Page 34 of Blackwood

I swallowed hard as my emotions went to war with each other. Pain, longing, and my burning desire to understand how his mind worked. “Have you thought about hurting me?”

He walked out of the woods and carried me toward the house. “Yes.”

Each long stride seemed an eternity, the dead grass and fallen leaves whispering beneath his boots.

“Did you hurt the dean’s wife?”

He swung the back door open, and the screen smacked onto the side of the house as he pushed inside. “Yes. She was like Melinda. She craved it.”

“And Melinda? Was she a regular thing?” The twinge of jealousy that shot through me was completely at odds with the knife in my hand and the fear in my heart.

“Yes.” He carried me through the house. “We had appointments, more or less. Once a month. She’s who you heard that night when I found you. I hadn’t even caught her yet by the time I heard you screaming for help. I told her to leave, then set out to find you.”

I knew it.I wasn’t crazy after all. The screams that brought me to Garrett were real.

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t elaborate.”

“That’s the same thing.” I shook my head.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.” I needed to know more, my curiosity overcoming my irritation with his deception. “Why would she scream in the woods? Why not come to the house and let you tie her up or something?”

“That’s not my thing.” He powered up the stairs.

“I think my wrists that first night would beg to differ.” I sighed with relief as he set me on my bed. My leg still stung and throbbed, but at least the house was warm and the bed was soft—and I still had the knife.

“Let me rephrase.” He rubbed his jaw and avoided my gaze. “I enjoy rigging, but that’s not my main thing.”

“What is your main thing?” I already knew, all the puzzle pieces falling into place, but I wanted to hear it from him.

He sat back on his haunches and began unlacing my boots. “It’s best described as consensual non-consent.”

I rolled the terms around in my mind. “So, pretend rape?”

He tossed one boot, then gently pulled the other off my injured leg. “The only thing pretend about it is the non-consent. The rest of it is real.”

“So Melinda would come and run from you like a victim in a slasher flick?” I should have been repulsed, but I understood the excitement. Those movies were popular for a reason. Each of us had a little killer or victim inside. Even me.

“Yeah, we had an agreement.”

“Are there others?” I hated how badly I needed to know the answer. “Other women?”

“No, just Melinda, and that’s over.” He tried to roll my jeans leg up to see the wound, but it was too skinny to cooperate.

With shaking fingers, I reached for my waist. The more I thought about it, if raping me had been his goal, he’d had plenty of opportunities. He’d never harmed me.

I ignored the chaotic jumble of thoughts rumbling through my mind and unbuttoned my jeans. He glanced up, surprise crossing his eyes before he dropped his gaze again. I dragged my zipper down and started wriggling out of the jeans.

He helped me peel them off and kept his eyes on my injured leg instead of my pink panties. Quasi-rapist yet also perfect gentleman. My head spun.

“This is a mess. I may need to stitch you again, but I’ll have to clean it up first so I can see.” He rose and walked to the bathroom. The cabinet squeaked open as he gathered supplies.

“What was your and Melinda’s agreement?” Shrugging out of my coat, I adjusted my leg away from the bed. I didn’t want to get blood on the handmade quilt.

He walked back to me, his dirty boots clunking along the floor and his arms full of gauze, tape, and alcohol. “She would come to the house, knock on the door, and then take off running into the woods. I’d be waiting at the door and give her a head start. Then I’d chase her.”

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