Page 54 of Torched Spades
For once, I didn’t want to analyze or question or suspect anything. I just wanted to feel. I still do. Even now, I want that escape Johnny’s hands offered—the weightlessness and freedom I felt in obeying his demands.
Still gripping the counter, I trail my finger down the wet curves of my stomach, closing my eyes as I slide it between my already wet folds. Then my mind drifts, and it’s no longer my hand that’s touching me. It’s not my finger. It’s not my voice in my head.
It’s his.
“Greedy little pussy,” I hear him, chuckling as I sink my finger deep inside my body. “I don’t think one is enough for it.”
He’s in control, so I obey, adding a second finger as I pump vigorously, needing that rush of release. I’m racing against my next breath as I add my thumb, circling my clit, an explosion building behind my eyes.
“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Watch me fuck you.”
Opening my eyes, I stare into the mirror, taking in my flushed cheeks and glazed eyes as I push myself toward the edge.
But I’m not alone.
Johnny’s right. I’ve let the Devil inside, and not only has he claimed my soul, but he’s become part of it.
“Say it,” he commands in my head.
He wins. He’ll always win.
“Mercy…” Shuddering, I collapse onto the counter while chanting an unholy hymn of his name.
I’m still gasping for air when I hear my phone chime. Grabbing my glasses from the counter, I slide them on before retrieving my discarded towel from the floor. In four hurried steps, I’m standing in my bedroom by my nightstand, phone in my hand and heart in my throat as five words stare back at me.
Bullets and blades. One hour.
Chapter Seventeen
BECCA
They say always listento your gut; it never leads you astray.Bullshit.That may be true for others, but mine leads me straight into oncoming traffic. However, tonight, it’s not just speaking to me; it’s twisting into so many knots, I’m almost doubled over.
I grip the steering wheel, those three words syncing with the rapid beat of my pulse. Bullets.Thump.And.Thump.Blades.Thump.
It’s because of my fickle gut and those damn thumps that there’s a moment just before I kill the ignition, when I almost turn the car around.
“But what if…?”a voice in my head whispers.“What if this is what you’ve been waiting for? What if this brings all the stolen color back and erases all the red footprints…”
It’s a risk I’m willing to take.
As soon as I open the car door and step onto the pavement, the wind greets me with a not-so-gentle reminder I forgot my coat. Clenching my jaw, I power walk across the parking lot, pretending not to notice how hard I’m shivering.
The thing is, I don’t know if it’s from feeling cold or disjointed.
For the first time in years, I didn’t meticulously search for the perfect, respectable outfit or ensure every hair was in place before rushing out of my condo. I threw on the first thing I could find, threw my hair in a messy bun, grabbed my keys, and ran.
A decision I immediately regret as I walk through the door. Above my head, a rusty cowbell announces my arrival at Imperial Diner, and I wince as more than a few heads turn my way.
For the second time in less than ten minutes, I fight the urge to run.
Instead, I hold my head high, blocking out everything but the sandy-haired man sitting in a corner booth on my far right. Although he’s facing away from me and hunched over the table, I can tell he’s staring at his phone.
Waiting.
My sneakers squeak across the black-and-white checkered tile as I make my way toward him, the knot in my stomach pulling even tighter. “Hi.”
Jack slowly glances up, his gaze traveling from the hectic bun piled on top of my head to the oversized Brown University hoodie to the black leggings, and finally down to the black Chucks on my feet. “You look different.”
