Page 6 of Black Hearts
My heart ached when I saw him, when I saw the expression on his face. Stern, one of no-nonsense, but one that told me he wanted to be with me, only he would never say it aloud, never let the others in the room—or on the bed—know just how much I had him in a chokehold.
He might like to put that hand around my neck, to claim he had all the power, but he wasn’t the only one.
I sat up, and even though I was surrounded by the others, I still wanted more. I wanted him. It felt like it had been so long, too long, since Markus and I had been together. I lifted a hand toward him, gave him a look that I hoped was pleading.
Markus narrowed his stare, and he said nothing as he went to undo the buttons on his suit jacket. He walked over to my nightstand, folding it in a neat pile before setting it down. The next thing that came off was his tie, and then his watch. Every article of clothing he removed, he did so with meticulous control.
That was Markus Scott. The man always in control… except when it came to me. I made him lose it. I made him emotional. I made him feel things he’d never felt before, and the thing was, he did the same for me. We completed each other, complemented each other, in ways other people simply never could. We were meant to be.
He then unbuttoned his shirt, working from the top down, slowly revealing that thick, muscular torso to me and everyone else in the room. Though, honestly, I was pretty sure the others were still busy eyeing up my naked body and not paying any attention to Markus undressing. When that shirt was completely unbuttoned, he tore it off and folded it in much the same manner as his suit jacket, resting it on top.
Then his belt came off, and I swore the sound of his belt being undone I could feel in my very soul. That belt was placed on the nightstand with his other stuff, and he worked to slip off his shoes next. Then came his socks, then his pants, until the last thing he had to take off were his boxer briefs—though those did not hide the fact that he sported a raging erection, a carnal desire for me and my body he couldn’t fight.
And then those came off, too.
Seeing Markus naked was like seeing a god naked, like it was both too much for my eyes to handle and something I couldn’t look away from. I wanted to memorize every single aspect of him, every sharp plane of his musculature. I wanted to imprint every single aspect of him so deeply in my brain he’d become a part of me.
Because he had. He, along with these other men, had all become a part of me when I wasn’t looking. While I paid no attention to the way they wormed themselves into my heart and soul, they had somehow become the strength I never knew I lacked, the backbone I so desperately needed. They had touched me, changed me forever.
The others parted, though they didn’t get off the bed, allowing Markus to climb on. Markus positioned himself above me, his large frame pinning mine down easily. The man was well over six feet tall, a giant compared to me, and he dwarfed me quite effortlessly. His lips still wore a scowl, but the moment he lowered his face to mine, I wanted to wipe it off his face.
I kissed him. I kissed him like I’d never kissed anyone before. I put my everything into that kiss, moving my hands to grip his neck, keeping him close. The fire, the passion, the acceptance; every single thing I was, I told him through our lip lock. I melted into him, feeling his large body press down on mine, his hard cock prodding me, wanting to be inside of me.
His lips left mine, and I cracked my eyelids open, gazing up at him, noting how hungry he was for me. “I love you,” I whispered, the words never truer. I’d loved him ever since seeing him at that masquerade years ago. I’d loved him from the moment I saw his tall, dark, and handsome self.
Markus Scott. Mine.
He opened his mouth, and for a moment I thought he was going to say that he loved me too, but no words came out. Instead, he reached down between us, using his knees to spread apart my legs, opening my thighs wide for him. He fisted himself, drawing his hand along his cock achingly slowly, those dark eyes of his never once leaving mine. His body shifted above me, and he was seconds from pushing into me when something split his chest.
A knife. A long, sharp knife protruded from his chest, blood squirting down on my face and body as a result.
“No,” I cried out, sitting up as Markus leaned back, letting go of his cock as he reached for the knife poking through him. He didn’t look quite right; his eyebrows furrowed, but it was like the knife wasn’t registering in his brain.
It was just us on the bed; everyone else had disappeared. He rolled onto his side, coughing up blood, so very obviously in pain.
I didn’t know what to do. I knelt beside him on the bed, my heart hammering so hard in my chest it felt like it wanted to pop out and run out of this room. “I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, frantic. If I tried to pull it out, would he bleed to death? Would I make things worse? Where was Theo?
Markus couldn’t speak. He couldn’t say anything. He lay on his side, bleeding onto the sheets, his dark eyes on me. He reached a bloodied hand out to my face, running his fingertips down my cheek… and then that hand fell away and he stopped breathing.
“No,” I cried, shaking his large body, leaning over him, trying to breathe life into him again. Where did the knife even come from? Who—
Someone else stood beside the bed, holding onto a knife that looked suspiciously like the one that was in Markus’s unmoving chest. He didn’t stare at Markus; his attention solely focused on me. “I told you, kiddo, whores always get what they deserve.” The metal on the knife reflected the sunlight, blinding me even though the angle wasn’t quite right.
“Daddy, stop—”
But Daddy didn’t stop. In fact, he leaped over Markus’s still frame and jumped onto the bed, pinning me down by kneeling over me. He brought the second knife to the bottom of my chin, forcing me to meet his hateful gaze.
I couldn’t breathe. If I moved, if I did anything, Daddy might stab me just like he’d stabbed Markus—although, now that I was thinking about him, I was pretty sure his motionless body had disappeared, no longer on the bed. That said, his blood remained, staining the sheets beside us.
“You’re nothing but a worthless whore,” Daddy said, holding the cold metal against my chin. “You’ve disappointed me for the last time, Juliet.” And then he lifted both hands, turning the knife so the point would stab me once he brought it down.
“Daddy, no!” I tried to scream, tried to get him to see reason, but it was too late. He brought the knife down, plunging it into my chest, and the last thing I remembered was a sharp, sudden pain blossoming in my body.
I awoke with a jerk, breathing hard in my bed in the darkness. I didn’t have electricity, so I had no clock and couldn’t tell what time it was. I could tell by the lack of light from the window that it was still nighttime; dreams tended to play tricks on you, seeming to last forever when in reality it had only been a few minutes in the real world.
Crap. That was… not a good dream. I tried to control my breathing, tried to calm myself down, but it was like my body refused to cooperate. My palms were sweaty, my stomach in knots. The dream had been so real, so vivid, that I still couldn’t quite catch my breath.
Seeing Markus getting stabbed, all that blood; it wasn’t something I ever wanted to see. My worst nightmare come alive, and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing to be done. I was as helpless in my dream as I was in real life.
