Page 16 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

He takes a step back, his cheeks burning red with what I can only assume is embarrassment. “They love me.”

“They don’t love you. Not like me.” I match his step back with a step forward, gripping his nape, dragging him close to me. His breath is shaky as it escapes him, like he’s frightened of me. Like I might hurt him. I could never, but I will not allow him to stand here and romanticize a pack of wolves who devoured their prey and left his scattered pieces for me to put back together. “I will treat you better than you’ve ever been treated; I already do. Why are you fighting this so hard? I love?—”

My words end in a gasp when Tatum takes my nipple in his hand and squeezes with unbearable force. “Don’t.” He grabs his discarded blanket and wraps it around his waist, using it as a sarong of sorts. Once he’s hidden himself away, he whirls around to make his exit, stalling in the doorway, gripping the frame, refusing to look at me. “Don’t ever say that to me again. Don’t even think it.” He takes a step forward, pausing at the door. “You need to find somewhere else to sleep tonight. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

“Tatum—”

“No,” he barks, spinning around and snarling at me. He looks feral. Bloodthirsty. “Don’t even try it. You claim you love—” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, mouthing the word “no” to himself. “If you care about me, you’ll do this. I need some time to process.” He spins around and makes his way to the door.

“Do you truly hate me?” I whisper. I need some form of reassurance. I know I’m meant to be the strong one, but there’s no strength left in me. He does not move. Does not speak. Tatum does not do much at all. I’m not even sure he’s still breathing.

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “And I don’t want to say something even worse before I do.” As my heart splinters and shatters in my chest, he walks away, taking my hope along for the journey.

CHAPTER 3

TATUM

Something feels off. It’s like a part of me is missing.

I open my eyes to a familiar sight. Fee at my side, one of her legs locked between my knees. Her arm hanging over my side, head tilted back, breathing morning breath directly into my face. I arch my back, longing for familiar pressure. This is normally when Abi’s morning glory leaks onto my back. Instead, my back is cold and dry. I glance over my shoulder, unsure of where he is until I spot my makeup strewn about on the floor. I’m reminded that Scotty was using it last night and forgot to put it away. They left in a flurry after Abi finger-fucked me to completion in front of them. Then he tried to clean the cum off of me, and I ...

I sent him away.

He was breaking like glass in front of me, and I still made him go. And, for what? Because he made me come? Not the first time, probably won’t be the last. A small part of me is almost hopeful it won’t be the last, because Mary, mother of Daddy Christ, superstar, I’ve never come so hard in all my life. With just a few stubby little fingers, Abi guided me through a sexual awakening.

Then he said those words.

Terrible words. Fucking horrifying words. Those words have no business resting in his mouth. No right in the world to spill out in front of our friends, no less! He can’t say them again, because they can’t be true. Who could ever love someone like me? Nito drilled it into my head more times than I can count. That I was nothing. I was unworthy of his touch, but I was welcome to watch him touch my boyfriends. And what had I done? I sat in the fucking chair, and I watched him take them from me, night after night. I stuck it out for months. Staying longer than any rational adult would have stayed, and then, I stayed a little longer for fear of letting go.

Who the fuck could ever love a loser like that?

There’s no use dwelling on Benito fucking Blankenship. Not when Abi’s out there thinking I hate him. I don’t have a big, sweeping romantic gesture planned, I just need him to know I didn’t mean what I said last night. He works in a dangerous field where every day might be his last, and I’ll never forgive myself if he dies thinking I hate him. I sit up, attempting to unwedge my legs from Fee’s octopus-like embrace. She snorts a breath as she stirs herself awake, looking confused when she notices Abi’s empty spot in bed. She was already asleep when I made it home last night, and there have only been a handful of times Abi hasn’t woken up wrapped around me like a candy wrapper, so I can understand the concern.

“Good morning, cheeky boy.” She brings her hand to my face and pushes a strand of hair away from my eyes. “Did you sleep well?” I shake my head. She darts her eyes toward Abi’s empty space. “Rough night?”

“We had a fight,” I say, trying to roll away, but her grip is firm.

“What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I’m the one who did something wrong?”

“Because Kincaid worships the ground you walk on. You’re basically his god. You’re literally attached at the hip.” She tapsthe tip of my nose with her finger. “He totes you around like a fanny pack.”

“Yes, well, he has very big hands. I can’t exactly control what he does with them.” I point at a blank space on the wall, shouting, “Scorpion!” at the top of my lungs. It’s a ridiculous claim, but Fee takes the bait, loosening the hold she has on me long enough for me to scramble out of her grasp and off the bed. It’s only now I realize what I’m wearing. I’m in my Abi-issued crop top and jockstrap. Strangely, it feels a bit uncomfortable being in this state of undress in front of only Fiona. I’ve gotten used to my ass being on full display. Abi’s always around, though, so it never feels awkward. Being wrapped around him wearing next to nothing feels more normal than normal has ever felt. When Abi’s hand is on my hip, pulling me closer, it’s almost as if my body becomes an extension of his body, and I trust him to keep himself safe. Now, I don’t feel like a part of him. I just feel like a weirdo with boundary issues flashing his ass at a friend.

I make my way to our single chest of drawers and pull out a pair of pink joggers from one of my two assigned drawers. Once I’m no longer flashing my bits and bobbles at Fee, I toss the crop top I wore to bed into our hamper and slide into a white tank with the word’sAbi’s Boyin pink glittery font. This shirt is one of my most treasured possessions, though I’d never tell him that. He got it for me after his final overnight assignment. If I’m being honest, I’ve never felt more relieved in my life than the day he gave me this shirt. The few nights we spent apart felt like someone had ripped a limb from my body. I was left at the mercy of Scotty’s problematic behavior, Brody’s constant death threats, and the endless stories Barb—the owner and proprietor of the shitty, one-star motel we’ve been staying at for the last six months—tells us about her time as a flapper dance in the nineteen-forties.

I was forced to be the voice of reason amongst a swarm of psychopaths. More than that, every second Abi was away felt wrong. The last two times he was away, I wound up hidingmyself away in our room, clinging to pillows that still smelled like my captor. When he finally got home, I was unable to contain my excitement. He hadn’t even made it out of the car before I was on him, my legs around his waist, my hand on his wrist, guiding it to where it belonged.

My hole feels just as empty now as it did then, and I want to feel him again, filling me up.

I shouldn’t have spoken to him the way I did last night. I mean, yes, he’s kidnapped me and kept me hostage for over half a year, but who am I kidding? This is home.Heis my home. Now, without him, that home feels empty. Emptier than the final few months of my relationship with Austin and the Bens.

“Cheeky boy?” Fee says, and when I turn around, she’s got her arms open, inviting me in. The woman is just as big a part of my life as Abi. We’ve formed a friendship of sorts. One that’s built upon sass and shade. There’s no sass on her face now, though. Just an outpouring of support. “Come here.”

I shuffle over slowly, tugging the tail of my shirt and staring at my feet like a dog that’s been caught chewing the remote. She takes my hand and guides me down until I’m sitting in her lap.

“I don’t like to see you hurting,” she says, feathering her fingers through my hair and massaging my scalp. “And I don’t want Kincaid hurting, either. Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

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