Bang

  IT’S NEARING MIDNIGHT and my stomach is in knots when I pull up to Pike’s trailer. I turn the car off and sit for a moment; the sounds of the sharp wind blowing over the snow-covered ground fill the silence. My nerves keep multiplying the longer I sit here. I’ve known that this day would eventually come, but the realness that it’s finally here pangs in my gut.

  When I get out of the car and walk inside the trailer, Pike doesn’t say a word when he comes over to me. My face is stone as I stand there.

  “Hey,” he says in a gentle voice.

  “Hey.”

  “So . . .?”

  “So . . .” I begin and then tell him with a nod, “This is it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Pike places his hands hesitantly along my jaw, asking, “So we’re doing this?”

  “Yes.” My voice trembles, but I muster up my strength, resisting all the emotions I feel swarming around the two of us.

  “Are you scared?”

  I nod my head, giving him my honest answer through my hardened façade, and he nods along with me, letting me know I’m not alone, but we both know it’s up to me to pull this off.

  “Don’t be scared. Remember what we’re doing this for,” he tells me, his eyes burning with intensity. “This is for your father. This is for you and everything you were stripped of. You wanted a new life; we’re almost there, Elizabeth. Can you taste it? The fairytale?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  “So we fight the monsters first,” he says and then softly presses his lips to mine, and when he pulls away, I slip off my coat and toss it aside before looking up at Pike, swallowing hard, telling him, “I’m ready.”

  “Say it again.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and I do.

  I stand here and feel the warmth of Pike’s hand brush down the side of my cheek as he whispers to me, “This is for you,” before taking his comforting hand away.

  My heart crashes inside my chest as I wait, and then it comes, Pike’s hard fist barreling into the side of my face and over my eye. A blast of pain singeing across my cheek and down my nose as my body collapses to the floor. Pike then grabs ahold of my wrist, moving my hand that’s covering my eye away from my face and hammers down another powerful fist across my cheek. My screams are strained as I cry them out, and Pike instantly covers my body with his, holding me in his arms and cradling my head against his chest as I cry in agony. My face is hot, tingling as I feel the immediate swelling.

  Pike continues to hold me, rocking me back and forth, reminding me over and over why we are doing this, but he doesn’t need to convince me; I know why I’m doing this. As my tears dry, the pounding of an oncoming headache dulls out the piercing throbs down my face.

  I don’t even need to say anything when Pike picks me up off the floor and carries me to his bed.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says and then walks out of the room, only to return a few moments later with a glass of water and two Tylenol. “Here. Take these.”

  Swallowing the pills, I set the glass down and lay my head back on the pillows.

  “How bad does it hurt?” Pike asks.

  “I have a really bad headache.”

  “Your eye?”

  “It all hurts, but it’s okay. I don’t want you to feel bad or apologize,” I tell him as he lies down next to me. “How does it look?” I ask.

  He reaches out to touch the tender skin, and I flinch back at the pain.

  “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s really swollen and pink right now. It’s starting to bruise. You’ll have a nasty black eye for sure by the time you wake up tomorrow.”

  I nod and can’t help the evil smile that creeps along my lips and then turns into laughter. Pike hesitates before allowing his smile to appear, and when I see it, I roll onto my back as my laughter grows louder. Clutching my belly, I feel deranged, like somehow I’m on top of the world, celebrating our devilish game, and basking in the glory of my growing black eye.

  The past few years have been spent bonding a marriage to look like nothing other than a happy couple who is completely devoted and in love with one another. It seemed as if getting to this point of destruction would never come, but here it is in the grasp of our fingertips. And now the emotions of stress, loneliness, doubt, and determination come to fruition as they spill out of me in this crazy display of morbid laughter.

  When we start to calm down and compose ourselves, I roll over to face Pike, asking, “Am I crazy?”

  “Aren’t we all a little crazy?”

  Smiling, I say, “A simple no would suffice.”

  “No.”

  I straighten my expression, and when Pike turns his head to look at me, I remind him, “I love you.”

  “I know you do.”

  “No,” I say. “You’ve never wavered on me. After all these years, you’ve always been my constant, from the moment we met when I was eight years old. You’re the best brother anyone could ever have, and I really love you.”

  Turning on his side, his fingers feather along my swollen cheekbone as he leans in and kisses me, running his tongue along my bottom lip. I pull him in closer, tangling my legs with his as he shifts on top of me. We begin to undress each other, and I’m ready to take what only Pike has been able to give me. Moving my naked body with his, I reach down to grab his hardened dick and then guide it inside of me. And finally, I’m able to escape from everything around me.

  WAKING UP IN my bed the next morning, the side of my face throbs in heated rhythm with my heartbeat. I haven’t put ice on it to help with the swelling because I need it to look as bad as possible. I know Pike felt like shit last night after hitting me the way he did—the way he had to—but I tried assuring him that I’m okay.

  As I walk across the room and into the bathroom, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Pike was right, there’s a nasty black and blue bruise around my eye and along the crest of my cheek. I reach up to touch the swollen flesh and wince. The bruise is tender and the side of my face looks horrific.

  It’s perfect.

  I go ahead and take a quick shower and get dressed, slipping on a pair of jeans and a long cashmere sweater, dabbing on just a light touch of powder and lipgloss. The chime of my phone comes as I expected with Declan’s text.

  Miss you.

  I type my response.

  Miss you too.

  Come to my place. I need to touch you.

  My devious smile grows while I type out my next text.

  I can’t. I’m not feeling well.

  You okay?

  Just sick.

  I’ll come pick you up and bring you here.

  He responds just as I predicted, so I continue to goad him to me with my replies.

  Thanks, but I’m just going to stay here today.

  You avoiding me?

  No. I just don’t feel good.

  Then let me take care of you.

  As I’m typing out my next text, the phone begins ringing in my hand, displaying Declan’s name on the screen.

  “Why are you calling me?” I ask when I answer.

  “Why are you avoiding me?”

  “I’m not. I told you; I’m not feeling well.”

  “So instead of lying in your bed, lie in my bed. I’m coming to pick you up. Pack a bag,” he insists in a calm tone, but I resist, telling him, “Declan, no.”

  He lets go of a sigh and then questions, “What’s going on?”

  I pause, and with an uneven voice, lacking confidence, I murmur, “Nothing. Just . . . just nothing.”

  “You’re lying to me.”

  “Declan, please.”

  “I’m on my way,” he snaps, hanging up before I can respond.

  He’ll be here shortly, and I’ve no time to waste getting excited. I have to look the part, so I focus my attention on the one thing that always destroys me—my dad. I sit on one of the couches in the living room, stare out at the grey, snow-fille
d day, and let my mind drift to him, to my childhood, to everything that hurts me. I think about pink daisies, and the feel of my father’s whiskers poking me with his kisses. And then I think about the first time I went to his grave, coming face to face with the reality that he was really dead.

  After a while, I’m not even thinking about Declan. I’m solely consumed with pain and sadness as I cry into my hands. My throat knots as the misery takes over, but the jerk of reality comes when the house phone rings, and I know Declan is here.

  “Hello?” I say when I answer the call.

  “Mrs. Vanderwal, this is Manuel. I have a Mr. McKinnon here to see you.”

  “Um, yes. Go ahead and send him up, please.”

  “Will do. Good day, miss.”

  I hang up the phone as a few more tears seep out, and I let them linger on my skin as I wait for the knock, and when it comes, I look at my splotchy face, bloodshot eyes, and bruises in the hallway mirror before walking over, ducking my head down, and slowly inching the door open, saying, “Declan, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “Let me in, Nina.”

  Turning my face away from him, I walk into the living room as he follows from behind.

  “What’s going on?” he questions, and when I don’t respond, he grabs my arm and turns me around. “Fucking Christ,” he says with a horrified look on his face when he sees my black eye. “What the hell happened?”

  Covering my face with my hands, I begin to cry again. It’s easy to do with my current state of mind. He doesn’t miss a beat when he pulls me into his arms and holds me while I quietly weep, wetting his shirt with my tears.

  “Darling, what happened?”

  “Bennett was here when I got home last night,” I lie.

  Gripping my shoulders, he pulls away to look down at me, his eyes filled with venom when he asks, “He did this?”

  The tears drip off my chin, and I slowly nod as I watch his face turn to pure rage, his grip on my arms tightening.

  “I’m gonna fucking kill that bastard,” he growls. “Go pack your bags. You’re coming with me.”

  “Declan—”

  “Now, Nina. I can’t even fuckin’ think straight. Go pack your shit. You’re not staying here,” he snaps, and I don’t say anything else when I turn to walk into my bedroom and to my closet. I begin to quickly pack my bags, and as I walk back out, Declan is pacing the room. When he looks up at me, he rushes over, takes the bags out of my hands, and tucks me under his arm.

  “Where’s your coat?” he quietly asks, and when I point to the foyer closet, he wastes no time. He pulls out my coat, slips it over my arms, and then hands me my purse. I quickly put my sunglasses on before we walk out the door.

  He doesn’t speak as we take the elevator down and head outside to his car. He tosses the bags in the trunk and then we are on our way to his place. His grip on the steering wheel is firm, knuckles white, muscles flexed. With his focus on the road, I watch his jaw clenching as he grinds his teeth.

  When we finally make it to his place, his silence remains as we walk into his loft. With my hand in his, he leads me back to his bedroom. Tossing my bags onto the floor, he sits me down on his bed and gently removes my sunglasses. His eyes look over my face, examining my swollen cheek and black eye. I flinch when he touches it, and he whispers a quick apology before reaffirming, “I’m serious, Nina. I want to kill him for doing this to you.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I mumble as I drop my head.

  “Have you fuckin’ seen your face?! It’s pretty fuckin’ bad!” He takes a moment and a few deep breaths before softening his voice, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to yell at you. Just . . . Why don’t you lie down? I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Declan leaves the room, and when he returns with an ice pack, he takes a seat next to me on the bed where I’m lying down and gently places it over the side of my face. Wincing at the contact, I close my eyes and place my hand over his as he holds it in place.

  “Tell me what happened,” he whispers as he looks down at me.

  “When I got home last night, he was there. I had told him that I was spending the afternoon with a friend, but he found out I was lying and delayed his flight until early this morning,” I explain, and when a few tears seep out and roll down my temples, I continue, “He was mad, and just . . .”

  “Hit you?”

  I nod, and he asks, “He’s done this before?”

  When I nod again I see the muscles in his neck strain. Sitting up, I lean back against the headboard and begin to cry, telling him, “I’m so scared, Declan. If he ever found out about us, I don’t—”

  “He won’t find out,” he jumps in.

  “He could.”

  “He won’t.”

  “He’s not what people think.”

  “How long has this been going on?” he asks.

  “Shortly after we married. It didn’t start out so bad, but now . . .”

  “Come here,” he says as he shifts to my side and drapes his arm around me, drawing me into his hold. He kisses the top of my head before saying, “I can’t let you go back to him.”

  “I have to.”

  “You don’t have to do anything, Nina.”

  “It’s not that simple. I’m terrified of what he’ll do because he’s capable of anything,” I tell him as the remaining tears roll down my face. “This black eye is minor compared to . . .”

  “To what? Christ, Nina, it looks like someone beat the shit out of you with a fucking bat. You have no idea what I want to do to that fucker right now. Just thinking about him having his hands on you is paralyzing.”

  The rage in his voice is unyielding, and his eyes are dilated in fury.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see—”

  “You? The real you?” He closes his eyes for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then looks at me with sincerity. “Don’t ever hide from me. Not a single goddamn thing.”

  I don’t respond, but he isn’t waiting for me to when he wraps his arm around my waist and shifts us down into the sheets. My eyes close as he drops delicate kisses on my battered cheek and over my eye. With his lips against my skin, he breathes his words, saying, “It kills me to know this about you.”

  “I don’t want you to hurt for me.”

  “I’ll always hurt for you. I want to hurt for you, to take it away from you so that I can bear it for the both of us,” he whispers and then seals his lips with mine in a passionate kiss. But he can’t take my pain away. Nobody can. Pike tries, but it never lasts longer than a brief moment. My pain is threaded within the fibers of my existence. Here to stay. A reminder that we all come in different forms of decrepit.

  Declan drags his lips away from mine, saying, “Open your eyes.”

  Blinking them open, I stare up into his green emeralds when he tells me, “Leave him.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Leave him.”

  “It’s not easy like that,” I say, needing him to understand that I can’t just walk away, but he moves past my words, telling me, “I don’t want easy. I want you.”

  “I . . .”

  “Tell me what you feel for me,” he says as he parts my legs and settles himself between my thighs.

  “I don’t know if there’s a word for it, because it’s strong, but it can’t be love.”

  “Why not?” he says, his cock growing harder with each word spoken.

  “Because I’ve only known you a couple of months. It’s crazy to think about how much I already feel for you. I feel crazy for having the feelings I have for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hardly know you.”

  “You know me,” he states as he rocks his hips, pressing his erection into me.

  “Do I?”

  “I adore you. Do you need to know anything else?”

  My breathing grows unsteady as he continues to grind himself against me.

  “Open up to me. Tell me how you fee
l. Give me the words,” he insists.

  “I don’t know,” I release on a staggered voice.

  “You do. You’re just scared.”

  “Let me be scared then,” I request, but he turns it down, saying, “I won’t ever let you be scared, baby.”

  He reaches back and pulls off his shirt before sitting on his haunches and telling me, “Undo my pants.”

  Sitting up, I slip the leather strap of his belt out of the buckle, and unzip his slacks. He watches me as I reach my hand inside of his boxers and take his stiff cock in my hand, curving my fingers around the thick shaft. Without taking our eyes away from each other, I begin to stroke along the velvet smooth skin sheathing his rock hard erection. When his breathing begins to falter, he grabs ahold of the end of his belt and pulls it free from his pants.

  “Take your hands off me and put them above your head.”

  I lie down on my back and place my hands where I was told. He pulls my top off and unclasps my bra, tossing it to the floor before lacing his belt through the slats in the headboard, tying my wrists together, and securing them in an unrelenting bind.

  “Tell me how you feel right now.”

  As we look deeply into each other, I reveal softly, “Safe,” and there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe that word is a lie.

  “Say it again.”

  “Safe.”

  Leaning down, he brushes his soft lips along my bruises. “Always.” He then begins running his warm lips down between my breasts, taking them both in his hands when he peers up to me. “Always safe with me.”

  THE SHOCK OF cold touching my skin jolts me awake.

  “It’s just me, darling,” Declan soothes as he presses an ice pack to my cheek. “I didn’t want to wake you, but your bruises look to be swelling.”

  I stare up at him as he takes care of me and just watch as he examines my face.

  “You okay?”

  “Sleepy,” I mumble as I move to sit up.

  Declan releases a soft growl when the sheet drops to my waist, exposing my naked breasts.