[Kendall]"Just close your eyes," he says. His voice sounds thick, wet, almost dripping with blood. "It'll be over soon.”~~~I wake up screaming bloody murder, the sound tearing out of my throat, raw and jagged. This time, I can’t hide it from Camden—he has to pull me into his arms, holding me tight, calming me down with his warmth, his touch.I’m trembling all over, my skin cold and clammy despite being wrapped in Camden’s strong arms. My breath is shallow, each inhale sharp and shaky as if I can’t quite pull enough air into my lungs.“What happened? Principessa, what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice urgent, rough with worry. His hands rub my back in slow, soothing circles, grounding me. Each circle is like a reminder that I’m here, with him, safe.“A dream,” I breathe, forcing the words out as I struggle to catch my breath. “Just a bad dream.”Camden’s brow furrows, shadows deepening the worry in his eyes as he studies me, scanning my face with a mix of concern and something else—somet
[Camden]It’s becoming more and more clear to me that Marco isn’t going to get himself caught, and that I’m going to have to go after him. The realization is heavy, a deep ache that settles in my gut, twisting uncomfortably. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to be stuck in safehouses or looking over my shoulder when I get home, but I know, deep down, that it’s not that.I want to kill him myself for what he’s done to Kendall. The anger is a sharp, electric pulse under my skin, coursing through my veins with every heartbeat. He’s broken her in many ways, and she seems dimmer after those nightmares—her face pale and damp with sweat in the dim morning light, her eyes darkened by the shadows of memories she shouldn’t have to carry.He’s taken a bright young girl and handed her something to be afraid of, a constant, lingering fear. I hate him for it with a depth that surprises me.It’s not because I have feelings for Kendall. That’s not possible. I don’t get feelings for women, but I
“Fuck,” I curse again, running a hand through my hair, watching her walk out onto the terrace where the pool glistens under the midday sun, the water casting faint, rippling shadows across the patio. She clearly needs some space, and I know I have to give it to her, even if my chest tightens as she walks away.I head out to the car and pull my guns from under the seat of the truck, feeling the cool weight of them in my hands. Back in the quiet of the living room, I set everything down on the coffee table and begin cleaning them, the sharp, metallic scent mixing with the faint smell of coffee and the fresh citrus from Kendall’s shampoo that still lingers in the air.The rhythmic motion of wiping and reassembling the guns steadies me, lets me focus on something other than the lingering ache of our earlier argument.But really, what do I expect? She heard me say that I’m stuck with her.Anyone’s feelings would be hurt.After about half an hour, I let out a groan, putting down the guns an
[Kendall]“Elora ?” I ask when Dante puts her on the phone.“Kendall! God, it’s so good to hear your voice,” Elora says, almost in a high-pitched squeal.I wince and move the phone from my face, laughing a little. “It has been a while,” I say.“Are you dying having to hang out with my boring, stupid brother all this time?” she asks.I think about the night before, Camden biting my neck as he thrust into me, and I blush. “He’s not so bad.”Elora scoffs. “You don’t have to lie to me. All he talks about is pussy and crime. It’s annoying.”I swallow hard at her words. Camden hasn’t said anything to me about other women, but I know his reputation. Is it possible that he’s still in contact with some of these women? Surely not, right?“Does he have a girlfriend?” I ask, looking around for Camden. He’s trailed inside, so I can speak freely.Elora snorts. “A girlfriend? Are you crazy? Camden wouldn’t be caught dead in any kind of real commitment.”“Ah,” I say dumbly, not knowing how to resp
[Camden]It’s been two weeks since the call with my sister, and Kendall is still haunted by nightmares, her sleep haunted by the lingering shadows of fear. Tonight, though, felt different—her nightmare was worse, as if it had sunk its claws in deeper. We’d both drifted off on the couch, tangled up in the shared warmth and the gentle rise and fall of each other’s breaths, but she woke gasping, her eyes wide, struggling for air as though drowning in invisible waters.“Principessa?” I murmur, my voice low, trying not to startle her. Her gaze locks onto mine, her brown eyes deep and desperate, glistening with a wild panic that claws at my chest. “Breathe, baby.” I keep my voice steady, soft, and deliberate, hoping she'll mirror me as I draw a slow breath in through my nose, then let it out. It takes a beat, but she catches on, her breaths finally syncing with mine. Her fingers dig into my arms as if I’m the only anchor keeping her from slipping away. “It’s okay, just breathe.”She le
[Camden]“Kendall,” I call, my voice steady but with a touch of urgency. “We need to talk about this. You’ll be safer there.”“I’m safe here!” she insists, her voice defiant, with a hint of desperation. “You take care of me, Camden. You’ve been there since day one.” There’s a weight to her words, an unspoken trust that makes my chest tighten. I watch her, standing a few feet away, the morning light casting a warm glow around her damp hair, the faint scent of her shampoo mingling with the coolness in the room. “I’ll still be around, Kendall,” I say, though the lie tastes bitter. I reach for her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against my palm. “But I can do a lot more in terms of finding him if I’m not locked down here.”To be honest, I haven’t been doing much in the way of looking for Marco. It’s been a while since I called around, reaching out to the guys I used to know, the ones who still run in those circles. My fists clench. Maybe I don’t want this to end. Maybe I don’t want
[Kendall]I’m straightening up and vacuuming inside while Camden cleans out the pool, and I think to myself how domestic we are. The hum of the vacuum fills the room, but underneath, there's a comfortable stillness—a kind of warmth that echoes the quiet intimacy we share. Camden usually makes dinner because I’m simply not that good of a cook, but sometimes I bake cookies or cakes. The smell of vanilla and sugar often lingers in the kitchen, mingling with whatever dish he’s prepared. We watch reality television every week, a show that we both like, and we usually fall asleep on the couch those nights. The weight of his arm draped over me, his warmth against my back, is the last thing I feel before I drift off. If we don’t fall asleep there, we fall asleep after making love, curled into each other, his hand resting possessively on my hip.It’s been three weeks since Camden mentioned taking me to Dante’s, and about six weeks since we went on the run, and I can’t help but wonder what ha
[Kendall]“Don’t leave so soon, fatty,” he mumbles against my ear, his breath hot and sour on my neck, sending a shiver of revulsion through me. His hand moves up, rough fingers grazing my skin before his forearm presses against my throat. My vision darkens at the edges, and panic explodes inside me. He’s going to strangle me, and the realization hits like ice in my veins.I do the only thing I can think of. I bite him, sinking my teeth into his skin until I taste iron, bitter and metallic. He yelps, his grip loosening just enough for me to stumble forward, the world spinning as I barely manage to keep my balance. I feel something hot streak past my cheek, a sharp sting flaring as it slices my skin, but I don’t have time to think about it. I just need to get out of here. Now.I yank the sliding door open, heart pounding, my breath coming in panicked gasps. I hear his heavy footsteps right behind me, and just as I’m about to scream, a cold, unyielding metal presses against my cheek.I
I knew Melanie wasn’t like other moms from a young age. I think I always knew. Friends loved my mom because she was pretty and fun, but they couldn’t understand how scared I was all the time, how unstable and uncertain things always seemed.She was fun at sleepovers, fun after school, but Melanie could turn on a dime, raging and manic and unpredictable.She pulled me out of grade school twice because of some fight she’d had with a teacher, wrenching me away from my friends with promises that it would be better somewhere else. Melanie was always after the new, better thing. And usually with little consideration of how it would impact me.When she met Xavier, my life changed, and my world became full colour. Suddenly, someone was always there for me.With Melanie, there’d been countless incidents when she’d forgotten to pick me up from school or hadn’t attended one of my recitals. I was so used to it I always got nervous that moment I stepped out the school door, or the curtain opened,
Hazeli don’t hear from Kye all weekend, so at school on Monday, when I see him outside with his best friend Eric, I straighten my shoulders and walk up to them confidently.He’s barely concealing a smile as he pretends to look at his phone, while Eric is clearly muttering to him out of the side of his mouth, something like, ‘Here she comes.’“Can I talk to you, Kye?” I ask tersely.He lifts his eyes to me and shrugs nonchalantly. “Sure.”Eric presses his lips together and looks away in a show of hiding his laughter.“In private?”“Nah,” he says, lifting his chin and looking down his nose at me. “We can talk here.”“Okay.” I set my jaw, refusing to be intimidated. I survived five weeks of Melanie’s abandonment, surely I can survive confronting a teenage boy in front of his friend. “Why didn’t you text me back this weekend?”Eric snorts with laughter.“Oh!” Kye’s voice drips with cruel sarcasm. “I didn’t know if you were allowed to receive texts. Doesn’t Daddy check your phone?”“What
“And you and Dante…?” I try to sound as casual as I can, while all the muscles across my neck and shoulders seize up. My heart is hammering so hard in my chest I wonder if she can hear it. “You…?”“Yeah,” she answers quietly, and swallows. “Twice.”“And was it okay? Did you like it?”She shrugs. “Yeah.”Somewhere out there, in the big city of Vancouver, is a child named Dante I now have to kill.What the fuck kind of name is Dante?Although…what the fuck kind of name is Kye?Kids these days.Jesus.“Dad?” asks Hazel, tilting her head and lifting an eyebrow. “You okay?”I realize I’m frowning and shake it off, giving her a rueful smile. “It’s hard for any father to realize their daughter is growing up, is all,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. “This Dante…”—the name tastes vile in my mouth—“Did you, or do you, love him?”“Love? Dad, c’mon. If you’re about to give me the birds and the bees talk... ““I’m not. It’s just…it’s a big deal, sex. Even if everywhere around you, you get the messa
I told myself it was misplaced gratitude, it was the fact that circumstances made him look like a hero, but the feelings persisted.It was noticing things about him I’d never paid attention to before—how strong he is, how tall. The defined angles of his face, how broad and firm his jaw is, with the cleft right in the centre of it. And the fierce passion in his dark eyes, so different from his cool and restrained manner, hinting at something so powerful inside.I know that I could never force my heart to beat for Kye the way it beats for a grown man like Xavier.In the past six weeks, I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. I had to fend for myself in frightening circumstances and I managed; I persevered. To me, Kye is a boy. It was fun for a moment to make out with him and win his attention, to think about the social capital he can help me gain at school, but the truth is he isn’t what I want.What I want is so much different. And completely forbidden.“I’m sorry,” I whisper, burrowing my nose i
I appreciate that he cares for me, I do, but he’s right: I have gotten used to taking care of myself. And I’m old enough to do it.He flicks his eyes up in annoyance and locks them on mine. “You’re seventeen.” His thin veneer of patience evaporates. “You’re in high school. And you snuck that boy in here against my orders and then you…you…”He stammers and trails off, and without really meaning to, I roll my eyes.“Is this about sex?” I accuse. “Because I don’t know what it was like in your day, but yes, kids my age have sex, okay? And we give blowjobs. You might think of me as a child forever, but I happened to like giving Kye a blowjob, okay?” My tone is angry and staccato, and I’m trying to shock him.I didn’t, actually, particularly like giving Kye a blowjob.But the comment has the desired effect. His nostrils flare and his eyes widen.“Hazel!” he exclaims. “Is that how you want to spin this? That I’m some uptight prude? Sex has existed long before you, missy, so, yes, I happen to
In my fantasy, I grab all that long red hair and make a ponytail of it in my fist, pulling her head back and rubbing the head of my cock against the tiny, tight, wet entrance of her pussy. Before I can even imagine plunging myself into her, I come with a gasp, my hot, sticky seed spurting over my hand and euphoria washing over me in waves. I have to breathe deeply—one, two, three big gulps of air—as my heart rate comes back down to normal and the waves of heat pass over me.When I finally do wipe myself clean and roll over to sleep, it’s under a cloud of shame.There’s something wrong with me. There’s something very fucking wrong with me.*****Hazel*****i stay in bed longer than usual in the morning, wanting to put off seeing Xavier. I’m equal parts angry at him for grounding me, and guilty for disobeying him.Sigh.Eventually, I pull my hair—too much hair, I think, as usual—into a messy bun and pull on some yoga pants and head downstairs.Xavier is in the kitchen hovering over the
Xavier i take a highball of scotch up to my room with me, pausing for just a moment in front of Hazel’s door. If she were a child, I would walk into her room and sit on the edge of her bed so we could talk it out. So that no one was going to bed angry.But she’s not a child. She so very clearly is not a child, since I caught her giving a boy a blowjob in my basement, and I have no idea how to talk about this with her.Kids have sex at Hazel’s age. Lord knows I did. She’s not eight years old anymore, and I feel like now I don’t know the rules.I drink my scotch in bed, watching the news and trying to distract myself from the irritating events of the night. I should never have agreed to go out with Cynthia. The truth is I’m lonely. I’ve been lonely since Melanie and I separated. But that’s no excuse for my lapse in judgment.I stare mindlessly at the TV, thinking bitter thoughts about the teenage douchebag sniffing around my daughter and my own loneliness, but not even the endlessly ba
I shake my head again. His body is so close I can feel the heat coming off it, the sheer size and power of him overwhelming me as he closes off the space around me, and all I can think is that he’s so much bigger than Kye.Bigger than Kye, probably, everywhere.I flush hotly at the thought.He doesn’t say anything and I keep my gaze lowered, afraid to look him in the eye. I’m excruciatingly conscious of his chest rising and falling, and the familiar and soapy smell of him. For a split second, I wonder how I would feel if I walked in on him in the same situation. If I walked into a room to find some woman on her knees in front of him?Then I wonder, would he pump himself hard and thoughtlessly into her mouth until she felt like she was barely participating, or would it be slow and erotic with him?That I would even wonder about that is so shameful, on top of everything that’s already happened tonight, that my cheeks burn as heat crawls up my neck.As if he can sense my shifting discomf
“Fuck yes,” he breathes, unzipping his pants and pulling out his cock. He fists it, holding it at the ready and directs it towards my mouth.It looks surprisingly unremarkable, somehow less than I expected even though I’ve only ever seen Dante’s cock, but I bend forward and lick my lips before taking it in my mouth.“Yes,” he breathes, pumping himself back and forth in a way that catches me off guard and throws off my rhythm. I wrap a hand around his shaft to hold him in place, but he just thrusts harder against my hand, until I feel like a helpless participant in something I’m not actually needed for. I press down with my hand, trying to be subtle but regain control so I can do my thing.He puts a hand around the back of my head. “I’m going to come really soon,” he groans, and it sounds more like a plea for patience than dirty talk. He pumps himself harder and faster into my mouth and I give up trying, freezing in place uselessly while he uses my mouth.For a moment the only sound is