Page 33

CHAPTER 33

REDLEY

His yellow eyes bore into mine, his fingers tighten.

“Just you,” I say. “Kill yourself, and I’ll believe you.” Despite speaking the words even I know I don't mean it.

“Kill me yourself, and I’ll believe you want me dead. You’ve got a gun. One you can handle even. So why don’t you use it?”

He’s had an attitude all night, and a strange thought occurs to me. Is he actually upset that Bobby touched me? Not just furiously, murderously angry another boy played with his toy, but hurt? The glow from my headlights makes him look especially sinister. Like an old horror movie, he’s covered in blood with the steam rising all around us.

“I regret what I did,” he says.

I don’t get excited. He can’t mean the murder. He enjoys killing too much for something like that. He’s stumped me.

“What do you regret, Wolf? Is that what I should even call you?” I ask, letting that anxiety free.

“It’s my name.” He smiles, flashing me his sharp teeth.

I don’t believe him, but I’ll play along. “Fine, Wolf. What do you regret?” He stares into my eyes. Our moment of connection is too raw and real, and I can’t stand that we keep doing this next to corpses.

“I should’ve brought you home and taken care of you after I took your virginity earlier.”

His words stun me. Of all his regrets, that’s not what I expected. “I thought you said I didn’t deserve it because I shot at you.” This strange blossom of hope opens inside me. He’s shown me brief flashes of the tenderness I felt when he removed the glass, but I’m desperate to feel that cherished again.

“You don’t deserve it, but it’s not about what you deserve so much as it is doing what I believe is right.”

“What you believe is right?” I scoff at the idea that he has any kind of morality. “You killed a kid a few days ago and a cop yesterday, if you haven’t forgotten, and what about Bobby?” I gesture to the corpse.

“My morals being different from yours doesn’t mean I don’t have them, and I regret leaving you to take care of yourself. I’m sorry, Muffin, truly.”

He sounds so sincere that I’m starting to regret the gun in my hands just like he regrets his cold actions. How the hell did things become complicated when they used to be so simple? Why the hell can’t things be as simple as good and evil and right and wrong, or am I the problem? Am I so twisted that I can’t see the difference anymore?

“I don’t believe you.”

“Put the gun down, and let me convince you.”

The weapon shakes in my hand. With him pressed against me, he’s all I smell, and now that I’m intimately familiar with how good it feels to be covered in his sweat and pheromones, I realize there’s real power in his proximity. That hand on my chin tethers me to the world beneath me.

“How would you do that?” I ask.

“By doing what I should have done with you this morning.”

The offer is far more tempting than I want it to be, and I turn it over long enough to make him daring. He reaches for the gun, gripping the barrel and twisting, forcing me to release my hold or break a wrist. He tosses it aside, but no more violence follows.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me so damn tenderly I melt from head to toe. I’m exhausted, emotionally destroyed, trying to adjust my life, and I couldn’t be more vulnerable than I am at this moment. So just like a wolf, he takes full advantage of that.

He lifts me, cradling my body against his chest. I’m so damn tired I don’t have any choice but to go limp and enjoy the ride. He’s covered in Bobby’s blood, but even finding horror in that would take energy I don’t have.

“You’ve had a rough day, didn’t you, baby?” he coos into my hair, and I only just have the self-respect not to nod into his chest. “Let Wolf take care of everything for you.”

He carries me back to the cottage, and despite the fact I locked it earlier, it opens easily under his hand. He must have already been inside today and left it open for himself. I know it’s an invasion, but I’m too tired to be mad. I’m even less mad when I realize he lit the woodstove I regretted not starting myself. My kerosene lamps burn along with a few candles that most certainly aren’t mine.

“You did all this?” I ask.

“I wanted you to be comfortable,” he answers like it was nothing, and maybe it wasn’t, but then why am I about to cry?

“Shh, Muffin, it’s okay. I’m here now.”

That’s not why I’m crying. It’s—I don’t even know anymore…

He carries me deeper into the cabin, and I imagine we’re headed toward my bedroom, but instead, he brings me to the bathroom. There’s a toilet with a rudimentary septic system and a metal tub, so it’s never been anything fancy. More flickering candles are set around, and thick steam rises off the sweet-smelling water.

“You didn’t do this,” I insist.

“Who did, then? I don’t suppose you believe in fairies too.”

I’m surprised I have the energy to blush, but my cheeks burn. I don’t say anything else as he carefully places me on my feet before checking the temperature of the water.

“It’s still a little hot,” he tells me as if I’m going to wait.

I only scrubbed myself with a bucket and a rag earlier. I still haven’t bathed since the morning before the damn night in the police station. I’ve touched corpses; I’ve lost my virginity. He could boil my skin off, and I still wouldn’t be clean enough. Walking over to the edge of the tub, I dip my fingers in and feel for myself. The water is hot but not too hot for the few days I’ve had. It must’ve taken him a long time to boil this water. Why waste it? Why do this for me?

Maybe I should have some reluctance. It's not like we have a long-standing relationship where I can trust him with my nudity. I’m not his wife despite that ring and his claims. I have no intentions of accepting his proposal, but God, I think this is the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and I see no issue in stripping naked right in front of him.

A low, growl catches in the back of his throat as I remove my shirt and bra. Then a low hiss as I peel off my pants and panties as one. He seems so genuinely thrilled by an opportunity to see me naked that I blush all over. Even the tops of my tits turn pink.

“You’re so pretty it hurts, Muffin.”

My eyes instinctively drop to his pants. The blood covering him is less obvious in the low light from the candles. The size of his cock, however, isn’t diminished by the low lighting. I don’t know that much about penises, but I expect it must hurt all hard and pressed up against the denim. I find myself wanting to take it out and relieve it.

Instead of doing something crazy that I’ll definitely regret, I climb into the water and enjoy the burn over every inch of my skin. The soothing heat reveals a weakness that I didn’t even realize I had. There is absolutely nothing left of my strength. I’m fully at the Wolf’s mercy, and God, I think I like it. I think this is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.

My thoughts aren’t clear; they're clouded by a long-standing neglect for my needs, floating in a pool of warmth. I let my arms rise on the water, and my eyes fall closed.

“Is this all you have for your hair?” he asks as he comes to kneel at the back of the tub behind me. I shouldn’t leave him at my back with my eyes closed, but what’s the difference between this and him stalking me through the night?

“Yeah, why?”

“You deserve better. I’ll get you better,” he promises, and his fingers dig into my hair, massaging bar soap into the lengths.

“This seems fine to me,” I answer as he massages my scalp. And the word is a cruel understatement to one of the greatest experiences of my life.

His fingers are strong, and they move from my scalp to my shoulders, rubbing the muscles in a way that’s almost as pleasurable as the other things we’ve done.

“Oh God, oh God,” I whine as he picks out one muscle in particular.

“You’re not this tense over me, are you, Muffin?”

“I’m tense over a lot of things.” The truth about what actually happened to my parents and brother is not the least of them. I don’t want to ask right now, though. For once in my life, I just want to enjoy feeling good. It won’t last. Nothing ever does.

“Let me make it better. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“You can’t fix my problems when you are my problems,” I tell him with my eyes still closed and my hair sudsy.

“I can make it feel better, and trust me, Red, that’s what really counts.”

I don’t trust him. That would be stupid.

“Tip your head back,” he says.

Maybe I do trust him a little bit because I don’t think he’s going to drown me or push me under like Granny would sometimes to make sure I was getting clean enough. I slip deeper into the water, and he carefully rinses out the soap, never shoving me below the surface.

“I can’t even imagine what feeling better would be like. I can’t remember ever being anything but angry and in pain.”

Memories of living in this house with Granny after my parents and brother died fill my head. Granny stretched out on the couch, drunk again, thinking I could have a little freedom while she slept it off…

“Good thing you don’t have to imagine anything. The Big Bad Wolf is here to ruin everything and show you the world.” His words cut off the memory before it turns uglier.

“This isn’t the world, Wolf. This is a tiny bathroom in a shitty cabin.” But my tone lacks my usual negativity with my muscles melting pleasurably into oblivion, his thumbs digging into spots in my shoulders that I didn’t know existed.

Why is it that he is the only person who has ever done these things for me? Why does it make me so stupidly soft for him?

“Let me show you how much better they both are with me inside them.”