Page 13 of Little Death
Aiden merely lifts a brow. “What makes you think I don’t have a handle on this, Eamon?” Before Eamon can answer, Aiden turns to me. He dips his head in a nod toward the house and leans down so only I can hear his words. “Why don’t you go inside and freshen up? There’s a guest bath off the kitchens, and I’ll find you when I’m done.” His eyes drill into mine. “I don’t need to say if you do something stupid, the punishment will be far, far worse. You understand?”
I don’t want to know what could be worse than what he just did, but I also don’t want to find out what else he has in store for me. So I nod, keeping my face carefully blank and wobbling my way through the departing crowd, careful to be as discreet as possible. My heart rams against my chest the whole way inside, certain someone is going to stop me and rail at me for what we’ve just done. But no one does. Too hammered, too coked out, too depressed from losing too much money. Take your pick. Bodies filter out of the front door in droves. Most of the detritus has been cleared away, and catering staff flit around like bees, collecting what remains as I weave through them. My heels click against the marble floors, the sound echoing in my pounding ears.
A hot, prickling spot comes to life between my shoulder blades, and I know it’s his eyes glued to my back. Always watching. I don’t allow myself to be swept away by the crowd. Not when he’s on high alert. But I’d be an idiot not to take this as an opportunity. One I may not have again.
By the time I reach the downstairs bathroom near the kitchen, my whole body quakes, both from the aftermath of what he did to me, but also from the colossal rush of adrenaline. I close the door behind me, giving him time to think I’m following his orders. I rip away my mask, needing to feel fresh air on my overheated skin, and I nearly wince at what it uncovers.
Wrecked.
Mascara smudges beneath my eyes. Red blush stains my cheeks that no amount of cool water from the faucet seems to wash away. An over-bright, manic glare in my otherwise plain brown eyes. My mother’s eyes.
With one encounter, Aiden O’Connor has torn off my carefully crafted veneer. And, God help me, my body aches for more of him. More depravity. More ownership. It capitulated to him without a second thought. He’d mastered it so thoroughly that my goal of getting out of here had disappeared entirely from my mind. I’d even started feeling sympathetic toward him, and that’s after I witnessed him execute someone not even an hour ago.
A healthy number of mediocre men have made me come before. It means nothing.
It doesn’t.
Just because I take much longer to convince myself to at least try to escape means nothing either.
A quick check reveals that my phone is dead. I nearly throw it at the wall in frustration, but put it on the charger bank instead. If it had been working, I would have sent a text to Yasmine for backup. But just my fucking luck.
I tie my mask firmly back in place around my head and peer out of the door, stomach sinking when I note the empty halls and foyer beyond. Shit. So much for trying to blend in with the crowd. In fact, almost everyone is gone. The band. The servers. Even Aiden and his friends aren’t loitering in the back garden anymore. My ears strain to receive sound, but all I hear is the relentless drum of my heartbeat. It’s eerily quiet. Like a graveyard and all that’s left of the party are the echoes of voices knocking around in my head, haunting me like ghosts. A chill grips my spine and doesn’t let go.
There are two options. Both equally shitty. The front door is to my left, the closest option. But it’s also the one he’ll most likely expect. My second option is the garage, which spills out onto a busier street, making it easier to hide if I manage to escape.
Fingers fumbling, I unhook the clasps on my shoes and grip them in nerveless fingers. It’s now or never. My heart skips a beat, and I press my hand to my chest to assuage the ache. This is my chance. Fuck his warnings. Fuck his threats. Fuck his deal. I’m going to get out of here before I do anything else stupid, like crawl for him or beg him to call me a slut again.
I’m running when he and his friend appear in the doorway to the kitchen, only a few feet away. The sound of a muttered curse and the rhythmic thud of his shoes striking the tile sounds behind me, but I don’t dare look back.
CHAPTERSIX
“Oh shit,” Eamon says. He chuckles, and I pick up speed, because there’s no way in fuck I want to be anywhere he is. I swear that guy has something fucked up in his brain. And that’s saying something after what I just did with Aiden. After what I saw Aiden do.
“Do you want help now?” Eamon adds in a lifted voice, his accent ricocheting off the empty rooms.
“Fuck off,” Aiden huffs—too close for comfort.
“I’ll see you later then, lad,” Eamon singsongs, and the slamming of a door punctuates his manic laughter. The sound chases me down the hall as surely as Aiden does.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with these people?
My legs and arms pump. Breath saws out of me. I make it three-quarters of the way down the hall toward the wing of the house that contains the garage before I let myself experience a starburst of hope. Almost to freedom. I can do this. I’m going to make it. The garage door opener is on a panel next to the door. All I have to do is get there, shut the door behind me, hit the garage door button, and then roll out from underneath it. As soon as I get a good way down the street, I’ll order a car to meet me several roads over.
Everything will be fine.
I can make it.
Exhilaration threads through my blood, stitching all the broken parts of me back together one by one. A part of me shattered the night my mother was murdered. In the months since, the pieces must have healed wrong. Crooked. Jagged. Because I bite back the impulse to smile. A psychologist would have a field day with this scenario, let me tell you that. I’d try to explain the first time I experienced something like joy, since my mother’s violent death was at the hands of a violent psychopath, and they’d lock me up and throw away the key. I can’t tell anyone about this. Maybe not even Yasmine.
Terror, sweet and biting, swells in my chest. I can’t let him catch me. But at the same time…
Part of me wants him to.
It’s as much fear of that knowledge as fear of him that keeps my legs going. A knife of pain threads through my ribs, and my lungs seize, but I don’t stop. Something about this fear electrocutes me out of the half-dead state I’ve been in for the past six months. Like what we did during the party revives all the stagnant parts of me. It’s addictive, this feeling. I try to shake this madness away, remind myself that he’s dangerous, but a feral euphoria seeps into my skin, melting into my very soul, my DNA, rewriting everything I thought I knew about myself.
Fear has been such an integral, inescapable part of my life since she died, to the point where I thought I’d drown in it. But having Aiden chase me? It takes that fear, warps it, kinks it, until I crave it. Makes it something vital. Primal.
Twisting, I glance back to find him only a few feet away, almost within grasping distance. My nerveless feet stumble on the slick tile, and I right myself, losing precious seconds, with Aiden gaining behind me. He’s so close, I swear I can feel his breath on the back of my neck, his fingers twining in the fabric of my dress. Frantic laughter bubbles free, or maybe I’m choking on the lack of oxygen reaching my brain. Despite whatever seductive alchemy of fear and exhilaration he inspires, I have to get away.
