Page 53 of His Brutal Game
Each time the house creaked, my pulse raced. Everything put me on edge. Adrenaline constantly surged in my chest, my body weak. My father-in-law had bound and gagged me through sheer force, and his brother had tried to kill me. And yet, I had never doubted that Wilder would save me. Better than I could save myself.
But Wilder had still pointed a gun at me. It was clear that his family wanted me dead.
At eight o’clock, I ate dinner by myself, then left his plate plastic-wrapped on the table. I stared blankly at the television, my fingers flicking against my legs. The images transformed from laugh-track comedies to cheaply done local commercials. I didn’t see anything but the memory of Wilder the night before, telling me to go to sleep, his tone soulless. As if I would have been better off dead. Like it was easier to pretend I didn’t exist. And the screwed up part was that Forrest and Sawyer could come into our home at any time, and I would have to rely on Wilder again. But I didn’t want that. I wanted to rely on myself.
And Wilder clearly didn’t want me to rely on him either.
I don’t know when I fell asleep. But when I woke up, the television was off and the lights were dark in the house. A long piece of leather bound my arms and wrists behind my back, going all the way up to my shoulders, thrusting my chest out. Needles pricked my insides. Who the hell had me now? I jerked myself to the side to see who it was, but I saw nothing.
Wilder’s grunt came from behind me. I relaxed my posture. It was Wilder. But as he tightened the restraints, causing my shoulders to strain, I whimpered. Did he want to make it hurt? Was he finally going to do what his father and brother wanted?
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He positioned me into a sitting position on the couch, then brandished his knife. He put the blade at the edge of my clothes, pulling at the fabric until it sliced off. I blinked, trying to figure out what was going on. He studied me, covering every inch of my skin like he wanted a photographic memory. His cock throbbed, pushing against his jeans.
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us said a word.
“I killed my mother,” he said.
It wasn’t that simple. “Wilder, you didn’t—”
“My father used to take me to the top of the barn. He’d set these cans all over the farm, teaching me to use a sniper rifle. One day, my mother was outside, hanging up clothes to dry. Had me aim the sights at her.”
Why was he telling me this?
“But you didn’t do it,” I said.
“Not that day. But she was my first kill,” he said. I shuddered, my toes curling up. “Forrest had her restrained. A hood over her head. Like you were yesterday.” His eyes darkened. “That pond, past the second pasture? Forrest said she stole money, but you know what I think?” He balled his fists. “She knew what she was doing. She must have been tired of watching her back.”
I swallowed a dry lump, forcing myself to meet his stare.
“I watched it all,” Wilder said. “She gave it every ounce of strength she had, but it wasn’t enough. Those seconds have replayed in my head. Over and over. An obsession I can’t get rid of, no matter how many people I drown.”
My stomach twisted into knots. Wilder spent time at that pond. Sitting at the bottom, underwater, waiting until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“The fucked up thing is I don’t see her face anymore. I see yours,” he said, his voice calm. “Every time I think of that night, it’s not my father drowning my mother. It’s me drowning you.”
I sucked in a breath, my heart pounding, but I leveled myself as I stared at him.
“You are not your past,” I said.
He ignored me. “When you drown a person, they lose consciousnessminutesbefore they die. But there’s still time, Maisie. I had seen my father do it enough to know that. But he gave me that gun. And I had a choice. I could have saved her.”
Tears filled my eyes. How could anyone put a child through that?
“But how were you supposed to go against your father?” I whispered.
“Don’t defend me,” he growled, gritting his teeth. “I aimed the gun. I pulled the fucking trigger. I killed my own mother, Maisie. The only person in this world who loved me.” My heart broke in two. He actually thought he was unlovable, that he was unworthy.
But as a kid, he didn’t have a choice.
“I’ve been obsessed with drowning ever since,” he said. “How there’s still a choice. There’s always time left. An escape if you want to find it. But I don’t want to find it. Ilikemaking them struggle. Knowing that the power is in my hands. That I hold that decision close to me like a bullet in a gun.”
My heart hammered in my chest, my eyes tracing him, trying to figure out where Wilder was hiding inside of that shell. There was still time left for him too; he just needed to see it.
“Before you,thatstruggle was the only way to arouse me.”
My breath caught in my throat:Before you.
