Page 5 of The Devil and I
The tightest whore in Toronto, he says.
I'm not a whore. This was supposed to be my first real date.
He forces my back to arch, and his dick finds my sex instead of the other hole this time. I'm dry between my legs, but he forces himself inside of me, anyway. I didn't get the chance to tell him I've never had sex before. I thought sex was supposed to feel good, but all I feel is pain. I was a virgin, but I'm not anymore.
He laughs. Tears fall like rain from my eyes, but I can't make a sound. All of my effort is put into trying to breathe. He pulls out of me, cursing me for bleeding from both holes, before he pushes back inside of my ass.
I want to scream.
I want to go home.
I never asked for this.
I never wanted this.
He finishes. I cry. He laughs.
Pain radiates through my entire body, and my throat feels bruised. Suddenly, he is gone. He is sucked back into the shadows of the alley like a demon being recalled to hell. I cry and shake as red floods my vision. There is so much blood, I am sure I am dying. So much pain.
I want to die. Before I can do anything other than cry and bleed, I fall through the dark ground beneath me. Swallowed whole by the blackest ocean. Silence descends, the pain drifts away, and I am lost in the darkness once again.
Chapter Four
Lucas
Never in my life have I ever felt so out of control of the living, breathing darkness inside of me. Like a beast bound to its prey, I don't understand why these powerful feelings have taken root inside of me. All I can do is fight to hold on to my humanity as I succumb to every dark, primitive instinct screaming that this girl was meant to be mine.
In the two hours since I pulled out of the parking lot at Sunnybrook Park, it feels as though my entire world has been flipped upside down and shifted in ways that can never be undone. What madness has come over me that has allowed this girl to call the devil out of me and bring it to its knees at her feet? I can't fathom how so much can change in one single night, for a woman whose name I don't even know.
I can sit here and question everything until I'm blue in the face, but it won't change anything. Trying to analyze this strange situation won't change the sudden onset of possessiveness and hunger threatening to overwhelm me. Feelings no one has ever inspired in me, feelings so strong that the idea of dropping her off at a hospital and moving on with my life makes me want to set the entire world on fire until everything around me is destroyed. Everything but this frail, beautiful, broken girl sitting unconscious in my passenger seat.
My obsession with this girl is growing with every passing minute I remain trapped in my cruiser with her, that ambrosial scent of hers permeating my senses and turning me into an addict. The unexpected desire to touch her is elevating higher than my brutal need to find the man who hurt her and tear him to shreds with my bare hands.
Every other impulse is pushed down by the staggering need to know her name, her story, and what drove her to take a razor blade to her wrist. That singular thought is coupled with my desire to bring her to my home, where I can lock it down and surround us with all the weaponry needed to kill anyone that gets close to her. The insanity of it all feels like suffocating. My rational mind is telling me that this is crazy, but the monster within doesn't fucking care.
Self-control is of the utmost importance for a man like me. Survival and success in this life means being a careful, calculated, intelligent monster. That this girl has singlehandedly dismantled my life in the span of almost three hours absolutely terrifies me. That's a lot of power to be able to wield over the devil himself.
Thankfully, it only takes ten more minutes before I am pulling into the driveway of my home in the woods. I don't think I can last much longer without getting her safely inside and properly bandaged. With the press of a button, the garage door opens and I pull into the large space.
I wait for the garage door to close again before I think about exiting the vehicle, scanning the dimly lit space before getting out. Although my home is tucked away in the dense forests North of Toronto, hyper vigilance has become a habit of mine. Hurrying over to the door leading into the house, I unlock it and shove it wide open before making my way back around the opposite side of my cruiser.
I hesitate for a few seconds, peering down through the window at the girl resting peacefully inside, before popping the door open and reaching inside for her. I hook one arm behind her back and one beneath her knees, lifting her into my arms and settling her against my body. Unexpected relief hits me as soon as she's in my arms, and only amplifies when her big, dark eyes flutter open and stare up at me. Those rich chocolate eyes focus on me, worry evident in the warm depths of them.
“Where am I?” she asks, seeming less sedated and a little more clear headed than she did during our initial conversation on the drive home. My heart aches over how fragile and vulnerable she feels in my arms, and that ache only nurtures the newborn possessiveness that floods my entire being.
“You're somewhere safe. I promise nothing will hurt you. I need to get you inside, then we can talk,” I soothe, keeping my voice steady and calm. I've practiced speaking like this while in uniform, finding it an effective way to ward of escalating emotions in people I'm dealing with.
I shift my body away from the vehicle so I can kick the door shut, turning towards the side door and heading in. I don't bother to turn on any lights as I carry her through the hallway, directly to my bedroom. Thankfully, she doesn't struggle against me as her eyes try to make sense of the dark house I am carrying her through.
Pushing my bedroom door open, I use my shoulder to flip the switch on the wall to my left, which illuminates the dark and classically masculine space. She shifts uncomfortably in my arms, looking like she is about to say something, the worry painted across her face intensifying as we enter my bedroom. Before she can speak, I do my best to cut her anxiety off before it can become something more difficult for me to manage.
“I know this isn't the station, or a hospital, but I swear to you, you're safe here.” I start, carefully setting her down on the edge of my big bed. “Why don't you tell me your name?” I offer her a reassuring smile I hope comes across as genuine before immediately turning towards my closet to grab something to wear. I enter the walk in space and pull a dark grey t-shirt off a hanger, pulling it over my head as I walk back out to her.
She looks extremely uncomfortable, and I can't say that I blame her. Before I walk back over to her, I turn towards the large dresser to my right. It's bulky and made of dark brown maple wood, with a heavy black ceramic bowl resting on top. I reach into the bowl and fish out one of my old, damaged police badges. Holding it in my hand, I let my professional mask slip into place so that I can get better control of the situation here. The last thing I want is for her to feel like she is in danger, considering she has no idea who the hell I am or where she even is. Being carried into an unfamiliar bedroom by a big guy with no shirt on is probably pretty damn unsettling, even if I told her I was with the police. My priority is keeping her calm before I try to explain why I brought her to my house instead of a hospital.
I move to stand in front of her and offer her the badge. She takes it slowly, her eyes moving over the well-known department logo and my badge number. She stares at it for a while before setting it beside her on the bed.
“Uhm,” she starts, finally lifting her gaze to look around my bedroom, her beautiful dark eyes taking in the dark wood furniture, my nearly black bed sheets, and the warm beige walls that surround us. At least the vibrant forest photography on the otherwise bare walls makes my bedroom feel a little less harsh. “My name is Rayna Archer.”
