware.”
Mason seems to accept my lie and ambles back to the pool table. I grab a beer from the refrigerator at the wet bar and start pacing back and forth. I can’t decide whether it’s a good or bad thing that I’m drunk. The guys won’t let me leave, even if I try, and I’ll never convince them why I should suddenly go break Bowen’s knees because there’s no way I’m telling anyone about this video.
Instead, I pull it together enough to type out a text of my own.
ME (12:42AM): I’ll deal with you later you sick fuck. Just don’t show this to anyone else. She doesn’t deserve that.
To my utter surprise, he actually responds a few minutes later.
BOWEN (12:46AM): For your eyes only. Savor it. She’s mine. And if you or any other asshole looks her way I’ll bury you in my back 40.
Thanks…I guess?
I’m not sure whether to be grateful or totally creeped out. Not only because he sent me the video, but because his response catches me off-guard.
It’s threatening and overprotective. And also totally unlike Bowen.
Bowen doesn’t like girls. He likes fucking them, but he doesn’t care about them. He’s a chameleon who reels them in with a nice smile and the right words, but it always ends the same way. I think the only one he has any shred of respect for is Hildy because they have the whole twin thing going on. But he’d probably fuck her, too, if he could get away with it.
And the more I think about it, the more unsettling it becomes. Because I don’t know which is worse—Bowen fucking with Evie just to stick it to me, or Bowen setting his sights on her for the long haul.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Brett
Present
“I told you about how I tried to kill him, right?” I glance up from my cuticle, already starting to bleed from the assault by my burgundy fingernail.
“Your boyfriend?” Judy replies with a smile that says she already knows, “Yes, you did.”
“After what he did to me…” I still don’t like thinking about it. The dark room, the gun, his eyes, and the way his voice didn’t even sound like his own… “I wanted to kill that part of him—just the part that’s broken and filled with blind hatred. I know he wasn’t himself that night.”
“You can blame him for a lot of things that you didn’t deserve to be a part of,” Judy points out.
“But I have to accept it, right? I have to accept every part of him, even the parts that scared me, the parts he can’t control, and all the broken pieces that cut everyone they touch. I mean…” I pinch my eyebrows together, “who puts up with that?”
“Someone who’s invested,” Judy emphasizes the last word, “I know both of you have been doing the work. You see beyond your own wants, you see a future, and you make a decision. It’s not logical, it just is.”
See beyond our own wants…
My own selfish wants nearly got me killed and, oddly, his depraved wants are what ultimately kept me safe.
“What was your turning point?” Judy wonders, “You could’ve walked away. There were opportunities. What made you decide to stay?”
Could I have walked away? I did decide to stay. But there was more to it…
“It was when he told me,” I remember it vividly, “this is the part of our story where you trust me, I take care of you, and you accept it.”
“You decided to trust him then,” she tilts her head with curiosity, “do you still trust him now?”
“I’ve always trusted him,” my muscles relax and a crooked smile seeps across my face, “even when I haven’t.”
●●●
I stand in front of my sliding glass door for a good five minutes, just staring across the grass toward the tree line. Scanning, searching…
He was here, I know it. I saw him right in front of me. I felt his body heat through the glass, against my own skin. He could’ve come right through the door if he wanted to. Why didn’t he? Not that I’m complaining…He’s gone now, but not really gone. I just don’t see him.
But did I really see him?
It’s happening again, and I have to use every shred of mental fortitude to keep it in check. If this is my reality, I have to keep my wits and keep a lid on it, at least for now. I’ll freak out later. Right now, I can’t afford to.
I haven’t checked my email since the guys left on their quads, loaded down with rifles, scopes, cameras, blinds, and enough camo to disguise a tank. Sometimes it feels like I’m in some redneck version of Moby Dick.
The legendary whitetail. The king of the forest. The ghost in the pines….
But we all know they didn’t leave to find the buck wreaking havoc on my garden. They have their sights set on something bigger.
It’s probably a good thing that I’m maintaining my self-imposed media blackout. I know I have emails and DMs—lots of them. But after the restraining order was leaked, the podcast went live, Sydney’s bombshell exposé dropped, and Hailey Hawks started spilling the tea, in very short order, I decide I need to step back and not worry about them right now.
I also didn’t plan on waking up and seeing what I saw. I don’t need to be distracted. I have to be alert and vigilant. I hope the guys come back soon, I want this to be over, and I don’t even have a dog here with me to hear what I can’t hear and feel what I can’t feel. In many ways, I’m blind without him, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now.
I haven’t told anyone about this morning. Maybe I should, but there’s really no point. While I’m thinking about it, my phone vibrates with a text.
VALERIE (9:49AM): My cousin’s getting rid of some baby clothes, could you use them?? If so, I can drop them off later this afternoon.
The truth is that I can. I love being frugal, and the idea of paying $10 for a single onesie that’ll be destroyed before my baby grows out of it is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m also interested in learning more about Valerie. I feel like she and I hit it off and, in many ways, that fact alone is both fascinating and unsettling.
It’s about six when I hear the grinding of Valerie’s tires on the gravel outside. When I open the front door to the sound of her footsteps on the stairs, I realize this is the first time I’ve opened the door since yesterday. Fortunately, I’m greeted by Valerie’s wide smile covered in shiny pink lip gloss and her bright caramel eyes instead of something much more terrifying.
“They’re mostly unisex,” she holds up a large, plastic shopping bag, “I hope that’s OK.”
“It’s perfect!” I take the bag from her and head for the kitchen, peeking inside it as I go, “Make yourself at home,” I call, setting the bag down on the island, “want anything to drink?”
“No, thanks!” Valerie calls back as my phone vibrates in my back pocket.
I chuckle to myself as soon as I see the text.
LARA CROFT (5:53PM): What the fuck is she doing there?
ME (5:53PM): Plot twist…
I fire off my response, but pause at the threshold of the living room to send another.
ME (5:54 PM): Did you see him here this morning?
I’m unsure whether it’s better if she tells me I’m hallucinating or confirms that I woke up to my nightmare standing outside my window.
LARA CROFT (5:54PM): I saw him. And if I did, then I guarantee my brother had a scope on the back of his head.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket, opposite of the holster affixed above my right hip. When I return to the living room, Valerie’s standing at the built-in bookcases, craning her neck as she examines all the framed photos, books, and mementos adorning each shelf.
She lingers on a black enamel Gothic-style frame directly at eye-level. It’s an 8x10 photo of he and I on our back deck. It was taken by his sister right after I moved here, when this house was still so new to me. Neither of us are even looking at the camera; we’re both straddling the railing and he’s sitting behind me, his arms locked around my torso and his chin resting against my temple as I lean back against him. I’m gazing off into the trees, the twilight sun making my eyes look almost as fluorescent as his.
I remember exactly what I was thinking. It was the first time I felt like I had a home again. And after everything, it seemed so surreal that it was with him.
Finally, as though breaking from a trance, Valerie moves away from the photo and continues over the rest of the shelves, scanning the row of books below it.
“You know,” she glances over her shoulder at me, “I realized after all the car trouble that I never got a chance to talk to you about your book!”
I make my way to the sofa and collapse into my usual spot behind the tufted cream-colored ottoman, “Funny, isn’t it?”
She turns to join me, “I don’t know how people sit down and write whole books,” she says with a shake of her head. “How’d you even come up with the story? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Well,” I let out a snort, “first you have to have an idea. It’s a lot easier to write about things you’ve experienced. Remember that story I told you at lunch?”
She nods as she takes a seat close to the corner of the sectional.
“It’s all true,” I tuck my leg up under me, “the names are different, but the story is the same.”
“What do you mean? Like…” her eyes dart around the room as she recalls the story, “all of it?”
Her smile begins to fade, almost like she’s silently running through each chapter in her head.
“My therapist told me I shouldn’t stop writing, especially since it was at the heart of what happened,” I glance at the dark hallway, toward the bedroom where the flash drive is still plugged into my USB port. “It’s kind of ironic, though. She said women need books like this to help them realize what they’re experiencing. Because when you’ve been so brainwashed, no one can tell you anything…” I turn to meet the unsettled expression Valerie is trying so hard to hide, “not even your best friend.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Brett
One Year Ago
Physically and mentally exhausted, I don’t know what else to do, so I follow Colson back to Wolfsson. I need time and space to think. I need a safe space to think, and it’s the safest place I can think of, one that’s patrolled by 20 heavily armed guards at any given time and there’s a list of who’s allowed inside and the exact moments they enter and exit the building.
It’s so safe, in fact, that when I dig my badge out of my bag and swipe it across the reader at the front gate, nothing happens.
I swipe it again. And again. And again.
Nothing happens.
I throw my Tahoe into park with a curse and get out to walk back to Colson’s car behind me.
“My badge doesn’t work,” I exhale with irritation.
He nods to the strip of 10 spaces along the front of the security building and I return to my vehicle to back up and pull into the lot. Colson leads me inside and rounds the front desk to the computer. While I wait, I stare aimlessly around the tiny lobby, spying Alex in the back room behind the glass window over Colson’s shoulder.
