Page 10

Chapter 9

Juliet

Above me, the ceiling sways back and forth as I slowly stir to consciousness.

Between my legs, a raw ache builds, my thighs slick. My tits sway up and down.

Heart hammering harder with every bleary-eyed blink, I finally discover what woke me.

My masked man. His neon-red mask a stark contrast to the dimness of the room. Still fully clothed as he fucks me.

I mumble something that’s supposed to be what the fuck , but I can’t form the words, the effects from the spiked drink he gave me still lingering.

My pussy pulses as he thrusts into me, his groan echoing behind his mask. One hand holds up my leg, gripping my thigh so hard I’ll find fingerprint bruises there tomorrow. His thumb rubs my clit and makes pleasure zip all the way to my scalp. “You love my cock inside you, huh, pretty girl? You’re soaking the bed.”

Pleasure shouldn’t be bolting up my spine at his groan, his words. At the sight of him fucking me. Who knows how long he’s been inside me.

I want to be asleep and taken advantage of. Why the fuck did I have to tell him that? Why does it feel so fucking good? This is what I fantasized about with Marcus but a million times better. My most depraved wishes actually brought to reality this time.

He chuckles when he notices me stirring to consciousness. “Welcome to your fantasy, little demon.”

My first thought is bastard , but the name I mumble is “ R-Romeo .”

His hips stutter at the name. The name he told me to call him. The unhinged Romeo to my psycho Juliet.

But for some reason, his thrusts grow harder. Punishing. Like that’s not the name he wants to hear from my lips while he’s inside me.

His cock is enormous, nearly splitting me in two. Arousal slides down my skin to soak the bed, just like he said. I didn’t expect the next time he fucked me to be while I was asleep, but I guess I should’ve after I opened my stupid mouth and confessed my darkest fantasies to him.

Despite the pleasure pumping through my veins and my pulse picking up speed, my eyelids grow heavy again. I’m going to pass out.

No . I’m not ready. As fucked up as this is, I want to come with him inside me. I want to see the fantasy through to the end.

“You’re going to wake up later with my cum all over you.” His voice is raspy with desire, on the verge of release.

“F . . . fuck . . . off,” I manage.

I don’t doubt he’s dying to paint me in his cum. Dying to leave every inch of my skin sticky with it. He’s so deranged, beyond fucked up, and I should be running for the hills.

Yet no part of me wants to run.

Trembling and weak, I manage to wrap my leg around his waist long enough to tug him closer before it falls to the bed again.

That’s all the encouragement he needs.

He scoops up my limp body and tosses me further up the bed, giving me no time to recalibrate, no time for my head to stop spinning before he’s on top of me again, slamming back inside me.

My mouth falls open, a cry escaping. A mix of pain and pleasure. He leans over me, bracing himself as our flesh smacks together, his mask filling my vision. The wetness between my legs dampens the sheet beneath my ass as the pleasure mounts each time his pelvis collides with my clit.

I try to say his name again but only manage to get out “ Ro— ” before he covers my mouth with his hand.

“Shut up, beautiful.” He keeps pumping into me, relentless. The ache is starting to burn now. I’m going to be waddling by the time he’s through with me. “Don’t say another fucking word. The only thing I want to hear from these lips are your moans and screams.”

With the other hand, he squeezes my tit. I wince. He already knows exactly what I like—a healthy dose of pain mixed with pleasure. Being fucked like I’m little more than a toy built for him.

I’ll get my revenge. Use him exactly the way he’s using me.

My thighs start to shake when I can’t take it anymore, the pleasure cresting to the breaking point.

His sinister chuckle sends a shiver down my spine. He can already sense it. “That’s it. Come for me again. Let me hear how loud my cock makes you scream.”

I try to bite back the scream, try not to give him the satisfaction, but my body is nearly entirely out of my control now. A sound that’s half-moan, half-wail rips from my throat, drowning out the slap of our bodies colliding over and over as he thrusts into me.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “I love that sound. I live for that sound.”

My tits bounce faster as he picks up speed, chasing his orgasm as mine barrels through me. Pleasure bursts like fireworks behind my eyelids, too heavy to keep them open any longer. My heart will be just as bruised as my insides from slamming against my ribcage.

Slick sweat coats my back, the sheet beneath me a mess with our bodily fluids.

He gives one of my bouncing tits a hard, echoing smack, and I wish I could smack him , but my arms are weighed down by anvils. The pleasure tugs me back under the surface again, the tide coming in to drown me.

When his cock suddenly jerks out of me, my eyes fly open at the sharp pain. He gives one tug on that intimidating, glistening length before a shot of hot cum darts out, splattering onto one of my tits. Then between them. Into my belly button.

My teeth grind together. I’m going to get him back for this. I can’t fucking wait.

He doesn’t stop until he’s pumped every drop of cum from his cock, nearly every part of my body sticky with it. Fucking bastard . Wait until he discovers what kind of hellion he’s unleashed.

“You’re...dead,” I grind out before the current starts to pull me under again. I can’t keep my eyes open much longer as my pulse starts to slow, back to a steady, lulling rhythm.

When he climbs off the bed and straightens, I brace myself for what he’s going to do to me next. But his hand doesn’t reach for me—it reaches up, brushing the bottom of his mask. “It’s time you found out whose cock you love having inside you.”

My chest squeezes. Is this another one of his games, or is he really going to reveal his face?

I’m not sure I want to know. Not sure I can stomach finally identifying my masked man. What if this reveal ruins everything? What if I’m horrified by the face beneath the mask?

Slowly, he pulls the mask up, my heart pounding with every agonizing inch.

A sharp chin. A devilish smirk across full, devastating lips. A regal nose and prominent cheekbones. And a pair of electric green eyes just beneath dark brows and a swoop of chestnut hair.

My heart stops.

Trey Lamont.

Motherfucker .

A buzzing sound rattles my eardrums before I register the tiny, needle-sharp vibrations on my arm. An eerie glow from a laptop is the only source of light in the room. The screen displays a video of a sleeping girl on a bed, naked save for a pair of panties.

You are perfection, Juliet Hayes . The voice from the video is all too familiar. The man on the screen kisses at the camera, and my hands ball into fists.

Nearly my entire body is sticky with sweat, and my ass cheek and arm sting. When I manage to lift my head, I spot the trail of dried cum. My stomach turns. His mark is all over me—my chest, my tit, my stomach, my thigh, my pelvis. He has my wrists tied to my ankles, rendering me unable to escape even if I wanted to.

He’s hunched over my arm, the mask long discarded to reveal the sharp, devastating slopes of his cheeks that end at a serrated jawline and hard chin. His wolfish green eyes are entirely focused on my skin, the tattoo gun in his hand buzzing.

On the screen, he peels the pasties from my nipples and grazes his thumb over one. See how well you respond to me? Such a good, good girl.

Goddamnit. He’s right.

My nails bite into my palms. If this is how he wants to play the game, I’ll give him a worthy opponent. He’ll regret ever starting this shit with me.

Trey Lamont. He’s been the man beneath the mask this whole time. Held me at knifepoint while he forced me to my knees and made me blow him. Threw me down onto a stack of hay and dry-humped me until I came. Fucked me on his bike after witnessing me kill a man. Drugged me and somehow got me back to his bedroom, where he’s been holding me for god knows how long. He fucked me, left his cum on my body, and now he’s tattooing me.

They said he was psychotic, unhinged, but I underestimated him. I thought there was no way he was as deranged as I am. But maybe I’ve finally met my match.

I grit my teeth. “Get . . . off me.”

He chuckles but doesn’t bother looking up from his handiwork. “I’m almost finished. One more letter.”

What the fuck is he writing? I blink a few times, clearing my eyes of the haze. Little demon .

Just another way for him to mark me as his. Bastard.

On the screen, he licks my nipple. Fuck, you taste so fucking good. I’m going to devour every inch of you. I bet you’re already so wet for me, pretty girl . He tugs my motionless body to the end of the bed. Should I ruin this pair of panties too?

I still don’t understand his fascination with me. Was that night at the haunt really all it took? He found a girl who was at least half as fucked up as he is, memorized the whispers of her darkest fantasies, and decided to make them come true by whatever means necessary? Decided I’m the one he’s been searching for and now he’ll hunt me forever?

The craziest part is I’m not terrified by the prospect. An impossible, manic smile sneaks across my lips, but I force it away.

In the video, he sucks on my thighs and grazes his nose over my clit. You want my mouth, don’t you? You want me to lick your pussy, make you come so hard you wake up just long enough to watch me slide my cock inside you before you pass out again. He tugs my panties to the side. Oh, little demon. You’re so ready for me. So ready to get fucked.

“Bastard!”

He chuckles. “I knew you’d say that.”

Not another day will go by that I don’t fuck you with my tongue . Watching him tease my clit with his tongue makes warmth pool low in my belly. I shouldn’t be getting this turned on by watching him have his way with me while I’m passed out, but I want him to fuck me all over again.

The drowsy version of me murmurs something unintelligible. What’s that, pretty girl? You want me to suck your clit? Want me to make you come?

He fulfills his promise, and now, I groan involuntarily.

You’re the girl I've been waiting for. Searching for. Just as unhinged and depraved as I am. A girl who loves mixing pain with pleasure. Who wants to be taken like this. Who fantasizes about everything I plan on doing to her. Every single, fucked-up thing. He licks and sucks my clit while fingering me, and I’m completely turned on all over again. That’s it, pretty girl. Come all over my face.

Apparently, I do, back arching as my moans echo from the laptop. Heat crawls up from my chest to my cheeks as I watch how easily I respond to his every touch, every command.

He leaves my body once I’ve come down from the orgasm and saunters over to the camera with a shit-eating grin, holding up his glistening fingers. Look what I do to you. Even in your dreams .

Then he returns to my unconscious body, turns me onto my side to display my ass to the camera, and bites down on my exposed flesh.

My hand jerks to smack him, but the restraints are too tight. “Asshole! That’s why my ass hurts.”

He lets out his horror-villain laugh. “No, your ass hurts because I tattooed my bite mark. So you can keep it forever.”

Oh my god . Fury flares inside me. Of course he did. He won’t rest until every inch of my body is a reminder of him. “ Fucker . I’m adding you to my list.”

Another laugh.

In the video, I’m on my back again and he’s slipping on his mask. Time to ruin your panties, little demon . He pulls out his cock and rubs it over my underwear. I murmur something, but I can’t decipher what. Say it again . Another whisper, and then, finally clear— Trey .

My face is officially on fire. What the fuck? I had to moan his fucking name ? Seriously?

Now, he grins at my obvious embarrassment, the version of him on the video shooting his cum onto my panties while he groans. That’s my good fucking girl. Say my name. When he’s finished, he pushes my panties to the side, already getting hard again. Now, just like I promised. You’re next.

“Turn it off,” I bark.

He shakes his head, attention returned to finishing the tattoo on my arm. “Why would I do that? We’re just getting to the good part.”

He sinks his cock inside me and starts thrusting, and I watch as I slowly come to, realizing what’s happening. He makes me relive the fantasy all over again until the video finally shuts off. I already want to do it all over again. I’ll have to find a way to get that video from him to rewatch later.

Finally, he’s finishing the n on my new ink. “Why are you tattooing that on me?”

“Because you’re mine.” He says it so simply, like it’s a fact I should already be well aware of by now. “Tell me what they mean.”

He nods at the rest of my inked skin. The serpent, the bat, the skull, the scorpion, the spider, the grim reaper, the knife dripping with black blood. My favorites are the spiderweb on my lower back with a heart at its center and the skeleton couple in an embrace on my arm. In love even in death. Unafraid of each other’s bones, of the deepest parts of their souls.

“They don’t mean anything. They’re just fun.”

“What about Autumn ?” He inks the final curve of the n , and my spine goes rigid. “On your shoulder.”

My first tattoo. The one most deserving of being the first. I bite back the sting of tears that materializes every time I hear her name or see her face in my memories, my nightmares. “She was a...friend.”

Finally, his gaze flicks up to meet mine. My heart freezes and I wish he’d keep his eyes somewhere else. Wish a single glance from him didn’t melt me. “What happened to her?”

The words nearly get stuck in my throat. “She was murdered.”

Flashes of images. A white dress stained with blood, the crimson liquid pooling at my knees?—

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the memories away before grounding myself back here, now, with Trey.

He doesn’t waste time with pointless apologies or ask for gruesome details. He nods at the ink on my naked body. “What about the rest?”

“They look good.” I try to force sarcasm back in my tone, push away the nightmares. “At least, all but two.”

He doesn’t take the bait. “You wanted these on your body for a reason. For the pain. And the armor.”

My heart squeezes. How the hell does he already understand me so well? Words die in my throat. If I try to speak now, I’ll cry.

“It was the asshole at the carnival.” His green eyes have gone cold, hard as stone as he peers at me for confirmation.

Right. Trey has seen too much, knows too much. I can’t hide from him anymore. “Him, and all of them. The tattoos cover up every place they touched.”

The pain of inking my skin replaced the ghost of their touch. But not for long. I can still feel their fingers, their sweat-slickened palms brushing my arms. Brandon’s rubbing my shoulders, pressing against the small of my back, pulling my hand where he wanted it, slipping into my shorts and up my skirts after practice.

But the permanence of the ink is some small way I can reclaim my body. I choose my tattoos, I choose where they go, I choose when I’m touched, I choose the pain. I choose—no one else. I’m the one in control.

Trey Lamont inking my arm and my ass with tattoos I didn’t choose should enrage me. With every man since Brandon, since that night, I’ve wanted to gain back my control. I’ve wanted to be the one initiating, the one on top, the one who decides when the night is over.

But something is different with Trey. I’m still not entirely sure what. I don’t know him well enough to trust him and he doesn’t know me well enough to trust me—he shouldn’t—but a crazy part of me believes that he understands me. In a way no one else ever has.

Trey’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t even know what they did to me, not really, and he looks like he could burn them alive. He rattles off a string of numbers and a town in Massachusetts.

“What?”

“Ned Miller. That’s his address.”

My chest squeezes with hope. I’ve been searching in vain to find Ned’s address, becoming increasingly frustrated each day at the impossibility of the task. “You’re sure it’s the right one?”

He shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out when we pay him a visit.”

“We?” He’s delusional if he thinks he’s coming with me. I’m not letting anyone screw this up for me. Or go down for my crimes. Not even a psychopath like Trey Lamont.

“Who’s Brandon Williams? Why are you looking for him?” His jaw clenches. “Did he hurt you the way Craig did?”

I shake my head. “Worse. He was my coach.”

I’d had a crush on him since I was thirteen. He was the cute, young coach fresh out of college, and I was the newbie on the cross-country team. But I was fast, and according to him, that made me special. The other girls begrudged me for his blatant favoritism. So when the friendly hugs and occasional grazes of his hand against my arm turned to sitting on his lap at fifteen, I was so fucking happy. I was in love. I thought we both were.

But I was his secret. I could ruin him, and if I told anyone, they’d ruin me. Make sure I was ostracized, labeled a slut, kicked off the team and out of school. That’s what he told me to keep me quiet. I needed to believe that it was my fault too—that a child was responsible for a grown man’s actions.

I know better now. But sometimes, the memory of that love is even more painful than the memory of his betrayal. The years of believing what we were was one thing, something beautiful, when it was something else entirely. Nothing but ugliness.

Now, my touch will be the one that ends him. The one he takes with him to his grave.

“He gained my trust, made me believe he actually cared about me, and then he gave me to them.”

“Them?” Trey’s brows furrow impossibly deeper.

“There were three of them that night. Brandon brought me to them.”

“Craig and Ned?” he asks. When I nod, he adds, “You said there were three. Who was the other one?”

The monster’s towering physique fills my mind, ironed button-down entirely too formal for the acts he was about to commit. “I don’t know his name. They weren’t exactly forthcoming with their personal information.”

Trey doesn’t flinch at the bitterness in my voice. He doesn’t flinch at any part of me, even the darkest parts. “I’m going with you. I’ll help you.”

I scoff. “Ha, no. I’m doing this alone.”

He squeezes my wrist, just below the restraint. “You need my help.”

“I don’t need anything from you,” I spit.

Instead of biting back as usual, he falls silent. He drops the tattoo gun and starts cleaning the fresh ink. “Something similar happened to me. With my father’s girlfriend.”

“ You ?” I cringe as soon as the shrill word leaves my lips. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Hypersexuality is a common result of childhood sexual abuse, and Trey is clearly into the same fucked-up shit as I am. Both of us are searching for someone who can match our darkness. Both of us want control.

But we also both want someone with whom we can relinquish it. He may act like all he wants to do is tie me up and have his way with me, but I bet he’ll love it when I do the same to him.

He nods, his hand surprisingly gentle as he blots the tattoo dry with a towel. “It started when I was fifteen. Right after my mother died.”

Despite everything he’s put me through, everything he put Wes and Violet through, every fucked-up, villainous thing he’s done, my heart squeezes at the thought of a younger version of Trey being taken advantage of. Losing his mother so young. Vulnerable and unprotected.

“After my mother died, Father replaced her almost instantly.” His tone sours. “She moved in, and in front of him, she’d act motherly. I think she thought that would please him, even though he didn’t give a fuck about me. But he worked a lot, and when he wasn’t around, things were different.”

That familiar feeling causes a sharp pain in my chest. There are a million things I want to say to him—tell him whatever she did wasn’t his fault and call her the worst names I can think of. But I keep my mouth shut and let him say what he needs to.

“Then at night, she started coming into my room. She’d wrap an arm around me and lay on my chest.” He clears his throat, the memories still painful. “Some nights, she’d fall asleep there. My father would walk in on us, but he never said anything. Just shut the door. Then it was kissing. Give me a goodnight kiss, Trey . Her lipstick would smear all over me; she’d shove her tongue in my mouth. Then she put her hand down my pants. Guided my hand down hers. Then it was her mouth?—”

When his words start to get shaky, I finally interrupt him. “You don’t have to keep going.” I strain at the restraints on my wrists and ankles, wanting to sit up. Comfort him somehow, even though there’s nothing I can do or say to take away his pain.

He grabs my hand and plants a soft kiss on my palm that somehow makes my heart soar. “Then she started climbing on top of me. She made me think it was normal, told me I was lucky to be a young guy who gets with the hot older woman he’s crushing on. I was lucky .” He spits the word, and I want to ask her name just so I can add her to my list. I’ll add his father too for witnessing his son’s abuse and doing nothing to stop it. A maniacal laugh leaves his throat. “Sick part is, at first, I liked the attention. And my body liked what she was doing to me, even if my mind didn’t.”

“Yeah,” I breathe. “I know exactly how that feels.”

“I know you do.” Finally, his fiery gaze meets mine. “I had a feeling the night we met there was a reason you were almost as fucked-up as me. Then I knew for sure the moment I saw you kill that motherfucker.”

He’s right—our darkness matches. “So what happened? With...”

“Rachel.” Her name is like venom spewing from his mouth. He swallows audibly. “I got her pregnant.”

“Oh my god.” My heart stops, bile rising at the thought of Trey being forced to impregnate a woman against his will. A woman who was parading around pretending she was interested in the man of the house when she was really interested in the boy. “Did she have the baby?”

“No. My father forced her to get an abortion.”

“Did he finally break up with her then?”

He shrugs. “I assume so. I never saw her again, and no one’s seen her since.”

“So she disappeared? Like adopted a new identity and started over somewhere?” Rage burns in my veins. She could still be out there, adding more victims to her roster.

“Or my father took care of it.”

He says it so casually, so nonchalantly—“What do you mean ‘took care of it’?”

Trey gives me a long, hard stare. “I mean, I’d be shocked if she survived him. I’m surprised he’s let me live this long. I was sure he’d kill me just like my mother.”

My tongue twists, unable to form words as horror sweeps over me. It’s awful enough that his mother died when he was so young, let alone that his own father might be responsible. “You think he killed your mother?”

“I don’t have any proof. But he held her funeral the day after she died. He claimed she drowned, but an autopsy was never done. He was covering something up.”

I can’t even imagine living with the weight of something like that. Knowing your mother died and never getting answers about what really happened.

“Autumn was there with me.” I force the words out, heart hammering. “She was killed that night. That’s why I want to find them all.”

Maybe I could somehow live with what they did to me, but I can’t live with what they did to Autumn. They can’t live.

“That’s why I want to help you.” Trey stands, flicking open his knife and cutting the ties keeping me trapped.

If he can’t get vengeance for his mother or make Rachel pay for her crimes, he’ll help me get revenge. For Autumn. For me. For every other girl who could fall victim to them.

But this is my revenge to seek. Alone.

Once I’m freed, I sit up, weak and stiff and ass stinging. I nod at Fluffy’s tank covered by a blanket in the corner, breaking the tension. “Thank you for shielding Fluffy from the debauchery.”

Trey manages a half-smile. “No need to scar him.”

I flick at the crusted cum on my chest and frown. My tits and thighs are bruised with hickeys, my pussy sore and still wet. No matter how fucked up it is, I’m glad he did it all.

“You know I’ll have to get you back for this.” I hold up my arm to display the red skin around the new tattoo, then gesture to my cum-covered body. “And this.”

He flashes a wicked grin. “Can’t wait.”

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been blowing up your phone!” In our dorm, Sienna paces in front of me like a scolding mother, except she’s wearing adorable pink pajamas with puppies and it’s impossible to take her seriously.

Behind her, Luke dwarfs her twin-sized bed, failing to cover his amused smirk with his hand. He loves when she gets riled up. He’s in gray sweats, his shirt discarded on the end of Sienna’s bed, and god, he could at least put a little effort into sparing my eyes from his half-naked body.

From my bed, I shrug. I managed to get a shower before the ambush, at least. “I hooked up with someone.”

Technically true. Although Sienna would lose her shit if she knew all the depraved details.

She stops pacing and folds her arms, and my eyes drop to her fuzzy slippers. “The last time anyone saw you, you were running outside to puke.”

“Yeah, then I felt better and I got laid.”

My best friend grabs my arm, mouth dropping open, and I wince. “Is that a new tattoo ? Little demon ? What the hell does that even mean?”

I jerk out of her grasp. Yeah, definitely not explaining that one. “It’s a reminder to be the demon on everyone’s shoulder.”

Luke’s head tilts. “Shouldn’t it be devil?”

“No,” I spit.

“I need you to at least check in and not disappear on me anymore, okay?” Sienna drops the scolding tone, her voice softening with concern.

“Yes, Mom.”

She plants her hands on her hips. “I’m serious.”

I sigh. Sienna’s just looking out for me. She knows how crazy and reckless I can be. I can’t blame her for freaking out. I’d be doing the same thing if the roles were reversed. “I know. I will from now on. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“Thank you.” She finally gives me a small smile, but her gaze continues to study me like she’s waiting for something more. Like she’s searching for my secrets. “You promise there’s nothing else going on?”

I could tell her. About all of it. What I did to Craig. My plans for Ned and Brandon. What the masked man in the woods did to me. How he turned out to be Trey Lamont.

But I’m used to keeping secrets, and if I go down for my crimes, I’m certainly not taking my best friend with me.

“Yep. Nothing going on.”