To vent to, to take for granted.
When I watch other kids at school talking about their parents, I get angry, the same anger my daddy has. I hate them for it, for being happy. For enjoying their life. Their parents love them, treasure them, shower them with gifts and happiness. Why can’t I have that?
Yet even if my dad or mum ever tried to, I would flinch, expecting the punch that would come right after it. Because the truth is, I know at the base of all people, at their very core…all they care about is themselves. What something can bring them, do for them, and when push comes to shove, they will always choose themselves.
Some people are born with a rage, a need to hurt.
Some are born greedy, an addictive personality. Others hide it well, but in the end, we’re all the same. We all bleed the same colour, and we are all just searching for something to make the truth of our souls disappear so we feel like good people.
I’m not fooling him, he knows I’m awake, so I sit up and face him. I refuse to cry, I refuse to beg. Not anymore. I did once, and I thought he might actually stop. I know better now. He won’t stop until he kills me one day, but until then, I’m just surviving from one day to the next with that truth hanging over me.
“Get up,” he slurs. I purse my lips, but do as I’m told, knowing that will get this over more quickly.
But every time this happens, something grows inside me, that anger morphing until I have to bite my tongue to stop from hitting back, from lashing out. I refuse to be like him.
He stumbles my way, swearing when he almost falls over. “I lost two thousand tonight, you know whose fault that is?” he yells.
I should say nothing, just nod and take the hit like a good girl.
But maybe I’m not a good girl, maybe I’m just as messed up as he is. “I’m guessing mine,” I drawl.
Dumb, real dumb.
For a drunk man, the punch comes fast, he’s big, and it shows in the power behind his fists. It smacks into my gut, bending me over as I struggle to breathe. My stomach aches even more now than just hunger pains.
He grabs my hair, making me cry out as he jerks up my head. His crooked teeth flash in the dark, his face blurry from my tears. He snarls at me, his rancid breath wafting into my face and making me gag. “Yours, you fucking little shit.”
I’m so busy trying not to vomit—the last time I did, he broke my arm—that I don’t see it coming. He throws me into the wall, and my head hits it with a sickening thud. My body goes limp as I slide down it, pain fracturing through my skull until I can’t see.
I can’t hear.
Then it all goes dark.
Gasping, I jerk upright. Sweat covers my entire body as adrenaline rushes through me. I lift my hand and press it to the back of my head where the dent still rests from that night. Fuck, that’s why I drink before bed, to keep the nightmares away.
Blowing out a breath, I blink my blurry eyes to clear the sleep from them, knowing I won’t be going back anytime soon. Not with my memories so dark tonight. Instead, I stare out at the city, it’s still bright. All the light illuminating its angles and streets, even in the dark. Like a beacon.
Another lie.
That’s when a wispy, dark voice comes from behind me, sending fear surging through me.
I’m not alone.
“Can’t sleep, Little Bird? I wonder what you dream of…”
Chapter Nine
DIESEL
She’s having a bad dream, I can tell. Her limbs are jolting like she’s trying to escape someone. Whimpers leave her lips, which does something strange to my brain. Just as I’m about to reach for her, she jerks away, breathing heavily. Sitting up abruptly, she places her hand on her racing heart, and it’s so loud I can hear it.
I wonder if it would pound harder if she knew I was behind her? Reaching out, I brush my hand gently along her hair, so softly she doesn’t feel it. Such a small, little creature, yet it houses such pain…such anger.
“Can’t sleep, Little Bird? I wonder what you dream of,” I murmur behind her.
Her head whips around, her dark eyes widening as they find me sitting right behind her. I can see the panic fluttering through her gaze as she looks around for a weapon. Laughing, I leap at her. She lets out a scream that goes right to my already hard cock as I pin her hands above her, pressing my lower body to hers to keep her there, letting her feel how hard I am.
The others thought locking her away from me would keep her safe. How foolish. This little bird is going to be fun, I can tell. And she’s ours now. I can do whatever I want with her.
She thrashes beneath me, not freezing like most do when confronted with me. She fights, bucking and kicking. All it does is make my already hard cock twitch in my jeans as I imagine her doing that while I fuck her. I bet she fucks like she fights—hard, fast, and wild.
She might not survive it, but I will have her.
She spends herself, though, and stops, her eyes narrowing and flashing with anger and hatred as she pants. Her chest heaves, pushing her breasts against me. I lean down, and she turns her head away from me as I trail my tongue across her cheek. “Do you like pain?”
An image of her chained up in my den has me rocking against her, trailing my fingers across her bloody, beaten skin. My knife marks bright and pink across her body, like a lover’s touch. Would she quake then too? Fight? Scream? I can’t wait to find out. I wonder if she would beg…
“Fuck. You,” she snarls.
“No, Little Bird, but I will fuck you.” I chuckle against her cheek.
She freezes beneath me, turning rock-solid, and I lift my head. “But not tonight. When I fuck you, I want my toys there. I want to mark that pretty skin within an inch of your life.” I trace my hand across her tattoos. “When you got these done, did you get wet from the pain? Or did you cry and suffer through it?”
Her head whips back around to glare at me, but I see a glint of truth in her eyes before she masks it. Ah, my little bird is scared of just how much she liked the pain. And I thought breaking her, killing her, would be fun. But this? Smashing those barriers until she comes while I torture her? That will be all the sweeter.
I’m going to burn down everything this little bird holds dear, and reform her into my own little plaything.
“You smell like smoke and petrol,” she murmurs, and then blinks as if she didn’t mean to say that, her lips rolling inwards, dragging my eyes to the plump redness. Does she taste like the tears she was shedding in her sleep?
“Eyes up here, asshole,” she snaps, making me smirk. This girl really does like playing with fire.
Fuck, I’ve even had men pee themselves just from a glance from me. Yet, here she is, staring me down, even as I pin her to the floor. I bet she would fight this hard as she died…
I drag my eyes back up, but they catch on a stained, bloody white piece of fabric tied around one of her hands. Well, well, well, did the pretty bird hurt herself? Grabbing that hand, I slam it down on the floor next to her, making her gasp as she starts to struggle again.
Peeling back the blood-stained material, I thumb the edges of the cut, making her cry out before she bites down on her lower lip, an instinct from years of hiding her pain. One I recognise. Eyes on her, I press my thumb right into the center of the cut, testing her.
Blood forms on her lip, she’s biting it that hard, her eyes dilating with fear and desire, one she’s trying to hide. Her chest heaves, her nipples pebbling against the shirt she wears. Oh, my little bird likes it when it hurts…
“Little Bird, dirty Little Bird, look how sweetly you bleed,” I murmur, leaning down and licking the blood from her lip before digging my teeth into it as I smash my thumb into her cut. She screams, lurching beneath me. I swallow her sound of pain and fear, feeding on it.
I hear the door open, but she doesn’t. Lifting my head, I meet Garrett’s eyes. He takes in our position and sighs. “Leave her be, D.”
“But she’s fun to play with.” I pout, digging my thumb in deeper, making her whimper. The sound makes my cock jerk again as I grind it into her.
“D,” Garrett warns, crossing his arms and giving me his best don’t fuck with me face. “Go find someone else to play with, I heard Ryder was meeting with some new security people…”
I debate my options. Scaring the new guards or playing with the dirty bird? Sighing, I look back down at her. “Sorry, pretty bird, next time.” Kissing her nose, I leap to my feet and stroll towards Garrett, who watches me with a worried expression.
“This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” he asks me, and I shake my head.
“Nope, I didn’t kill her, did I?” I laugh as I clap him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t even budge, the big bastard.
Sighing, he sweeps his hair back from his face. “Go on, I’ll clean up.”