Page 46 of Ruthless Destruction

“Oh, she had an emergency with her gallery, right as we were coming home. Perfect timing on Gareth’s part.” His hand curled around mine a bit tighter at that. “You and I have the house to ourselves for a while. I hope by the time we’re done your purpose in this house is made very clear.” There was an edge to his voice when he said that last part.

My mind could barely register what he was saying as he pulled me along the walkway around the pool to the main house. In we went. By the time we reached the main house, the bloody footsteps I left in my wake were almost nonexistent, save for a few drops of blood coming off my soaked clothes.

We went upstairs, to my bathroom, and Alistair never let go of my hand. He kept a firm grip on it, even as we stepped inside the bathroom. He didn’t bother closing the door, but he did lean around the curtain of the shower and start the water.

He pushed me toward the shower, finally letting me go. “Take off your clothes.”

With the water running behind me, I stared at him, wondering what he was going to do. He seemed calm, unaffected, as emotionless as ever… and that, I think, was more frightening than Gareth’s fury. When someone was quiet and reserved, you never really knew what was going on inside their head. You couldn’t read them. They were the opposite of an open book.

Alistair tilted his head at me, his blue gaze narrowing somewhat. “I told you to take off your clothes. If you don’t, I’ll take them off for you—and I won’t be gentle about it. That’s a promise, Brianna.”

I swallowed hard. Taking off my clothes in front of my new stepdad wasn’t on my list of things to do, ever, but then again, I could’ve said the same thing about getting locked in a pitch-black room with a corpse. I guess, all things considered, it would be easier to just go along with whatever he said.

Giving him my back, I was well aware Alistair watched me as I started to undress. I went for my shirt first, then my bra, dropping them on the floor behind me. My fingers went to my leggings next, hesitating near the waistband. They were soaked in blood, having absorbed as much as the fabric could, now a dark reddish-purple color instead of pure black like they should’ve been.The sheer amount of blood overwhelmed the black.

My mind flashed back to what I’d done to myself while locked in that room. Let’s just say it was a good thing Alistair couldn’t see my face right then, because I was pretty damn sure I was blushing, embarrassed at what I’d done, how I’d momentarily lost myself in the darkness.

This whole thing was insane. This couldn’t be my life, could it? This had to be some sick, twisted dream that just refused to end, not real life.

A firm hand on my side jerked me back into reality as it spun me around to face Alistair. He’d stepped closer, standing over my bloodied shirt and bra, working to take off my leggings for me, just like he said he would. He was all harsh movements, quick jerks of his hands.

My breath caught as I gazed up at him. His hands were not kind as they pulled them down; his fingers dug into my hip as he did so. Alistair paused for just the quickest of moments, noticing that I had nothing on beneath the leggings.

Could he tell what I’d done to myself, or did he think my body was stained red in certain parts simply because of the sheer amount of blood I’d spilled in that room? It had to be the latter. There was no way he could know. No possible way.

“Get in the shower.” His voice was tight, his stare a little more dangerous than it had been mere moments before, before he’d taken off my leggings. The edge to his voice was harder; it came off less emotionless and more violent, almost as if he hoped I wouldn’t get in the shower so he could force me.

I breathed hard as I turned away from him, stepping around the shower curtain and pulling it closed. Even though I knew he was still out there, the curtain gave me some semblance of privacy—

Which Alistair swiftly jerked to the side, so he could once again see me in my entirety, every inch of my naked body, now being pelted with the hot water from the showerhead.

It was damn near impossible for me to look away. Alistair was so intense, so scary, really. There was something about him that told me he was a much worse animal than Gareth, that the only reason Gareth had survived this long was because of him.

But I did look away. I looked away, bringing my gaze to the drain between my feet, watching the red, blood-infused water circle it. The water was hot, such a stark contrast to how cold that room had been. The cold, I think, had seeped into my bones, into my very core, chilling my soul.

I was trapped in a house of psychos. I could run, yes, but where would I go? Who would care enough to help me? Was I selfish enough to be willing to put other people in danger?

“Wash yourself,” Alistair’s cold voice filled the room. He stood directly beside the shower, eyes on me, watching me with a calculated interest. “I want that water running clear before you’re done.” His gaze shifted to my hair. “You will tell me what you need to fix your hair as well. I will run out and get whatever you need. By the time Nicole gets home, I want not a hair out of place.”

It took everything in me to not turn my head and look at him. It took everything in me to stand there and listen to him tell me what he wanted me to do. Basically, act as if nothing at all had happened this weekend, pretend like I didn’t know Gareth was a serial killer.

When I made no moves to start washing up, Alistair spoke again, “Do not make me come in there with you, Brianna. Be a good girl and listen to me, otherwise I will make you regret it.”

Something about his tone made me quiver—not with fear, per se, but with something else. He kept telling me to be a good girl for him, which I found both insane and ridiculous… but also a little hot, in a weird, don’t-ask-me-why kind of way.

Seriously, don’t ask me why, because I couldn’t tell you.

I did my best not to tremble as my hand reached for my shampoo bottle. As I squirted some of the stuff onto my other hand, I heard Alistair say, “Good girl.” A short rumble of approval from his chest, two simple words that shouldn’t make me react any type of way, but my thighs might’ve squeezed together anyway in response.

I didn’t know what was worse—being trapped in a house of psychopaths or getting all hot and bothered by them like I couldn’t control myself.

What the hell was wrong with me? Alistair was my stepdad. He was fucking my mom. I shouldn’t even think of him like that. Even if he wasn’t with my mom, he was still the most dangerous man I’d ever met, without question. Getting turned on by him was stupid, no matter which way you looked at it.

I lathered up my hair, taking my time in doing so, hyper aware that Alistair still watched me. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t. If I did, I feared what I’d do. Maybe I wasn’t all there, in my head, after being locked up in that room for so long. Maybe Gareth had succeeded and made me go a little insane.

Maybe he’d broken me after all.

Or… maybe I’d been broken all along.

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