Sick Bastard (27 page)

Taking a drink, I sit the bottle next to me. Laying back into the surf and sand, the water rushes up my sides and the gun rests across my chest, away from the salty waves. I’m tired. I’m so fucking sick of feeling like I’m drowning in crazy. Two months ago, life was good. It was calm and I liked it that way, but then Dante came along and ruined it for me.

“Are you planning to kill yourself on the beach, London?” He asks unamused, standing over me.

“No, Dante. Just you.”

“Thirty-three years of dodging bullets and I’m going to die at the hands of a woman,” he mutters dryly. I could shoot him, but I’m not sure I’m capable of digging a hole big enough for his body. The sick part is that I’ve grown fond of this stupid fucking asshole, aside from all the lies he’s fed me.

“Are you done?” I hear the irritation in his voice and that’s fine with me. I could care less.

“No, Mr. Marx, I’m not even close to being done. You can go, though.” I tell him and I see the switch flip. I pushed.

“Up,” he demands in a scary flat voice. Tipping my head back, I stare up at his face. Such a beautiful monster stares back at me with rage boiling his those deep, dark eyes. “Get up. Now!” His temper’s showing. He’s slipping.

“I said no.”

“Do I look like I’m fucking asking you?” I feel oddly calm and a tad excited.

“Go away. Go play with your offshore accounts, your drugs, or perhaps watch me on a video, or whatever other weird shit you do,” I say, sounding a little incoherent.

I’m jerked to my feet and I yelp in surprise. My precious bottle of liquor clatters to the sand by my feet and the gun hits the sand with a dull thud. My arm is pulled to the point of pain, nails digging into my upper arm. “You’re fucking hurting me, you stupid fuck.” I try to jerk free. Digging my own nails into his hand, I try to pry him off but it’s pointless. He’s not letting me go.

“Good.”

Dragging me down the beach behind him, my heart hammers in my chest. He’s mad. He’s never had such anger directed at me before. I feel bad that I don’t feel bad for upsetting him. I feel like I’m losing everything, and my mind is the first thing going.

Dragging me toward a boat, he lets me go with a shove. “Get the fuck in the boat,” He demands, shoving me again. My feet catch in the lose sand and I stumble a little.

“No.” I don’t feel like giving him much more than that.

“No?” He looks murderous, and still so beautiful. In one swift move, he’s in my face.

“Get the fuck on the boat!” He yells at me. Instantly I recoil and my heart hits my feet. He’s mad, but fuck, so am I. He’s just more aggressive than I am. Plus, I’m a bit drunk.

I plop down on my ass without so much as another word. We sit in the little boat alone and in an uncomfortable silence―the tension clings to the both of us like a bad smell. Dante’s bristling with rage, twisting his watch, jerking on it violently.

The boat pulls up to the small platform of the yacht and I want to run right back to the beach. Scrambling off of the boat, I can’t get off fast enough and far enough away from Dante.

Stomping across the deck, I hear Dante on my heels. He won’t just let me go. “London,” he warns.

“What?” I shout back at him. “Sometimes I really fucking hate you.” He jerks on my arm, pulling me into his chest as he looks down at me with hateful eyes. “Ditto, baby.”

“I’d like to slap that look right off your face.”

“Would you London? Do you wanna reach that delicate little hand of yours out and slap the fuck out of me?” Yes. I want it more than I want my next breath right now.

“You make me sick. All you ever do is fuck with my mind and lie through your goddamn teeth. I wish I’d never met you, Dante. I wish you never came into my life.” He lets go of me, like I really did slap him across the face. I turn around and go on a destroying mission.

“What are you doing?” He growls at me from the doorway of his office. Ripping drawers open, I look for anything to prove I’m not crazy. I dig for some sort of proof of what I saw, but there’s nothing. No drugs anywhere to show him that
I know
he’s been lying to me. He’ll make me feel like I’ve lost my mind so I need to show him, prove to him what I saw so he can’t deny it. There are videos to prove I wasn’t seeing things―“Dante,” I scream as he pushes my body down onto the desk, pressing my face against the smooth surface. His fingers creep indecently close to my pussy as the other hand flexes around my neck, fingers twitching with constraint. “How am I supposed to keep you safe?” He asks with irritation.

“Fuck you,” I grumble into the desk. The only thing I need saving from is his crazy ass.

“How, London?” He asks as he grinds his dick into my ass. My legs weaken when one long finger runs along the edge of my panties. “I said,
How
?”

“I’ll run. I’m good at that. I’ll get so far away from you that you’ll never find me.”

“I’ll always fucking find you. Don’t you see? You’ll never get away from me, baby, no matter how far or fast you run, so try me. I’m a fast motherfucker.” I’ve no doubt the insanity he preaches is his truth. “Now say it. You’re gonna stop running and stay, aren’t you.” He demands. I don’t answer him so he slaps my ass, hard, causing me to shriek. It stings badly. “Oh, London. I think you’ll stay right here with me baby, right?”

“No.” I lie. I want to run so goddamn bad, but he’s right. If I run, I know I’ll want him to find me. I’m so fucking twisted in the head, I’m ashamed of myself for feeling this way about him.

He keeps his hand wrapped around my neck, holding me down and pulls my bathing suit bottoms down. I listen as he undoes his zipper and in seconds, he slams his dick into me.

Rough and violent is how he fucks me, fucking my resolve right out of me. My legs weaken and my determination dies.

Pumping in and out, he rams my thighs into the desk, moving it with every thrust. It’s painful, but there’s no fucking way I’d stop him. He fucks me like he hates me, and maybe he does hate me a little because I know I feel the same, so I let him continue his assault on me. I want him to hurt me. I physically want to feel what he’s feeling and drown in it.

He slaps my ass again, only this time it’s twice as hard as the first. He repeatedly smacks me in the same spot, making me scream from the pain but it makes me come so hard. I feel my inner muscles clenching tight around his dick as he continues to smack me hard and pound into me through my orgasm. “Jesus Christ, I love to watch my dick slide in and out of you, baby.” He fucks me hard and comes with a loud groan, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, fucking me mean. He’s being so aggressive. It’s not easy, it’s not soft, and it’s not sweet, but it’s fucking beautiful.

~~~~~~

The French doors to the deck are thrown wide open, and that’s where I find him, sitting on a lounge chair with a glass tumbler in one hand and a cigar in the other. He knows I’m here. He always knows.

Putting down his drink, he holds a hand out to me the instant my feet meet the cold wood of the deck. It’s an order―a demand.

Taking my hand in his, he pulls me gently around the front and sits me down in the lounger with him. He wraps me up in his arms and settles me under his chin. I let the silence go on for a while. I let it go until the quiet becomes too loud. “Are those your cameras in my house? How about we try some honesty this time.” In some terribly disturbing way, I hope to God they’re his, rather than my father’s. Dante, I can handle better.

“Yes.” he says, but his answer sounds forced. It’s hard to tell his truth from his lies anymore, but he’s saying that he was lying before. It’s a lie that should upset me, only it eases an added worry I’ve been carrying around with me. I wanted him to think of how pissed I was about him spying on me, but in my own home, he’s the best of the worst, I suppose.

“What about the drugs?” He stills, but says absolutely nothing. This is a question I know I won’t get an answer to.

“Why do you lie to me?”

“Do you trust me?” He asks softly into my neck. Yes. I trust him with my life, it’s my heart I don’t trust him with.

“Yes.” I don’t trust him at all.

“Then you’re gonna have to trust my lies,” he tells me plainly. He believes me naïve enough to take that answer and be okay with it, and he should because I have been, but my eyes are now open to what I’m getting myself into with him instead of feeling happy and content. He’s ruined that happy that I desperately wanted with him.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you trust in what I tell you whether you believe it or not. It means you trust that my lies are told in your best interest.” Again he makes absolutely no sense and perfect sense, all at the same time. “Trust that everything I do, I do for you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on my neck. Easier said than done. “Trust that my love for you wins out every goddamn time and that love fuels these lies.”

My heart squeezes in pure agony and leaps for joy, bringing tears to my eyes. “You love me?” I choke out. It’s not hard to believe, it would make this all that much easier to understand, but do I believe him?

“Would you believe me if I said I’m in love with you?”

“I don’t know.” I tell him honestly.

Breathing a heavy sigh he shakes his head, “London. What the fuck else would this be? This crazy I feel over you has to be something. This intensity, this need, this insanity has to have an explanation and believe me when I say I’ve tried to work it out, but love is the only explanation I can find. I live for you and only you.”

“Oh.” I mutter, lost in his words.

“Yeah, ‘Oh’. I don’t stalk women, London. I don’t spend time with them. I don’t vacation, dine, or date women. But for you I’ve done, and will continue to do, all of this crazy shit. You have my time, my attention, my life, and my love. Only you have it, and always will, so you’re gonna have to trust in my lies.” He does love me. He loves me in a sick, sadistic, unhealthy sort of way. “This is my love. All the bad, all the wrong, and all the ugly. It’s all yours,
amore mio.
”

Dante

Tonight London looks heavenly sitting across from me, sipping her drink in her white dress, sweet smile, and the eyes of a
demone
. Her hair is long with loose curls that blow around her face from the breeze.

I wonder how much time I have left with her. It can’t be much longer. It may not be today, or next week, but it’s coming. I can feel it. What may have started out for her as attraction and the idea of being wanted, the sensible part of her is now questioning me―questioning us. I’m not stupid enough to think she’s not questioning all the shit going on. She has questions, but she knows I won’t answer if I don’t feel the need to. She wants me to tell her without having to do so. I’ve been her resident stalker, her knight in shining armor at times, and I’ve been the man who’s given her the attention that I know she’s never had. Perry did a number on her and she’s never opened herself up to anyone else. Matt has loose lips, and I appreciate the information he provides when he’s had one too many.

London’s smart, and sooner or later, her brilliant mind will catch up with me, but until then, I’ll do whatever I have to do to show her that she belongs with me, no matter the circumstances.

I’ll do whatever she wants me to do, say whatever she wants me to say. I’ll give her whatever she wants, whether they be lies or truths. I’ll fabricate stories, twist truths, bend lies, and I’ll culminate realities. I’m not above wading through the terrible shit to do whatever it is that needs to be done. From one end of the Earth to the other, I’ll go for her, but she’s not getting the truth. I love her enough to lie to her face.

There’s nothing good about me. I lie. I kill. I destroy. I’ll do right by her, but on my terms. I have to because I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise. I’ll never hurt her, not intentionally anyways. My lies are to protect her from the bad my life brings. I’ll even take the heat for the bugs in her apartment as being mine. Better her frustration comes out on me rather than know the truth of that one.

I love her. There’s no other explanation for the madness, for the constant need to lie, for the obsession. It must be love―a sick, disturbing, wrong kind of love.

“You’re staring.” Aren’t I always?

“So are you,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes but she smiles at me. It’s a smile that lights up those green eyes.

“Only because you are.”

The loud scrap of metal on concrete tears my attention from her eyes. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” I nod stupidly as I watch her go.

Sitting alone at the small wrought iron table, I recline in the metal chair. My back is to the terrace railing, but I’m facing the view of the ocean. I’m hot and uncomfortable in this heat. The restaurant is loud and crowded with voices and laughter swirling around the cobblestone terrace of the small island cuisine restaurant, and the Island music croons from the live band inside.

I wish I could enjoy it more, but the crowds and noise are making me nervous and uneasy with everything going on. Too much shit to contend with at once makes it hard to focus on one particular thing. London picked the restaurant so here we are, and for her I’ll try to enjoy my evening.

Throwing back the rest of my drink, my pocket vibrates. Pulling out my phone, I see Cam’s name on the screen. “Yeah?”

“They’re on the island.” That ominous
they
settles to the pit of my gut and it starts to churn. “How many?”

“Just the two.” Fuck. Two are still a problem. “Do you have her?” He asks. Fuck no, I don’t.

The back of my chair hits the concrete with a thud and I manage not to trip over it. It feels like wading through water trying to get through the crowd and to the restrooms. I don’t even give a fuck that I’ve knocked people over on my way to get to her. This is not fucking happening again.

Rounding the corner to the bathrooms, I skid to a stop. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears and my hands shake uncontrollably. They’re here. One sorry
stronzo
cocks and aims his gun just as I see London at the other end of the hall. My heart stops.

There she stands, looking like a goddamn angel in white and my forty-five in her unsteady hand. Oh fuck. Did she go back for it on the beach? She looks up from the gun and over at me. We stand staring eye to eye and I feel fear I’ve never felt before.

It feels like an eternity, but it’s mere seconds. A loud gunshot reverberates through my ears and everything dulls to muffled voices and a panic seizes my fucking lungs.

The guy drops to his side, clutching his leg, completely forgetting about his gun. A lot of groaning and whining pours from him along with a stream of blood. “Oh fuck.” My head snaps back to London.

“London.”

With unsteady steps, she walks to me, not taking her eyes, or the gun, off the man while I’m rooted to the floor, stuck taking her in. She’s still in one fucking piece. “Here! HERE!” she shouts, shoving the gun at me as soon as she’s within arms reach.

Taking the gun, I shove it into the waist of my pants and let my shirt fall over it. Jesus Christ. Wrapping an arm around her neck, I pull her close. “God dammit, London.” What a fucking mess. The man starts groaning and I know it’s only a matter of time before another shows and people come to investigate. “Lets go.”

“Do you know him?” She asks. No, I don’t. He’s not here for me, he’s here for her.

As soon as I fuck her stupid, I’m going to kill her myself. I can’t fucking handle this shit. I can’t do this caring, this worry, this love shit. I can’t. She’s going to kill me.

Her father is upping his game, but I have no idea what it is. This is not good. I know every fucking thing, but I have no idea why he would send people to kidnap, possibly even kill, his own daughter. There has to be more to the story than I know. I’ll have to get it straight from her. It’s my only option at this point.