Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 79
I gaze down at her glistening skin, her pussy just dying for me to fill her, “It was so nice of you to let him play pretend, as if he could ever be what I am to you.” She wraps one arm around my neck, still gripping the headboard with the other, and starts moving with me. “But who were you thinking about the first time he made you come?”
She’s shaking now, her ass bumping against the headboard as her hips pump the air between us.
“Speak up, little slut,” I say through clenched teeth, “so he can hear every fucking sound I drag out of you. Who were you thinking about?”
I don’t say it for her or myself, I say it for him, so he knows where everyone stands in this situation—this long, drawn out saga that isn’t over by a long shot.
“You,” she squeaks out, the friction between her legs all but gone. “Every—” she sounds like she’s breaking down, like she’s confessing at the end of an interrogation, “every part I loved was you...”
“Good,” I snarl, pinning her legs tighter in the crook of my arms, “that’s all placeholders are for,” I grind harder, driving her wild, “and he was nothing but a placeholder for my girl to use until I came home to her. My good…fucking…girl…” Her eyes flutter and she claws at my shoulder, inching toward the edge as I heap praise onto her. “Are you ready for me now?” I ask, sliding my tip just inside her.
She nods impatiently, barely able to keep her eyes open, drunk on this moment living dormant in the back of her mind for four years now.
“You better make me fit, Brett Ashley, because I have far less patience for you than I did last time.”
At the last word, I thrust my hips hard and my dick bottoms out inside her, jarring the entire bed. She lets out a cry and digs her nails into my skin, letting her head collapse against the wall. And, this time, I don’t show her any mercy, fucking her so hard that the wood flexes against her back. By the time I’m through with her, she’ll have bruises of purple lace across her back in the same design as the carvings beneath her.
She feels even better than I remember, clutching around my dick like she’ll never let go. And, soon, her cries turn to short whimpers that match the cadence of my hips. When I lift her ass to get a better grip on the headboard, her jaw drops and her chest caves.
She lets out a high-pitched moan, cursing between chaotic breaths, “Fuck, Colson…” she grinds out, “you win…oh, god, you fucking win…”
“Yeah, I won,” I growl into her cheek with unbridled arrogance, “as if you ever had a chance.”
Her breaths get shorter and more frantic. I don’t even have to work her clit, she’s so fucking turned on and I’m hitting her at just the right angle.
“You like fucking your stalker as much as you did last time?” I taunt her as she reaches for me again, pulling my mouth to hers. “Yeah, you do…” I drawl, teasing her with kisses, “you sick little slut…”
“Col…god…”
Tomayto-tomahto…
I pump my hips faster, feeling her entire body tense. “Oh, fuck!” she cries into my mouth, her body going rigid, “I’m gonna…ah!”
She takes it deep while the second orgasm rips through her, every sound she makes bringing me closer to the edge. My head rolls to the side, basking in her screams until I set my sights on my phone propped up against the lamp. I can’t resist grinning at the screen with a deranged sense of satisfaction while I finish her, admiring her legs bouncing from the crooks of my elbows while I impale her against my headboard.
Gradually, her movements slow to smooth waves. “Don’t stop, Col,” she pleads, trembling with the aftershocks. Her voice nearly takes me out at the knees as she pulls my face back to her, lashes fluttering with a crooked grin, “Come inside me like you promised.”
“Anything to make my girl happy…” As soon as I lock on her eyes, my jaw drops and I bury my dick in her so deep that my hips just pulse against hers. I come so hard that I drop her legs and she collapses into my lap, taking me in to the hilt. I grab her body and press my face into her neck, feeling the vibrations of her vocal cords on my lips while I fill her like she wants. My tongue trails over her veins, drinking up her sweat because she still tastes so damn good.
I can’t decide whether it’s a blessing or a curse, being as close as I can to her without splitting her in two, because it’s still not close enough. She’s still the cosmic pulse, the heartbeat I feel in the earth, and I’ll never be able to dig deep enough.
When our breathing slows and our chests rise and fall with one another, I brush the stray hairs away from her face, “Say it, Honeybee,” then I tip her chip up to meet my eyes, “tell me what I am to you, and mean it.”
Brett’s eyes flutter and she looks up at me, her chest heaving while her pussy contracts around my dick, binding her to me once again, “I love you, Col…” she whimpers, still dazed from her orgasm, “you’re…you’re my only.”
“Yeah,” I drawl, brushing my lips over hers, “yeah, I am…”
Then I shift my gaze and stare through the glass, through the lens, through each microscopic component, and through the ether…
And then I wink at him.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Brett
One Year Ago
For a split second, I thought I killed him.
I thought I’d feel his blood spatter across my face and I’d stand over his dead body in triumph for being such a monster and putting me through years of hell. For a split second, I felt relief. Because to seek vengeance is to steal back something that was taken unjustly. I felt powerful, but it didn’t last. The high plummeted, crashing and burning in an inferno of abject horror, loss, despair, and hopelessness.
Because Colson isn’t the one I hate. Far from it.
And, when he didn’t fall away, when I realized he was still standing before me, unscathed, I could breathe again. Something sparked in my chest and I felt alive—really alive.
Granted, there was no way in hell I was going to tell Colson that right then. Especially after he’d been such an asshole and said all those god-awful things to me that made me want to shoot him in his goddamn face.
But afterward, I don’t know how long I stood in front of the mirror in the upstairs bedroom, staring through my eyes and into my own soul.
You would’ve done it. You would’ve killed a man. You would’ve killed him. You have it in you, and this is part of you now.
Maybe I shouldn’t shove this down and try to ignore it like so many other things in my past.
Keep it. You might need it for later.
I might’ve tried to kill Colson. But later, when I was laying in the dark, and things got quiet again, I found myself outside his door, asking him to let me inside. I’m used to being alone, it’s how I’ve lived for most of my adult life. I’ve also spent much of my adult life running from Colson. But last night, being on the other side of a hallway from him suddenly felt like the cruelest form of isolation imaginable.
And what happened after, when he let me inside, felt like pure redemption.
Maybe it was clarity. Maybe it was some kind of self-medication to dull what happened 48 hours ago. Maybe it was an attempt to steal back some kind of control, or maybe it was vengeance, pure and simple.
But I meant it. I meant all of it—everything I did and everything I said. And Colson knows it.
This time, once I fall asleep in the crook of his arm, tucked into the curve of his body, I don’t wake up until the sun glows through the white linen curtains. No one dragged me out of his bed, no one slammed me against the floor, and no one shoved a gun down my throat. I didn’t have to fight him. I didn’t have to flee. I didn’t even have to move.
When I open my eyes, Colson’s tattooed arm is still outstretched on the sheets, jutting out from beneath my neck. And when I roll over, he’s reclined on his pillow, leisurely scrolling through his phone. He tosses it back onto the table and curls his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.
“What time is it?” I mumble as he kisses my forehead.
He runs his thumb up and down my arm, “Quarter of eight.”
I wrap my arm around his torso, feeling his familiar heartbeat against my cheek, “You should be gone to work by now,” I yawn.
“I’m not leaving this house until you’re packed up and safely on your way to Toronto.”
“What?” I jerk my head up, “I’m not going to Toronto.”
Colson looks down at me, his aquamarine eyes darker and more severe today, “Yes,” he says harshly, “you are.”
My eyes fall with a disappointment I don’t even try to hide, “Now that you finally got me here, you’re sending me away?” It’s absurd, but it feels like an affront, a slight of the worst kind.
“Baby, I’m not sending you away,” Colson gives a shake of his head, “I’m putting you somewhere safe where it’s harder for him to find you.”
“Putting me somewhere…” I snicker, “it sounds like you’re having me committed to an institution.”
“I already told you,” he looks down at me through amused eyes, “if you end up in an asylum, then we’ll be there together. I just need to know you’ll be safe until I can take you home with me.”
Home?
“I thought that’s where I was.”
Colson senses my irritation, but remains unfazed—unbothered. He throws back the sheet and rolls on top of me, “Brett,” a shot of dopamine rushes through my stomach as he settles between my legs, “your home is wherever I am, and vice versa. Today, it’s this house, but it won’t be by this afternoon.”
I haven’t even been awake for five minutes and I’ve already had enough of his vague bullshit. “What the hell are you talking about?” I rasp up at him.
“There’s a house in Colorado,” Colson pauses with a shrug, “well, most of a house. It was supposed to be finished a month ago, but some asshole forgot to order enough metal roofing.” He looks down at me in exasperation, “Supply chain issues.”
“Supply chain issues…” I stare up at him, trying to make sense of his words, “you’re building a house?”
“I told you I’d build you a house to live in with me,” he replies with nonchalance.
My heartrate begins to climb with the gravity of his words, and suddenly, I’m back in college in this same bed, considering running off to Colorado with Colson Lutz. I didn’t have anything tying me down back then, and by some surreal twist of fate, I now no longer have anything tying me down here anymore.
Because of Bowen Garrison.
“You can’t stay here, Brett,” Colson says gently, “you were always going to leave here with me, but it was supposed to be under different circumstances. I can’t even bring myself to leave you alone in this house for an hour, so you’re going to leave here today, drive up to Toronto, and stay there until I come for you,” then he lowers his voice to nearly a whisper, “and I will come for you.”
I’m at a loss for words but, after a few moments, pull myself together, “I can’t just go to Toronto.”
“What are you going to do instead?” he asks. “Lock yourself in this house, right on the other side of his woods? Go back to Barrett’s? Go to work like nothing ever happened? Wait for him to find you?” Colson’s tone goes eerily calm, “Because he will find you.”
And then it dawns on me—he’s right, I don’t have any other options. This is how I get out of this.
Colson leans down and kisses my forehead. Then the bridge of my nose. And then my lips. “This is the part of our story where you trust me, I take care of you, and you accept it.”
●●●
I don’t want to let go of him. I don’t want to climb out of Colson’s bed or listen to him walk down the stairs to the kitchen. I don’t want to step into the shower and wash him off my skin or get dressed for a day of unknown horrors. I don’t want to leave the ancient wicker sofa on the deck with its worn, flattened cushions or carry my plate inside to the sink, still sticky with maple syrup from the orange cardamom pancakes.
Orange fucking cardamom…
I don’t want to put down this scratched coffee cup from Sedona with its faded 80’s screenprint of cacti and mountains and leave this old house in its half-renovated state. I don’t want to walk out of these woods, tucked away beneath the ashes and birches and maples, hidden from the nightmare I came from.
But I have to, because I don’t belong here. I never even belonged at the last house I came from. My life is reduced to two bags filled with anything within arm’s reach, everything else sealed in the tomb of Bowen’s house where I’ll never again set foot.
“I need a car…” I ponder as Pony trots up the deck stairs and comes over to sniff my hand.
Add booking a rental car to the growing list of things I don’t want to think about right now. Bowen is hunting me, Colson tells me I have to leave the country for an undetermined period of time, and I don’t even know how I’m going to get to Jo’s.
Oh, God, I have to tell Jo about all this…
I let out an exasperated breath as I run my hand over the soft fur behind Pony’s ears. It’s a long drive, I’ll have time to figure it out.
“Here,” Colson sits down next to me and dangles a blue carabiner from his finger, “take it.”
There’s a black key fob hanging on the carabiner along with two black keys. I recognize them because they look older than any other ones I’ve seen.
I shake my head, “I can’t take your Bronco.”
“Why not?” he furrows his brow, “Look, I know it’s not the picture of luxury, but it’s still in good shape. It’ll get you there, I promise.”
“It’s not that,” I let out a weak laugh, “I can’t just take your car.”
“Yes, you can. Just hold on to it until you get something else.” Colson shoots me a side-eye, “Besides, I know you want to drive it. I’ve seen how you look at it.”
I return his side-eye, and I can’t even keep a straight face. He’s not wrong. I take the keys from him without any more argument.
You trust me, I take care of you, and you accept it.
“OK, fine,” I sigh, “so in the meantime, what are you going to do?”
Colson leans back, gazing off into the tree line, “Run over to Dallas and Alex’s place, take care of some things. You’re not the only one who has to have a long talk with their sister. Which reminds me,” he reaches into his jeans and produces a black phone, “Bowen can still find your phone without spyware. I already migrated all your data to this one.”
I stare at the phone, stunned. It’s the same kind as mine, only black and without a case. I hesitate, not taking it right away. The last time I accepted a vehicle and a new phone from a man, it didn’t go so well…
But, this time, it’s not a chain. He’s making you leave.
“When did you do this?” I chuckle, “When I was sleeping?”
“No,” he says dismissively, “while you were showering.”
“Speaking of phones…and sisters…” I trail off, turning the new phone over in my hands, “I did something last night,” I mutter dubiously.
“You mean more than you already did?” Colson snickers. “Like what?”
I open my texts and, a few seconds later, I hand him the phone, my thread with Hildy pulled up with a picture of Emily’s letter.
ME (8:43PM): (Attachment)
And then a few seconds later…
ME (8:45PM): Your brother is a goddamn serial killer. Did he show you all of Emily’s letter or are you covering that up, too? Bowen destroyed my book, assaulted me, threatened to have your husband rape me, locked me in the house, and then sent a fake resignation letter to my boss so NO ONE WOULD LOOK FOR ME. He has a box in the closet with this letter and Emily’s shirt with her rotten flesh stuck to it. You knew he gave me Emily’s ring and you DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING. And you know what else was in the box? EVIE’S HAIR!! Bowen chopped off her braid and KEPT IT IN A FUCKING BOX IN HIS CLOSET!!!! You know how I know? Her stepbrother told me…HER STEPBROTHER COLSON!
ME (8:46PM): YOU’RE GOING TO PAY. ALL OF YOU ARE GOING TO PAY.
Colson studies the texts for a few more seconds and then slowly shifts his aquamarine eyes to me. A twinge of fear runs through my chest. Maybe I shouldn’t have sent it. I never do anything impulsive, why am I starting now—with a life and death situation?
But then a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “So, you’re the reason everyone was losing their shit at Bowen’s house last night.”
“I was just…” I take a deep breath, trying to quell the adrenaline seeping into my muscles as they begin to tense, “done. I want to see him hurt—him and everyone else who’s let him get away with it.”
“Wow, little Honeybee,” Colson bites his lip and gives me a once-over, “you do sting when you get angry.”
After a few moments, my smile fades and my gaze drifts across the grass, replaced by melancholy. Colson leans back with a faint smile, running his hand across the small of my back, “What is it?”
I peer at him over my shoulder, studying him for a few seconds, “That one night at your house, four years ago now, you told me that I’d eventually tell you I love you.” I look him up and down, “Why don’t you say it to me?”
“I have said it to you,” he replies, sounding mildly surprised.
“Yeah, when you were tormenting me,” I laugh bitterly.
My sharp tone seems to entertain him. He reaches up and pulls me to him, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and nestling me against the side of his chest, “I love a lot of people in different ways. I love Dallas and Evie because they’re my sisters. I love my parents and Dan and Lena. I love Alex because he’s my brother now and because he loves Dallas. And I love Pony because he’s my ride or die. But there’s something that you don’t share with anyone else. When I say you’re my only, it’s because you’re the one who gets all of me and the one for whom I forsake all else.” He takes a long, slow breath, those blue eyes staring straight into my soul, “I love you because, by definition, there can only ever be…one…only.”
