Page 27 of Red Flag Bull

“And I don’t know how to tell you more without making things worse,” she says in a monotone. “I need to get these to her. She doesn’t live too far. I can walk there. Thank you for letting me stay. In your bed. I told you I didn’t deserve it.”

I stride over, press her to the wall, and pin her there with my hand on her neck. “I’ll decide what you deserve when you’re in my house.”

She meets my gaze, bold and blinded by her own self-loathing. “And what do I deserve, Jason? What do you want to do to the woman who said she’d marry you, and then disappeared? The one who wanted so badly to stay but couldn’t? The one who can’t make decisions for herself, because they’re always the wrong ones that leave others to clean up her mess? The fucked up little whore, who causes nothing but pain to the people she loves? I’m no good. No matter how hard I try, I only ruin lives. I’m a parasite. A disease. What do I deserve? Because I can only think of one path that leads to a cure, and everyone would be a lot happier if I took it.”

I search her sad eyes, and then press my lips to her forehead before resting my chin against her hair. “You deserve to be understood. And until I can give you that, you’re under my protection. You talk of taking any fucking cures again, and I’ll make you wish you had.”

She twists free enough to give me a blank stare. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It would if you knew how badly I’ve wanted to fucking torture you these last twenty years,” I rumble, tightening my grip on her throat and thrusting my leg between hers.

“Nineteen,” she corrects me, rubbing her hot little cunt against my bare thigh, so I can feel her slick against my skin. “But if you stretch it to twenty, you’ll probably live to regret it.” She flashes her sad eyes at me. “I’m so fucking regrettable. Aren’t I, Jason?”

She’s trying to provoke me, so I’ll punish her. As is her way.

“I’m poison,” she continues when I resist.

“So many fucking lies you tell yourself,” I whisper as I move with her needy body, giving her the attention she craves. “Tell me one truth,” I urge, shoving her higher, until I can rub my swollen cock against her pussy and have her soak me through my boxer briefs. I slide my hand under the shirt I made her wear to match my own and palm her soft breast. “If you’re so fucking poisonous, why provide breastmilk for a baby?”

Her eyes fill with tears. “The innocent shouldn’t be deprived of nourishment.”

“No. They shouldn’t, precious girl.” I grind into her harder, before I pull away and leave her to sink to the floor in a breathless heap. “You’d know all about that.”

I collect the bottles she filled with milk and walk away before I lose control and shove my fat cock in every hole she has, to hear her scream.

I put them in the fridge with the others and stare at them.

If her sister has a baby, why the fuck is Mandi feeding it? Is that how she’s producing milk? She’s been breastfeeding her sister’s baby? I know that could bring in a supply of breastmilk. Hell, Ben and Maggie forced lactation with herbs and a pumping machine.

My cock thickens, and I stroke it. I bet Mandi looks gorgeous with a baby at her breast. I’m fucking jealous of anyone who’s seen it.

I shut the fridge and head back upstairs.

Did she have permission to feed her sister’s baby? Or did Lucinda catch her in the act and kick her out? Or is Mandi lactating, because it’s her fucking baby, but her sister’s raising the kid as her own? Has Mandi’s been deemed too unreliable by some asshole who didn’t give her a chance? — Because I believed her when she said it was ’Cinda’s baby. The words rang true.

Did my princess have a baby, and then give it up? Why? Because she thinks she’s fucking poison?

I pace around my room, and then pull on a pair of pants — bike leathers — and reach for a bag, to pack for Mountain Lake.

Mandi arrives in my doorway, and I throw it back in the closet because I don’t even need to take anything with me, and I can’t go anywhere until I get some actual fucking information.

“Where are you going?” she asks, sounding scared.

“We are going to deliver the milk,” I inform her. “Then we are going to talk, until I’m satisfied.”

She gets down onto her knees and runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “I can satisfy you right now, if you’d like.”

“I doubt it,” I mutter and push past her so I don’t stay and choke her with my fucking cock.

Once I start venting my rage, I won’t want to stop.

One fuck is never enough with that girl, and the withdrawals from her absence will be too much to bear again if I’m none the wiser for the reason she left me in the first place. I need answers before I’ll consider getting close enough to let her burn me a second time — which seems inevitable. Apparently, we’re both gluttons for punishment.

She follows me downstairs and into the laundry room, where I pull her jeans and sweater from the dryer and throw them at her. “Get dressed. We leave in ten.”

She does as she’s told. Sits where she’s told. Eats what she’s told. But she’s not doing any of it to please me. There’s just no fucking life in her. She’s an empty shell. A robot, who only turns on when something cuts her deep.

I wanted to study her in the light of day, but it’s hard to look at her and not feel sickened by what she’s become.

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