Dancer (9 page)

As I worked his dick, it lengthened, swelled, tightened to a rigid, throbbing bundle of lust.

Chase sipped in a hasty breath. "Oh, baby.
Yeah
—"

I moved my hand faster up and down the shaft while he thrust in response.

"Please baby, get on top and ride it. God dammit—
I wanna fuck you
."

I gave a slow shake of my head and pumped his cock with longer, tighter strokes.

His cock twitched as it prepared to spurt. Jeesh. How big it looked; a grotesque display of male sexuality.

"
Oh... jeez, oh, oh, oh, yeah. Almost there
." He writhed; his broad chest, flat stomach heaved with labored breathing.

While he teetered on the verge of climax, I left his bed, smiling to myself at his anguish.

What made it
more
hilarious? He couldn't use his hand to finish.

"Get the fuck back here and finish me. My balls are killing me!"

Gratified, I closed the door, shutting out his complaints.

* * * *

E
arly morning sunlight peaked on the horizon as I left to visit Allison.

I found out the reason why Chase and his wife had abandoned their trip. Chase and Sherrie had argued incessantly during their vacation, so they decided to return home. They'd been fighting over me, according to Allison's mother, who learned these details from police and others. Supposedly Chase had mentioned my pregnancy to Sherrie, admitting he'd been unfaithful, choosing to break the news during their vacation—of all times. Only
Chase
would think of doing such a thing.

Sherrie, spooked from the earlier obvious break-in, panicked when she woke and heard noises downstairs. That's when she grabbed the gun and shot Allison.

As for Allison, she'd been comatose for almost three weeks. I had reason to lose hope, for Dr. Watson said the powerful antibiotics weren't helping Allison's infection, likely because of her weakened liver.

She lay on the threshold of septic shock. A fatal condition.

And I—I felt nothing. Only a dark hollow space dwelled within me, though it grew big enough to crush my heart.

Swallowed everything. Left
nothing
.

When I got home and saw Chase, pure mind-altering rage replaced numbness. The kind of rage that shattered inherent virtues, made you forget who you were, erased civility from existence.

I glowered as he lay tethered to the bed. My body quaked with the effort to subdue murderous impulses.

"Someone need a hug?" His lips formed a caustic smile, his words especially cutting—considering where I'd been.

"Remember the night at the club?" I said. "Did you have it planned the whole time to seduce me? To use me?"

"Uh." He chuckled and arched a brow. "No comment."

"Seriously?"

"Look, I'm a guy. What do you expect?" His expression turned serious.

A random, crazed snicker escaped me. "You think—
just
because you have a prick—it gives you the right to treat women like whores?" I knew my eyes were bulging at this point. I didn't give a fuck. Mounting rage would soon be out of my control—but again—I didn't give a fuck.

"No." He spoke slowly, cautiously. "I don't think it gives me the right—"

"Yes goddammit! Yes you do! You think your dick is a free pass to trash women." 

His chilly gaze fixed to me. His mouth tensed.

"Admit it, you fucking piece of shit!"

"Okay, yes my dick gives me a free pass to trash women. Satisfied?"

"Exactly. Therefore I should take away the one thing causing you to act this way."

Chase's nervous laughter filled the room. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Figure it out."

"Sam, what are you going to do?"

To answer him, I pulled a seven-inch carving knife from the folds of my skirt and held it to his crotch. I grabbed his thigh to hold it steady, lightly ran the blade across the bulge of his veiled cock.

His most prized possession.

"Please don't fucking do this. I'll do anything you want, just leave my dick alone."

I raised the knife so it poised precariously in the air. The blade vibrated with the shaking of my arm.

"Can you bring Allison back? She's going to die," I said.

"I'm sorry. Honest to god, I never meant for Sherrie to hurt her."

I edged the weapon closer, closer.

"Please, Samantha." Sweat shimmered on his forehead. Iridescent green eyes darted to and fro.

Oh. So now it's 'Samantha', huh?
I saw my reflection in the gleaming blade.

Fine, I won't cut it off.

But this shit ain't over. 

I drove the blade in his thigh and sliced it open, carved imperfections in the smooth flesh. That's what he needed, imperfections to cure his arrogance, steal his confidence and conceit.

I'd force his return to earth where he belonged—with every other average mortal. Including myself.

Over and over I cut. Imperfected. Carved. Taught him harsh lessons as my madness surged, blinded me, deafened me to his pleas.

Oblivious, I visualized Allison's smiling face instead of the crimson slashes zig-zagging Chase's thigh.

Allison. Allison.

Coming to my senses, I stopped. Gashes marked his right thigh. Blood completely submerged his shredded skin.

Sickening realization hit me. Horrified at my own actions, I stared as  blood streaked his leg and dripped to the sheet.

I'd been hypnotized. Demon-possessed. I didn't recall doing this unspeakable horror.

His blank stare met mine. No reaction.

I dropped the knife, whirled and ran out of there.

God, what did I do?

11

M
om and Dad would be back in less than ten days.

What the fuck was I gonna do with Chase? I definitely had to do something for his nasty cuts.

Spurred by guilt, I tended to Chase's wounds during the next twenty-four hours. I smeared anti-bacterial cream over the tender, red-striped flesh and layered thick gauze on his thigh, securing it with surgical tape I'd found in a first-aid kit.

Though mostly superficial cuts, it didn't mean jack-shit to my guilty conscience.

He refused to speak. Whenever he turned his attention to me, he seemed to gaze
through
me.

I didn't expect any different.

What's happening to me? Where's my sense of reason? How will this shit end?

I hated to think. Truly I did.

And sometimes when he thought I didn't notice, Chase shot me a look as if he'd only been
pretending
not to see me.

A look of warning. Danger.

At nighttime I remembered those looks while trying to sleep. It made me cringe in renewed fear.

Made me believe a figurative time bomb had been activated directly across the hall.

* * * *

S
louched on the sofa and immersed in a fantasy novel, I didn't hear the phone.

Maybe I didn't
want
to hear it. Maybe it was bad news.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz
.

No longer able to ignore it, I closed the book and leaned to fetch the mobile from the coffee table.

An unfamiliar, faraway-sounding voice declared Allison's death. She'd passed two hours ago.

Heartbeat hastened, a loud beat echoing in my ears. I wish it'd stop. Why wouldn't it stop?

My vision blurred as I swallowed and choked on tearful sobs.

Allison. Best Friend Forever.

Inside me, a little boy fluttered for the first time. Quickening. It didn't mean shit to me.

Allison was dead. DEAD.

This impossible declaration ricocheted in rhythm with my pulse. Couldn't. Stop. These words repeated no matter how hard I tried to block them.

Slim phone snapped, for I'd been squeezing it. Plastic pieces tumbled to my bare feet.

Allison's memorial would take place in two days. There'd be nothing left but a pile of ashes to remind me of a beautiful personality; a pretty urn to replace her pretty face.

Okay.

Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth.

Life for a...

Time to pay the ultimate price for taking Allison's life. I'd also hunt down Chase's precious wife.

I wouldn't be stopped. Pervasive determination compelled me to execute vengeful plans. Rage was no longer in the equation. Only calmness and a resolute need to destroy.

Fuck that earlier guilty conscience. Your ass is mine.

I gasped upon entering Chase's room, however.

An empty bed. No Chase.

I flew downstairs. Stumbling in my haste, I grabbed the banister to regain balance.

How did he do it? How did I not hear him moving about?

Stifling panic, I scanned the dim living area. Curtains puffed on one side, fabric suspiciously distended as if he'd used them as a hiding spot.

Ridiculous.

Faint sounds emanated from the bathroom. Cautious with each step, I advanced and peered past the doorway.

Chase, are you in here?
Ashen tile and a large rectangular mirror lined the wall.

In the reflection ahead, I found him lurking beyond the same door I was holding open.

He saw me.

My heart skipped.

"Hey Samantha," he said, gazing at me in the mirror. "Guess this means I have the upper hand." His vivid eyes challenged. "Sucks for you. Doesn't it?"

A flash of metal.
He has a knife
.

Should I fight, run or plead for his forgiveness? Indecision locked my feet in place and paralyzed my legs.

I ran. Heavy footsteps trailed after me in a sick reversal of circumstances.

I was totally screwed.

Front door's only a short distance.
As I reached for the knob, he tackled me from behind and easily threw me aside. Plush carpet cushioned my spine as I landed.

No contest. I didn't have a chance.

He was The Dancer. Powerful, he moved with consistent grace, magnificent, fluid and ruthless. He pounced on top, straddled my thighs, used one hand to pin my wrists high above my head.

In two, three effortless motions, Chase rendered me completely helpless and at his mercy.

Snared beneath him.

"What's wrong? Don't you like being on the receiving end, you fucking psycho bitch?" His eyes flared, attractive features skewed, turning various shades of scarlet. His nose, lips hovered near and practically touched me. Our breaths mingled.

"Haven't you done enough?" I said in a weak voice.

"Samantha,
I haven't done a goddamn thing
!"

Suspenseful silence.

"What the fuck did I do?
Huh?
What horrible thing did I do to you? What did I do to deserve being tied to a bed? To be cut up? I wanna fucking know."

"You used me and my life's been shit ever since. Then you got Allison killed. Sh—she died a few hours ago."

"I fucking told you it wasn't my fault. I didn't..." Suddenly he was at a loss for words. A definite first.

"I hate you.
Let me go
."

"Why should I? You never let
me
go, and your reasons for torturing me aren't good enough." He lazily wielded the knife, gliding it this way and that. "You know damn well I wasn't the one who shot Allison."

His eyes glazed; he no longer saw me. He only saw his own fury.

Just like I'd been blinded by mine.

Nevertheless, I reached up and scratched his cheek. A useless effort at self-preservation. Something that could get me killed.

"I wasn't going to kill you before, but now..." He brought the cold tapered blade to my throat. I flinched.

In those quiet seconds as I awaited death, I remembered my son. "Please, Chase. If I die, our baby dies. Don't forget he's inside me. Living. You know he doesn't deserve to die. I was going to name him—Cole. In a few months he'll be born. Please allow him his first breath, first cries."

His grip loosened on my wrists.

Chase held the blade flat on his chest. His gaze gentled.

Abandoned, the knife thumped against the carpet. He straightened with his back to me and bowed his head into his palms.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I wasn't gonna do it. I swear."

I shifted to a kneeling position as everything washed over me. All my buried emotions floated to the surface.

"
Allison.
" My stomach, head and heart ached, felt heavy, abysmal. I was free-falling, unable to stop this emotional descent.

"It's okay. Come here." An arm slipped about my waist and I let go of myself; let myself fall into his safe embrace.

Enemy or not.

His chest muffled my cries as we clung to each other.

"Shh." He stroked my hair, kissed the top of my head. "It'll be okay. I'm sorry about Allison. Sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry... for everything."

I know.

I was still crying when dawn's lilac glow trickled through the bay window.

Once Chase and I were enemies. Now what were we?

Between thoughts of Allison, I wondered: Would it be possible for Chase and me to get along enough to be decent parents?

I could've laughed even in my misery.

But anything was possible.