Page 12 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

And with my secret laid bare, will he then allow me to live my life as I see fit? Because I’m not so sure that he will. My concern is that it may cause him to tighten the reins of control even further.

If his dominating behavior doesn’t stop, it will see us forever butting heads because I refuse to spend the rest of my days seeking permission from someone else to live my own life.

I’m a grown woman. I’m still standing, having stared death in the face more times than I can count. I’m more than capable of looking after myself.

I also want us to work for the right reasons. I don’t want any life decisions to be influenced by the knowledge that I carry out serial-killing atrocities in my spare time. I definitely don’t want any decision to be affected by the fact that I saved his life.

Twice.

Which he will know the moment all is revealed. I don’t want the reason we stay together to be because he feels beholden to me. My feelings for him won’t ever change, but that doesn’t mean his won’t for me.

I don’t want him to wake up one day only to realize that he loves my alter-ego more than me.

We’ve only just got back together. We should be in the honeymoon period of our relationship. Yet, here I am, being driven to the docks because my actions over the past forty-eight hours have resulted in him being so pissed off, he’s not safe to be around other people.

Physical. Volatile. Intense.

Our relationship is all of the above. Eoin and I can bring out the best in each other. We can also bring out the worst. The trouble is there’s no in-between. It’s all or nothing. Black or white.

I’m clearly a Molotov Cocktail to his extremely short fuse. Is that reality going to be sustainable long-term?

Back and forth. Push and pull. Can any relationship survive what we put each other through at times? Because I don’t see ours changing any time soon, if ever.

The Docks, Hudson Yards

My thoughts are disrupted when the SUV comes to a standstill. As I suspected, we’re at the docks, the stacked containers appearing tall and colorless against the heavy, overcast sky, their looming presence resembling an array of giant headstones.

I hope my name’s not on the list of the deceased.

Eoin comes here to kill. Does he also come here when his darkness overwhelms him? Like he should have done when he punched the wall repeatedly at his apartment until he made his knuckles bleed?

Dec opens the door, and I step out. A shiver runs through me, and I run my hands up and down my upper arms. I’m only wearing blue jeans and a tank top, having just left the much warmer climate of California.

He doesn’t ask me to follow him; I do so automatically. There’s no point in saying I already know the way, as he won’t let me out of his sight until I’m safely handed over to his boss, at least not if he values his own life.

The container he stops at isn’t the same as before. Does each hold a different house of horrors? That depending on what mood Mr. Dominating. Dangerous. Deadly is in, he selects the one with the most fitting playroom?

Dec knocks on the door once. He doesn’t speak, and there’s no audible response. It remains eerily quiet like even the breeze crossing the river is scared to make a whisper in case it riles the occupant of this freezer-like metal box.

Opening the door, he motions his head for me to step inside. I do as he asks, he closes it behind me, and I immediately get swallowed up by pitch black. Eoin’s in here. I know he is.

Awareness.

I shiver as the tendrils of his darkness seductively wrap around me. I’m sure he can hear my heart thudding in my chest and sense my skin prickling.

I don’t speak. I’m not stupid enough to anger him further by making lame excuses. I’m sure the punishment he’s selected for me will more than fit the crime. I stand and wait.

Expectation.

I know he’s approaching. Our bodies are so in tune mine starts to silently scream out for his now that it realizes he’s close. It’s then I feel the sharp point of a blade at the base of my spine.

Is he going to pierce my skin? Is he going to run me through?

I shouldn’t feel aroused, but I do, and the soft groan that escapes me lets him know just that.

Fear. Arousal. Addiction.

The latter will be my downfall. I’m addicted to him, and he knows it. Like a junkie, I’m forever craving the unique high only he can give me. I’m fucked. Because even if I could convince my brain to let him go, my body never will. It would betray me every goddamn time.

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