Page 46 of Twisted

“Just gotta give it a chance, Mais. You won’t know how until you let me.”

His voice was soft, a complete contradiction to the man who’d fucked her senseless just a short while ago.

“I killed two people,” she whispered, tracing the rim of her mug. With a long sigh, he leaned back on the counter, face close to hers again. Reaching out to her, he gave her cheek a slight pinch, a small, simple gesture that made her heart flutter.

“I’ve killed more people than I can count, baby doll. Doesn’t have to define you.”

She was shocked at his admittance, her eyes finding his.

“But…I don’t wanna be a killer,” she mumbled, and the words out, another weight lifted off her shoulders. He shook his head.

“You ain’t, trust me. Leaves its mark, that’s for damn sure, Mais, but you’re not a killer. You’re a woman who…who everyone let down, and you acted to save yourself.”

She weighed his words, not believing them but swallowing them whole anyway.

“You can tell me everything they ever did to ya, or you can tell me the gist of it. Either way, I’ll know, and I can help.”

“Help how?” she muttered, feeling desolate.

“I can know how to act, what not to do. Didn’t seem to like the idea of takin’ my cock in your mouth last night,” he said, being more direct than she was used to. It made her cheeks flame and her eyes water. How embarrassing, for him to see her react that way. But the other side of her, the New Maisie, she thought, was ready to spew, to paint the most truthful and macabre picture of Carter and Randy and Lindsay that she could.

“Carter…” she began, swallowing nervously, keeping her eyes on his bare chest, on the honeybees. It gave her comfort, the flowers and bees. Reminded her of herself, while the skull and crown was Jaeger. He remained still and stoic, patient, absorbing.

“Carter wasn’t exactly into sleepin’ with me toward the middle of our marriage. He sure as shit loved…” She took a shuddering breath, her hands trembling, her tears mounting. “Loved taking my virginity out in the middle of nowhere the first night I met him. And he figured out he liked…liked oral but…”

She wondered how to phrase it when she realized it didn’t fucking matter. They’d both killed people, for fuck’s sake. If anyone could handle what had been done to her, it was this man.

“He made it a habit to sit on my chest…shove his cock down my throat.”

Watching his chest, she noted how it slowly began to redden, the skull regaining its blood, the bees crimson, heaving with the deepness of his angry breaths. His fists clenched on the countertop, blanching the mysterious Roman numerals. Biting her tongue, she chanced a peek at his eyes, wondering just how livid they would be, needing to see that fury, needing to see he really was in this for her.

And the storm that raged there proved her musings correct. Completely still, his eyes communicated his utter outrage. It was simultaneously empowering and frightening. She’d never seen such a look in a man’s eyes before.

After a moment, she gave a half smile and a snort, shaking her head.

“Now’s where ya say: ‘Oh, you poor thing. How terrible, blah blah blah,’” she muttered, but the words kept coming.

“Ya know I ended up in a shelter one night? Yeah. Carter liked to kick me out, say I contributed nothing to his wealth, that he owned the house and I was just a roommate. Took my keys and left me. And when I got downtown to that crummy shelter? They turned me away. Said I wasn’t in imminent danger,” she rambled, hugging her aching stomach, her face contorting with each passing phrase.

“I was his villain. He could never do a damn thing wrong. Even if he did, he blamed me. Broke lamps, said it was my fault, demanded I clean it while he stood over me and smirked. It wasn’t always like that, ya see. He love-bombed me. Fancy cars and dates and smothering me with affection. But it began to die, dried up like a desert. He’d call me fat, worthless, stupid, then turn around and say it was a joke when I cried. He’d get so belligerent when he drank. I had to lock myself in the bathroom and let ‘im rage. He controlled the narrative; I was the piece of shit and he was a fuckin’ god. I…I even wrote a letter, ‘case I ever went missin’ or died. Wrote it all out, everything he’d ever done to me, said if I died, he’d killed me.”

She felt it on her tongue, the words, the vomit of rage. She so badly wanted to detail out that night for him—the night Lindsay had cut her like she meant nothing. All because what Randy had done to her. No one would have ever known, but when Maisie’d realized she was pregnant and it wasn’t her husband’s…

Gnashing her teeth together, she flicked her blurry eyes up to his. She locked it away, all the rest. She could handle Carter’s abuse before that night. She could come to terms with Lindsay hating her, could even find a way to deal with Randy. But the one thing she’d never been able to face was losing that baby against her every dying wish.

For that, above all, was what she prayed she would someday be absolved for; her tiny bean with its fluttering heartbeat, thriving in the womb of a mother who wanted nothing more than a child, a woman who was determined to run away and make a new life for them.

And Carter had ripped it from her.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled herself from the depths of her personal hell.

“Well…say somethin’…” she mumbled. When he didn’t right away, she peeked at him. He was looking away, out the window, his jaw clenching and unclenching as a war raged in his mind. After a moment, he dropped his eyes, reached out to her hand and grasped it. He was warm and rough, just like his personality.

“Know that ain’t even close to all, baby.”

It was quiet, the air charged, before thunder rumbled in the distance and echoed over the mountains.

“No one’ll touch ya ever again, Mais, because I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em all. Only me. Can’t make up for the past, but I’m here now and you ain’t goin’ anywhere, either. I got ya.”

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