Objective: (Bloodlines Book 2) (19 page)

I tear every glass one by one from the cupboard and smash them against the opposite wall. When the glasses are gone I move on to the plates. I can’t stop the barrage of tears that rolls down my cheeks. Why did that day even happen? Why, after four years, did Ezra come after me that night? Why didn’t Cane yell and scream when he came in the door and saw me with his gun? I throw a plate towards the door, failing to see Bentley standing there. He ducks and the plate shatters into a million pieces just behind him. I don’t stop. I can't. I pick up another one, poised to hurl it, when Bentley rushes me, tackling me to the floor. We land with a pair of grunts and a thud.

“Get off!” I wail at him. “I’m done! DONE! I thought I could survive anything after what he did to me but this...this is beyond cruel!” Tears stream from my eyes without signs of stopping. Bentley squeezes me tightly, holding me firmly to him but it doesn’t seem to ease the tornado of emotions ripping me apart.

“What happened?” he asks through my sobbing.

“Engagement ring,” I mumble “There was an engagement ring with the receipt on the chair waiting for me. From before I left. He had it before I...”

“Are your video feeds live and recorded?” he interrupts me while brushing a strand of hair from my face. Something sparks in me at his question.

“Recorded.” I elbow him off and jump up, hauling ass to the bedroom. It takes me a moment fiddling with the control on the panel below the monitors before I remember how to rewind but when I do I feel an inkling of hope.

“Stop. There!” Bentley barks. I do as I’m told and play back the feed. The lighting isn’t the best, since it’s dusk out, and the culprit is in jeans and black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head.

“Dammit!” I cry out in frustration.

“Look at the
hands, Mags. Ezra has tattoos across his hands.” I dart my eyes to the monitor and pause the video. No tattoos.

“He sent someone for me. Coward couldn't even do his own dirty work,” I grind out, irritation flaring again. I feel like I’m losing control of myself.

“Get up,” Bentley commands.

“I have to go to work.”

“I called Brock when I heard the commotion, you’re sick,” he tells me.

“Bentley you can’t do that!” I crow.

“I did. Pack a bag, we’re staying at my place tonight,” he affirms, surveying the area.

“No, it’s safer here,” I complain.

“If they decide to cause a scene and shoot the place up, sure. Otherwise, no,” he snaps.

“You’re being ridiculous. I know they’re messing with me. I’ll be fine here,” I argue.

“Pack a goddamned bag, Princess,” he repeats, losing patience with me. We stare each other down for too long in silence, neither one willing to budge. I stretch my head, rolling it side to side, feeling very drained from the emotional afternoon. Bentley heaves a sigh and approaches me.

“I’m sorry for this,” he
says, and tosses me over his shoulder without warning.

“Put me down!” I shriek as he treks through the trailer to the door.

“Nope.” He exits my place with ease despite me kicking, cursing and clawing at him. Two minutes later we’re through the threshold of his place and he sets me on the couch roughly.

“I don’t care if you’re a royal bitch for the next twenty-four
hours, Mags, you’re staying here until I can figure out how to keep you safe.” He strides away down the short hall and the moment he’s out of view I dart to the door. I twist the knob and yank. Nothing. Glancing at the deadbolt I notice his lock is one of those that needs a key to unlock it from the inside as well as the outside. I growl with frustration.

“Looking for this?” he replies smartly. I turn to him holding a key out. Defeated. That’s the only thing I feel. I stomp past him and plant my rear on the couch, refusing to look at him.

Chapter 15

“Yes I have eyes on the subject.” “No, no sign of anyone.” “Yes, sir.” Bentley’s side of the conversation makes me want to vomit. Subject. That’s all I am. A pawn. How could I have ever been so naive to trust him? Everybody wants something. Nothing is free, not even friendships. I cross my arms around my midsection and block out the day’s events best I can. Before it was just me against one, but now I get the feeling that it’s two against me. My entire objective has been tossed in the air. I now need to escape Bentley and find Ezra. I need a new plan. One that keeps new enemies closer than even my mirror gets to me. It’s time to set the whole town on fire. I still have an advantage, one I never thought I’d have before last night. Me. My body. Bentley’s still a man. I’ve jumped over the hurdle of contact. I can use
me
against him. I live a lie and he thinks it’s done now that he’s outed himself to me. But my lie’s not quite done. All eyes on me everywhere I’ve gone for over a year yet no one gets close until now, because I let them. How stupid. I am not the meek girl I was. I’m more prepared for this than I’m giving myself credit for. It’s time to take control regardless of the collateral damage that may come.

I shift off the bed and
 stare long and hard at myself in the mirror over Bentley’s dresser. I smooth my hair with my fingers and wipe the black from under my eyes. I pull my tank off and adjust my breasts in their cups so they look just right. Bentley’s iPod sits in the speaker dock. I scroll through his playlist up until I find something I can work with. I push play and turn up the volume, loud.
Closer
filters through the speakers. I close my eyes and let myself hear nothing but the music. I move, swinging my hips, arms above my head, hair hanging lushly down my back. I feel it. I feel power. I don’t hear Bentley arrive, with the volume of the music being as it is, but I feel his stare. I rotate my hips in a circle left, pausing and then rotating right. I dance for me, but I know the show doesn't hurt the eyes. I spin around slowly moving to the beat and open my eyes. Bentley’s gaze is ferocious with desire, his pants already showing his bulge. I smirk coyly at him and wiggle my shorts down my thighs until I can step out of them. I dare him with my eyes to approach, and as if he’s a well-trained puppy he comes right over. His hands sear my hips as they grab me. I push into him firmly and slowly make circular motions. One hand wraps around his neck, the other hangs back behind me as I dance against him.

He moves one hand slowly up my back, under my hair, to the nape of my neck and threads his fingers in the silky strands. He pulls my face up to his and pummels me with a kiss. His eyes are glassy with desire. I did that. It’s dangerous and wild and I like it. This is my power; he thinks he’s in control but he’s not. I push away from him and slide my thumbs in the band of my panties, sliding them left then right before gripping them and slowly dragging them down my legs. He starts towards me but I stop him with a palm flat against his chest.

“Not yet,” I breathe. His eyes are stormy and clouded and it turns me on.
Chet Faker
begins his croony take on
No Diggity
and I realize I couldn't have picked a better song to follow the last. I reach one hand behind me and unclasp my bra, sending my breasts spilling out. I turn my back to him and crawl, on hands and knees, across his bed before lying down and crooking a finger at him. In seconds he’s naked as the day he was born, lean muscles twitching wherever I touch him. I let him explore my body hungrily with kisses and nips before pushing him from me and taking over. I let my tongue trail from his neck to the sweet spot where his hip meets his thigh and back up. I drag my nails across his chest and let my hair tickle his sides until he’s fidgeting restlessly under me. Reaching between us, I glare directly into his eyes and grip his cock. Without fanfare I position myself and guide him in. I ride him slowly, rolling my hips and letting my breasts brush against his chest while I keep his hands pinned under mine on either side of his head. My hair cascades around our faces, keeping us locked in an erotic cave of sorts. He never breaks eye contact as I grind and move on him. I feel it building inside of me. This is different than the rest. I’m different. I move faster and move my hands to his shoulders to brace myself better. His palms spread on my backside and push to keep me closer to him. I hook my feet under his knees and rollover, letting him do the work on top. He furiously pumps into me. I need more. “Faster,” I pant at him. He grins a crooked grin and pounds into me. His face drops to the crook of my neck and he bites lightly. It’s all I need to jump over the edge. I come fast and hard and he follows right behind me. He rolls off to the side and splays a hand on my stomach, spent.

“What was that?” he asks.

“Not enough,” I counter.

“What?”
“More, Bentley,” I command. My heart beats double time and just as I knew he would, he complies and buries his face between my legs to start round two. It’s now that I realize no one can be saved. This game is going to end badly for everyone, and I’m okay with that.

Three hours later he is fast asleep, sufficiently spent from my hearty appetite. I reach down to the floor and grab my shorts and tank. Throwing them on quickly, I jam a hand into his jeans pockets until I find the key. I slip my feet into his slippers he has lying by the couch and exit the trailer. It’s chilly in the crisp early dawn air as I hurry
toward home. A shiver rips through my body and my skin prickles. I stop moving and look up from my feet. I thought my heart was the pound of flesh the devil took from me when I pulled the trigger but this...this is more. Now it seems as though he’s come for my soul. He stands three feet away and sure as the sun is rising in the sky, Cane Ash is alive. I was free before, but all freedom is an illusion. If my heart could stop beating without sending me six feet under it would have stopped at this moment.

All the air rushes from my lungs and my vision blurs slightly. My heart sweats, my teeth grind.

“No, it’s impossible…” I whisper, throat tight, shaking my head. “Aster went to your funeral.” My body is shaking violently, but I’m rooted in my spot. He glares at me but doesn't respond. What is happening? Before I have time to put a thought together, he rushes me. I’m hoisted up over his shoulder and thrown into a trunk. Cane slams the trunk lid down on me, sealing me in darkness. “CANE!” I scream. Fear rips through me. I scream and kick at the back seat, and then at the tail lights, hoping I can break one or something. It works in the movies. I try to calm myself enough to plan something. I feel around but there is nothing in the trunk with me. Tears fall freely down my face as I desperately try to figure out what Cane is capable of. The car starts and the tires spin against the dirt before gripping and jolting forward.

About twenty minutes later the car stops, the trunk pops open, and Cane’s arms shoot down to haul me out. I immediately scream like a lunatic. Then I flail wildly as his arms tighten around me. I kick and bite his arm and scream some more but there is nothing but a dilapidated cabin around us.

“Bitch!” he roars when I sink my teeth in his arm. He rights himself, catches me by the back of my shirt, swings me around and punches me square in the face hard enough that I’m sent sailing down to the ground. I clutch my nose as blood gushes out. I’m kneeling in dirt and little chunks of rock are cutting into me. One. Two. Three. My mind is racing with thoughts that I don’t want. How is he alive? Was this all somehow orchestrated? Why me? Scooping me into his arms, bigger, stronger now, he carries me into the cabin and ties me to a bed. There are no blankets. There are no pillows. There are no sheets. Just a beat-up looking mattress and me, spread eagle on my back, tied down. He ties a bandana around my head and threads it through my mouth.

Cane stands over me. He grips my shirt tight and pulls it away from my body in one hand. His other hand moves a hunting knife. His eyes are crazed with rage and hurt. “Leave me. Leave me here,” I pant through the bandana trying to reason with him.

“Sure, when you stop breathing,” he grunts at me without making eye contact. “Don’t worry, this won’t take more than a second,” he spits. He slides the blade across my collarbone and then twists it into the fabric he’s holding. He rips the knife down the front of the tank, cutting it open down the middle from neck to hem, leaving me in just my bra. I whimper and try to talk around the gag.

“Uh-
uh, baby girl, no talkin’ till we’re done.” He hops up on the bed and straddles me. Tears stream from the corners of my eyes as the knife slips under one shoulder strap of my bra and with a flick of his wrist, cuts through. He repeats this on the other side and then cuts the middle, sending my bra flopping to either side of me. He unbuttons my shorts and yanks them off. “This is all evidence that will need to be burned,” he growls while tossing my shorts to the floor. His mouth comes to my neck and sucks, hard. I cry out, and try struggling against the ropes binding me. Why would he do this? I’m trying hard to put pieces together, but none of them fit.

Cane’s head shoots up and he snickers at me. “You like it rough don’t you?”

I roll my head to the side, go limp and stare blankly at the wall.
Please just get this over with quickly. Just do what you’re going to do and kill me. Please.
I check out mentally. I will never live through this moment; it will drive me to insanity. He moves his mouth down my collarbone, leaving a wet sticky filth behind. Every second he touches me like this is devastating. This is not my Cane. This is not the man I was in love with. It’s clear I’ve ruined him. I’ve turned him into something monstrous…like his uncle. He shifts down and brings the knife to my underwear and stares at me. I refuse to meet his lecherous gaze.