Page 22 of Free Fall

Yes, I’d fucked it all up. Who in their right mind would agree to what I did? I hoped Cole and Luca were having a grand old time arguing their differences in a damn sex club surrounded by horny kittens and puppies. I hoped my dad was as confused as I was, watching them bicker and fight. Maybe he’d even overhear my name and figure it all out? Maybe he would be on his way to the hotel to tell my mom, to notify Alison of her husband’s indiscretions, to ruin everything.

I had to get away. Properly. I formed a plan to look for a way off the island by any means necessary, but my eyes were heavy, my body sinking into an adrenaline crash. My phone started vibrating as I fell asleep, letting the regret and stupidity wash over me as darkness overtook. Turns out I only needed to be suffering from emotional exhaustion to not need those pills.

I was torn from sleep when the door handle rattled. When I heard a shoulder shove against the thin wood. A deep voice swearing.

I sat up, pulse calm, and watched, curious to see if he’d keep trying. Even in my sleep fog, I recognized Luca’s tones through the wood. I wasn’t even surprised he was here, that he found me and wasn’t being polite about barging his way in. There was no damn shock at all. But I wasn't going to assist him in his stalkery endeavor.

The space was still dark, and it didn’t seem like much time had passed at all since I’d fallen asleep. I hadn’t bothered shutting the curtains, so a small amount of light from outside illuminated the dank room. It was a compact space. The door — currently being thumped on by an angry bastard — was only a few feet from the bed.

The dresser shoved against the wall shook when Luca slammed against the door again. But I wasn’t concerned. Calm washed over me as I waited for what I knew was coming.

Well, kinda.

He kept trying, the wood shuddering and creaking as he worked it, probably shoving a hairpin in the lock or something just as nefarious. Of course, he would know how to do that.

Curiosity got the better of me and I slid out from under the covers, crossing the room and turning the lock over.

I moved to the side of the doorframe as he tried the handle again. He grunted when it turned all the way and I heard him stand, moving myself deeper into the minimal shadows, holding my breath as the door swung open. His large body moved with such practiced quiet as he snuck in, shutting the door behind him and relocking it before he glanced at the empty bed. What an asshole.

His long hair was loose, his black t-shirt and jeans making him shadowy, almost creepy. Still, I saw the instant he realized I wasn’t in the bed. How had he found me? I looked at my phone, sitting on the bedside table, no longer in a constant state of vibration. I had checked none of the messages or calls. They might have all been from him.

I chose that moment, that brief pause before he turned, to jump from my spot in the dark and smack him over the head with the first thing my fingers wrapped around. A dusty lamp with a faded floral print and a broken plug.

“Fuck!” he shouted, the lamp whacking him on the crown of his head with a cheery thud. He spun, working quick to get his hand around my throat and my back up against the wall. I fought to hit him again, squirming and flailing as he used his strength against me.

I yelped and tried to suck in a breath, anger and frustration battling their way through me. It was so fucking unfair that men were bigger. How dare they?

I swung out to punch him, missing his face but hitting into his ear. Pain shot through my knuckles, but I did it again, using as much force as possible while he squeezed my throat.

Fury and fire marred his features, the darkness only adding to the fear creeping in. My body clenched when our eyes locked, so twisted up. My want for him crept up my spine like a parasite.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed, grabbing my fist and tugging it down, pinning it to the wall. It worked to move him closer to me, our bodies pressing together. I felt the warmth of him, the hardness, leeching through the thin material of the stupid kitty lingerie I still wore.

“Trying to get you off me, dickhead,” I replied, my tone not as hard as my words wanted to be. “How did you find me? Why are you here?” I gulped, the motion making my throat squeeze tighter against his palm. My feet scraped the floor, attempting to gain better traction. His strength made me sick. How he was willing to use it against me.

His nostrils flared. “Stop.”

“Don’t break into my room like some pervy little creep then,” I wheezed out, still struggling. He’d humiliated me, doing something as normal as loving on his wife, and I couldn’t cope with it. Again, grown enough to admit that. I needed space to get over it. Him. Us. All of it.

“Stop fighting me.”

I tried, and failed, to knee him in the balls. “Let me breathe, then.”

“You can breathe just fine. If you couldn’t, you wouldn’t be able to speak.”

My body slumped, my panic waning. He was right. My breathing was okay. He wasn’t trying to squeeze the life out of me, but hold me still. “What do you want?” I asked, defeated.

Our gazes met through the shadows, and neither of us spoke for longer than what would be considered normal. We just looked into each other’s eyes. But it wasn’t romantic, it was searching. For hate. For intention. My body was reacting to him, my belly heating and aching, my mouth going dry, my tits tightening. And I hated it. Hated how everything got all muddled in me. I thought of him chasing me, the thrill and terror. I imagined him filling me, wrecking me, making me come. I hated him. Hated him.

“You,” he said, letting go of my throat and dropping me so the soles of my feet touched the floor. “I want you. You ran.”

“Why?” I asked, unable to help myself. “Tell me why, Luca. It’s so fucking twisted. You — at least I didn’t know, you did.”

His grin was wicked. “You knew the second time,” he growled. “And the third. The fourth. Don’t fucking deny it, little puppet. Or do I need to pull on your strings? Rile you up first? Get you all hot and scared? I can do it. But I’m having you.”

“Where’s my dad? Cole?” He’d left them at some point, hadn’t returned to the hotel with them. He was acting like we hadn’t bumped into each other in a sex club, me kneeling at his son’s feet, him hanging with my dad. He was all too casual, as always. His words and movements were dark, forceful, but his tone, his demeanor, calm and chilled. Ready and willing. A natural.

“Henry took Cole back to the hotel after we got kicked out of the club for fighting,” Luca explained with great reluctance. “Were you trying to make me jealous? Because it worked.”

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