Reckless, p.16
Reckless, page 16
I end my pacing right in front of him. Legs shoulder width apart, the bat now hanging at my side. "You know, I've always wondered what I would do if I ever saw you again. A few scenarios ran through my mind, but I have to admit I never expected it would be like this.”
With both hands on the grip, I quickly swing the bat up. It connects with the underside of his jaw with a satisfying thunk. His head gets thrown back, blood sprays across me, the bat, and then the ceiling.
It’s only a single swing, and yet the taste of liberation is instantaneously addictive. The crimson release of his sins spurs on the once dormant need for retaliation. For payback.
I zero in on the pattern created by the red splatter across my arm. It whispers seductively, an anthem only I can decipher, written by my past and conducted by my future. My brain fogs and my surroundings change into a monochromatic red, from almost pink to the blackest of black. As if I’m in a dark room. These colors call to me. I love what they represent. Red embodies anger, passion… danger. Black instills grief, strength and evil. They are now my favorite colors.
I am no longer a good girl dressed in pastels and sweetness. I’m an instrument for the woman I want to be, and she’s very dark and dangerous.
And she’s thirsty for blood.
"That's for my mother, who trusted you," I growl at him. "She left her only child in your care!”
I swing the bat again, this time pulling my arm back to gather more force and I connect with his temple. Immediately blood trickles from behind his bulging eye, a deep dent in his skull forming.
"That one's for my father," I sneer. "He left me all alone because of what you did to me!"
My scarlet vision grows like a virus, consuming all the other colors that aren’t the same hue as my uncle’s life force that escapes his body. His face is coated with the shade and my body fills with a strength I never knew I had.
I lift my arms as high above me as possible, then bring the bat down hard on top of his head. The wood splits in half, the top half flying into the sanguine sea of the warehouse.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
"And this... this is for me, you twisted, sick fuck." He’s not able to fight much as I prying his mouth open and shove the reminisce of my weapon down his throat. Burst after burst of blood shoots out his mouth between the wood and out his nose with each plunge. I jam it down until just the knob-end sticks out between his lips.
Red.
Death.
Destruction.
Murder.
Vindication.
The pieces are now all put into their place, revealing the big picture.
Nothing is holding me back any longer. The only restrictions I have are those created by me. I am a new woman born of blood and brutality.
My first obstacle?
Dealing with the fact that I just beat my uncle to death with a baseball bat.
I'm not consciously aware of what happens after I kill Martin. My mind is a fog and all I can focus on is three words.
I killed Martin.
When I become consciously aware of what's happening, I realize we are outside of Finn’s home and he’s helping out of his truck.
He doesn’t shut the door quick enough. The inside of his truck is covered with smears of blood, and I start to panic.
"The blood," I tremble with concern.
"Don't worry about it," he utters before ushering me into the open front door.
His friends and Sorcha are all gathered in the living room when we walk in. With one look in my direction, Sorcha immediately stands and rushes over to me.
"Oh my god! What happened? Are you okay, Francine?" Her eyes travel the splotches that tell the story of my night. Blood is on my shirt and probably smeared all over my face.
"She's fine," Finn responds before I have the chance. Then, he turns to his friends. "Call Donatello and send his guys to Warehouse Five. When they're done, have them deal with the mess in my truck."
His friend, I think his name is Tiernan, pulls out his phone and starts making calls as Finn leads me up the stairs.
I want to say something—anything—but I don't know what I can say to defend my actions.
"Sorcha, can you get Francine a change of clothes? Preferably exactly like what she's wearing," Finn yells over his shoulder, but I don't hear an answer.
I’m like a zombie as Finn leads me into his bedroom and straight to the connecting bathroom.
"We need to get the blood off of you. You should shower." His words are gentle and soothing. He meets my eyes then turns for the door. I’m looking at his retreating back when something snaps.
I'm vulnerable and I need him.
He's your support system. My mom's words ring through my mind. It's true. Finn has become the thing that holds me together.
Desperate for him not to leave, I grab his arm. "Please," I beg. His icy blue eyes shoot to me, uncertainty in them. Is he sickened by me? I can’t blame him if he is. What I've done scares me.
My other hand snakes out and I expect him to reject me but he doesn’t. I reach for him, but he doesn't cower away from me. I caress his jaw and it seems to be a balm as I feel his muscles relax under my touch. "Please, stay with me," I murmur, as if I'm holding my breath. My chest feels heavy with the strain.
I expect him to push me away, say I'm revolting, but Finn surprises me. "Always," he whispers before he places his soft lips upon mine.
My body eases, and it doesn't even occur to me that the blood still covering my face might be getting on him, or that he didn't take the blood into consideration when he decided to kiss me.
After a moment, he pulls away and closes the bathroom door before turning the lock. His eyes move over me, scanning up and down my body, before his icy blues connect with my gaze.
He seems contemplative for a moment, and I wonder what's going through his head?
Then he unzips his hoodie and slides it over his broad shoulders and down his thick muscles.
It takes me a moment to comprehend what he's doing, and a wave of excitement flutters between my legs.
He's getting in the shower with me.
He switches on the hot water to the shower, then crosses his arms and stares at me expectantly.
The way his pupils take over his irises says it all. Obviously, I need to get undressed if I’m going to take a shower but it's the command in his eyes that sends a rush of tingles buzzing through me.
I yank my shirt over my head before moving onto my boots and jeans.
I was fully clothed when I killed Martin and yet there’s blood underneath. Even my bra and underwear are marked red from my actions. Martin's blood on them.
Finn reaches behind my back and undoes my bra, tossing it somewhere on the floor. His eyes stay on mine as he bends and pulls down my panties, even when his face is right in front of my crotch.
I bring a hand up to unbuckle his belt when I catch sight of my hands. There are huge splints of wood in my hands, and blood leaking freely from the wounds. They only started hurting now that I realized I had them.
"Finn?" I say and he straightens fully as I turn out my palms.
"Fuck," he curses before turning slightly, pulling out a drawer from the sink vanity and producing a pair of tweezers.
"It’s…my blood,” I whimper like a wounded animal.
Finn delicately examines one of my hands. "It'll be okay, babe," he insists as he begins the arduous task of carefully removing the splinters from my hand.
I try to police my trembling. "No, it won't. I killed him. My blood was on the bat. I shove it down his… my blood is inside of him. My DNA is there." I sniffle, but his focus doesn’t waver from the splinters in my hands.
After a few seconds, noticing that I’m doing a shit job of keeping still, he squeezes my wrist. "Look at me, Francine," he demands, and my tear-filled eyes meet his. His determination is unnerving. "It doesn't matter, okay? Even if you left your social security card there with a lock of your hair and your phone number, no one will find out. No one will find his body, much less search the warehouse. I’d never let anything happen to you, okay? You're not going to jail. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me.” His voice has an uncharacteristically soft edge to it. He's being sincere and gentle with me.
My eyebrows crease with confusion. "It's not your fault. I don't even know why I took the bat from you. You were wrong about me. I'm not pure. I'm dark and twisted. I'm crazy," I sob.
He looks back down and removes the final splinter with precision. He puts down the tweezers and pulls me into his chest, holding me close. The still semi-wet blood from my skin soaks into his plain white tee, but he doesn't care. He holds me like an injured child. I’m so distraught that I almost forget I’m totally naked.
He gives me a sly smile. "Everyone is crazy, Francine. That's the best kept secret of the world. Sanity isn’t a state of being, it’s a fleeting emotion that you can’t always hold on to. Everyone has demons, maybe not as severe as yours, but everyone has something chasing them," he whispers.
I weep into his chest. "Who’s chasing you?" I ask, my voice breaking.
All he does is offer me the slight upward curve of the corner of his lips before pulling away.
He pulls away slightly to peel off his shirt, revealing the tantalizing canvas of his chest. I study him eagerly as his fingers move to his belt, working the worn leather out of the way. Finn drops his pants without any boxers underneath causing my skin to redden, the fog from the shower doing little to conceal my blush.
God, why is he so fucking sexy? It would be so much easier not to be tempted by him if he wasn't so fit and didn't have a body sculpted by the devil himself.
He gingerly takes my hand and pulls me into the shower with him then slides the glass door shut, trapping us inside. Ignoring my wounds, I run my palms up and down his marvelous tattoos, exploring each one like braille. While my hands are busy on his body, his are busy on mine. Instead of exploring, he's cleaning the blood off my skin, and the water runs pink down the drain.
He's taking care of me like he always does. Finn is showing his nurturing side by washing away the blood and staying by my side.
I drag my eyes from his chest to his face, and I'm mesmerized by his concentration. He's so focused on removing the evidence of our night that there's no arousal darkening his eyes. He's comforting and caring.
He's my dark prince.
He's always been my dark prince. He just hasn’t shown him in awhile. But now that Finn has brought the Dark Prince to light, I’m not letting him go back into hiding.
My focus is no longer on his chest but on his face.
Finnick O'Reilly is dangerously handsome and impossibly kind. It's no wonder I'm falling for this man.
He places the bar of soap on the floating shelf attached to the tiled wall and as soon as it leaves his hand, I attack. I kiss him, full of everything I feel for him.
All the admiration and frustration.
All the desire and anger.
All the hate and love I've felt over the past decade.
I give him everything in me as I run my fingers through his wet locks. He reacts almost immediately by deepening the kiss and hauling my body against his. My back smacks against the shower door and it shakes as he possessively grabs my ass, forcing my spine back.
A moan races off my tongue and he swallows it. "Fuck," he gasps as he presses himself against me. "We shouldn't be doing this," he says before biting and kissing my neck.. Need surges through my body as his fingers flex into the fleshy part of my ass, and all I can think about is him between my thighs.
"Why not?" I'm breathless, demanding, as I claw my nails into his back. I'm in need of everything only he can give, especially the throbbing erection pressing against my clit. I know he's as desperate for this as I am.
"I'm naked. You're naked. I’m not sure if you’re thinking straight, babygirl." His voice is thick and gravelly as he descends to my breasts, running his tongue along my pebbled nipple.
Not being able to contain myself, an aroused gasp clawed its way out of my mouth from deep inside my soul. It’s followed by an intense moan and I tightened my fingers in his hair.
Holy hell. I really, really need him.
"Please, Finn. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought this clearly. Take my body," I beg.
He roughly plops me to my feet then shuts the water off. Cold air immediately tries to wash over me but Finn keeps me protected. His lips mold to mine in a battle of domination as he pins my arms above my head.
“You want this?” He growls and thrusts his rock hard dick against my stomach so there’s no doubt what he is referring to. “Then tell me, who am I?"
"Daddy."
"And what do you want from me, babygirl? Say it. I want to hear allllll the dirty words come out of those sweet lips," he presses as he cups my breasts with his free hand.
My body hums with anticipation and excitement. He wants me to tell him exactly what I want, what I'm asking from him. He needs the words. It fuels his desire, like how the words circling in my head are fueling my own.
"I want you to fuck me, Daddy."
His eyes widen from surprise. I'm certain he didn’t expect for me to be so brazen in voicing my craving, but he asked for it. His gaze slides down my body until it lands between my legs.
"We shouldn't do tha—"
"Please, I want you. I don't want to wait."
It’s obvious he’s fighting some kind of inner demons for a moment but I can tell who’s winning. When he grabs me by my ass, lifting me so I can wrap my legs around his hips, he angles himself. I feel his swollen tip pressing against my opening.
"Fucking hell," he groans, his eyes never waivering from where we are about to be joined. The head of his cock strokes from my entrance to my clit and back again, over and over until I'm a panting mess.
"Please," I beg.
The shower door rattles as it’s yanked open and I find myself clinging to him as he carries me out of the bathroom. Next thing I know, he tosses me and I’m flying through the air, landing on his bed with a heavy umph. He crawls over me, kissing his way up my body, starting at my ankles, teasing me in the most torturous way.
Finally, he gives attention to my clit and I can’t help the surge of slickness that greets him.
I'm giving myself to him. This is exactly what I want—what I've always wanted. He's the man I've always wanted, even when I tried to deny it. Everything has led to this moment.
He takes a few licks of my center then gets to his knees between my spread thighs. Finn lines his cock with my entrance then hesitates.
"I need my cock inside your pussy so fucking bad," he pants then presses his thick, heavy head against my entrance.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The door rattles under the force of someone’s unyielding fist.
Finn curses loudly and jumps out of bed while I pull his blanket over me in one graceful movement.
A resounding, urgent voice booms from the hallway. "Put your dick away, O'Reilly! Donatello is here!"
Put your dick away? Do they know what we were about to do? How would they? It's not like Finn would tell anyone about our bet. Would he?
Oh my god. Did he tell them?
Wait, no. There's the rule that he can't tell anyone. He didn't say anything, so why did they say that?
Do they just assume, because of his promiscuity, that he's bedding me while I'm in here?
Finn quickly snatches a pair of jeans from the top of his dresser. “Coming!” he yells as he throws them on, and races out of the room.
I'm left alone and my mind swirls as my arousal dies down.
Oh. My. God.
I almost had sex with Finn. I almost gave my virginity to him out of lust. It had nothing to do with love.
My mind just stops working. He just drives me so crazy that my body calls the shots and I lose all rational thinking.
We shouldn't be having sex. It's too soon and—hello—I just murdered my uncle. How sick am I that I want to fuck my not-boyfriend maybe an hour after I viciously killed a family member?
Since I’ve gotten to know Finn, I’ve broken up with my long term boyfriend, almost lost my virginity and killed another human being.
Is this Finnick O’Reilly’s doing or is this the person that I was meant to be all along?
CHAPTER 18
HER
Shortly after Finn disappears down the hallway, Sorcha brings me a change of clothes. It's a source of embarrassment for both of us. Her because I'm naked in her brother's bed, wrapped up in his blanket. Me because I'm naked in her brother's bed.
She offers me a quick smile before averting her eyes and getting to the task of delivering clean clothes and removing Finn's and my bloody ones. She’s only there for a few moments and I’m grateful for her quick departure. I tentatively leave the safety of the bed and pull on the items. I'm a bit surprised they fit. It's a plain white t-shirt and jeans, an almost exact replica of what I had been wearing. She gave me a pair of black tennis shoes that are a size too big to replace my favorite boots.
I love those boots! Wait, what are they doing with my clothes? They're just washing them, right? Are they going to do something crazy?
I'm worried.
Fully dressed, I creep out of Finn's room to see him handing a wad of cash to some Italian looking goon wearing a suit like my dad used to wear to work.
If anyone in Grove Hill thinks Finn is dangerous by looking at him, this man is ten times more scary looking. It's not necessarily his appearance, but his energy.
I walk down the steps and all eyes fall on me as the suit guy stuffs the money in his pocket.
"Hey, babygirl." I expect the words from Finn, but they aren't. They come from the unknown man.
Finn sends him a menacing glare but doesn't say anything. He might not want to voice his thoughts in fear of pissing the guy off, but I must not be as smart.
I straighten my shoulders. "I'm not your babygirl," I respond, which earns me a disapproving glare from the newcomer. His face reddens as murder creeps into his eyes but then Finn throws his arm around my shoulder, pride in his stance and voice.
