Page 25 of Penance

I know, I can hardly believe it either, but don’t worry, ‘cause that’s all about to change.

“Eli, if you could please take the dogs down to Charlie’s,” I call gently, my voice uncharacteristically sweet and smooth, carrying through the air effortlessly.

Without further comment, Eli whistles sharply, instantly gaining their attention, both my babies hopping off their velvet thrones. Brute’s crown flung from his big head as his heavy gait carries him from the room. The door clicks softly behind them as they exit, I lick my cracked lips.

“Not long now,” I murmur to myself.

Checking my good wrist for a watch that isn’t there, my other hand uselessly pulled to my chest. I don’t ignore the pain; I use it to fuel me. Pulling on it, letting it rock through my demon, she snarls and snaps and hisses as I ready her. I glance up from my teacup, looking to my left. Kacey sits, his eyes on mine, those glittering, golden orbs trap me, my breath stops, heat spreads through me, instantly flooding my core.

God, he is fucking beautiful.

“What are you up to, Darlin’?” Huxley asks cheekily.

Drawing my attention, his soft, teasing rasp cutting through the fire inside me, but instead of extinguishing it, he only ignites it further. Adding to the flames and heat rampaging through my veins.

I offer him up a coy smile, my head tilting to the right. I let my eyes rove over his trim body, knowing that beneath that too-tight white t-shirt is the finest set of abs I’ve ever had the pleasure of running my tongue over. I look back up at him, his caramel brown skin, luscious peach lips and those soul penetrating, coal-coloured eyes. My smile turns almost shy as he smirks at me, that cocky, arrogant, but oh so delicious, confident attitude. Fearless. That’s what he is, absolutely fucking fearless. Huxley is everything I want to be.

Looking past him to the ghost of my past, Maddox fucking Sharpe, his ice white skin, raven-black hair and bright turquoise-blue eyes. He’s everything familiar and distant to me. My past and possible future smashing together in a head-on crash. Like Titanic meeting its iceberg, Romeo and Juliet loving each other even though they shouldn’t, like fire and earth, water and wind. A colossal collision of all of those things and more as I look at him. He’s everything I always wanted and everything I should never have.

But let’s be real for a sec, we all want what we shouldn’t. Even if it kills us in the end.

I wonder how far they’ll let this thing go. How long a leash will they let me have, do they know I can never be kept? Never be trained, never roll over and play the sub in this relationship. They can’t muzzle me, they never could, and frankly, if they tried, I’d have to consider keeping them in the dungeon like Charlie does with Dillon.

They can never leave me, just as I could never really leave them. When I walked out of their house this morning, I felt the most fucked up and messed up mix of emotions I ever have. I left thinking I was protecting them. Saving them from all the heartache and trauma I’ll inevitably cause them.

Saving them from me.

But I quickly realised they don’t need saving; they’re just as broken as I am, and they thrive. I willneverfind anyone else as perfect for me as them. We can either heal together or burn in hellfire and honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck which, as long as we’re together.

And Max?

If he can sit through this round and learn to take instruction, not raze this whole thing to the fucking ground. Then maybe, justmaybe, I’ll hear him out. Can we ever be Maxi and Lala again? Does he want me to be Lala, or Kyla-Rose?

Who the fuck doIwant to be?

Both.

Distantly I hear the lift bell ding, pulling me from my thoughts. I twist my teacup around on its saucer so its handle sits at a ninety-degree angle. I look up at the closed doors, adrenaline spiking, I cock my head. An earth-shattering scream rips through the blanket of quiet, all three sets of eyes snapping to mine, and I giggle. A girly, deranged, twisted sound that rings loud in the room. My head angled slightly down, chin almost tucked, I peek up through my thick lashes, silver falls of hair curtaining my face. My good hand slips beneath the table, stroking up my thigh. I palm my butcher’s cleaver and grin.

The double doors explode open. The wood cracking with the force as Charlie kicks through, dragging a very unwilling participant in his wake. Charlie’s hand clasped tightly around his mangled ankle, the body being dragged across my floor on his front. Writhing in pain, a terse scream tearing from his throat, the sound almost raspy. I shiver, a tremor racking through my body as I huff a laugh under my breath. Charlie locks eyes with me, his glistening emeralds just visible in the dim light, staring inside me. Inviting my demon out to play.

I place my good hand atop the table, clutching my meat cleaver. My fingers curled around the handle, the thick steel blade catching the candlelight. I stand, cocking my head to the left.

“You broke his ankle?” I enquire, Charlie tilting his head, mirroring my own stance.

“It was an accident,” he grunts. “He tried to dive out of the sunroof,” he shrugs, his voice croaking.

“Get him up,” I instruct gently, my tone cool and calculated.

Charlie and I always in perfect sync, knowing that between the two of us, the situation is always in our control.

Charlie drops his ankle, his leg thunking to the floor. The man screams out, the shrill sound piercing through the blanket of quiet. Charlie immediately swoops low, one fist gripping the back of his jeans, the other fisting his hair. He heaves the screaming body up, slamming him face down on my dining table and forcibly shoving him towards me. The wind knocked out of him, he doesn’t struggle when he stops sliding, trying to catch his breath, he groans.

I grip my cleaver tighter, my fingers flexing slightly as I adjust my hold. I step up onto my chair, using it as a hop up onto the glass tabletop. My heavy, black Doc Martens thump along the sturdy glass, bringing me closer to my prey. I stop just before him, the groaning man’s face a mere inch from my boot, I drop into a crouch. My injured hand still clutched tightly to my chest, my other slowly lowering the cleaver tip to the glass between my feet, I rest my hand on it.

“Did you miss me, Sidney?” I rasp, the question acrid on my tongue.

“Pl-please, I didn’t know, I di-didn’t know,” Sidney snivels, choking on his own snot and saliva.

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