Savaged Page 7

  “Thank you. I didn’t expect this. At. All.”

  “It’s the unexpected that does funny things to our hearts.” My mouth hangs open, parting a little too long. What the fuck has gotten into me?

  “Well, I appreciate it. And you’re right. It’s a little less scary hanging out in your dungeon. If I do say so myself.”

  Sensing the smile on her face, I promptly ask, “What’s your middle name?” I already know the answer, but I promised her we’d play her little game. And I’m a man of my word.

  Staring blankly, mouth agape, Cambree seems shocked by my question. “Rae. Cambree Rae Evans,” she answers softly.

  “Hmm….” I hum, trying to sound like I’m pondering her answer.

  Within a few seconds, Cambree asks in return, “What’s yours?”

  “I don’t have one. What’s your favorite color?” I question, imagining that her answer will be pink.

  “It’s blue. Like the ocean…or the sky.” Her answer is much different than I had expected. It’s honest. “What’s your favorite book?” she promptly asks, catching me off guard.

  “Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, and yours?”

  I hear her softly snicker. “Promise not to judge me?”

  “Should I be nervous that you’re going to say your favorite author is Judy Blume or something?”

  The sweet sound of laughter fills the air.

  “Umm, no,” she says, short and to the point. “It’s Twilight by Stephanie Meyer.”

  “I didn’t peg you for a vampire admirer, you know, being afraid of the dark and all.”

  “And I didn’t peg you as an Austen fan,” she shoots back. “Next question. What nationality are you?”

  “Nope, it’s my turn,” I joke, trying to deflect. I never joke or laugh, but her question hits a little too close to home and I have to brush it off. “Why are you wearing a dress?”

  “I’m here to service you, Mr. Kincaid. I thought I’d at least dress for the part that I’m playing.” Her tone is seductive, alluring. “My turn. Since you won’t answer my previous question, at least tell me how old you are.” Her voice changes back to the girl I first met, insecure with a hint of boldness.

  When I answer her, my voice is warm. “I’m twenty-six.”

  “I always have been attracted to older men.” Her lips part in surprise as she lets out a small laugh.

  The mood in the room shifts, our innocent questions tossed out of the window, replaced with ones that are more serious.

  “How can you be attracted to someone you’ve never seen?” Sternness lingers in my voice as I ponder her statement.

  “Sight is something that people use as a crutch. Like, I don’t have to see you to know that you’re broken. I can hear it in your voice when you speak.” Her words pierce through me and hit directly in my core.

  “It’s barely there, and to the average ear, perhaps unnoticeable, but, I do. I’ve been broken, scared, and felt hopeless on more occasion than one. So, I know what it feels like to be so fucked up inside that you don’t feel like the outside is worthy for anyone to see. I might not truly be attracted to you, yet. The darkness that you live in scares me shitless, but in the pit of stomach, I’m glad I walked through your door last night. I’m glad I met you and made a new friend.”

  As if I’ve been sucker punched, all of the air leaves my lungs, and I’m left breathless, wondering who on earth this woman is, and how I got so lucky to have met her. In the short time that we’ve known one another, Cambree Rae Evans has made me feel things I haven’t in a long time. A strange sense of curiosity washes over me, like a bucket of water tossed in my face.

  “Niko, is er…everything okay?” Cambree’s shaky voice calls out after a brief moment of silence.

  “Everything is great,” I reply sharply. Everything isn’t great. Everything is all sorts of fucked up.

  It’s been two years since I’ve gone on a formal date, to the grocery store, or left the estate, for that matter. I’ve never had any sort of romantic connection with any woman who has serviced me in the past. Did I feel sexual longing, tension, lust? Hell fucking yeah, I did, but those feelings have always ended when the woman shut the door behind her. They’ve never lingered.

  This morning was agony, though. Feeling some sort of power over my life, only to have the daylight rip it away, replacing it with a dreadful fear in my soul, wasn’t pleasant, but it was a good reminder not to get caught up in Cambree Evans. I took a vow to never let that happen again. Yet, here I am, standing merely inches away from her, about to do something I’ll most likely regret in the morning.

  “I’d like to show you something, but you have to promise me not to laugh.”

  “I would never laugh at you, Niko. It’s not in my nature.” Holding her small hand out in front of her, she reaches into the dark. I peer at it for a few seconds; it’s inches from my waist. Reaching out, I lace her fingers with my own. Another first, I think to myself as I lead Cambree into my bedroom.

  “Wow, so you wanted to show me your impressive bed? What is that, a king?” she asks while smirking as she stands in front of me. Hot breath blows out of my parted lips onto her neck.

  Her nearness makes my senses spin wildly out of control. My heart rate accelerates, and I wonder if bringing her in here was a bad idea. There will be no sex happening tonight, or so I think. I’ll be damned if I push myself on anyone. Regardless of whether I am paying for it or not, I’m not a rapist. But now, I don’t know what will happen. She hasn’t run screaming, she’s still here and seems interested. That fact alone settles my nervous gut.

  Her hair smells intoxicating, and from behind she looks as immaculate as a sculpted piece of artwork. Not to mention her provocative dress isn’t helping matters with my raging libido.

  Walking toward my dresser, I slide open a drawer and grab a small frayed photograph from the stained wooden drawer. I don’t know why I feel so inclined to share something so personal with her, but I do. I’d like to think it would help her trust me, or have some unspoken faith in our friendship. The reality is the only way I know how to express myself is to share a little piece of me–even if it is the old version.

  I’m drunk on hope, and hope can do some pretty fucked up things to a man’s mind.

  “You’re welcome to have a seat, I won’t bite,” I tease, as I near the side of my bed. I sit on the corner and hold the photo in my hands. The bed dips down as Cambree sits beside me. “I haven’t been as forthcoming with others as I am about to be with you. Understand that the man I am about to show you isn’t the same one that’s sitting next to you today. But, I think you deserve to meet him anyway. I think he would have really liked you.”

  Interrupting me, Cambree continues with her flattery, giving me too much credit. “I know we’ve only just met, but you don’t seem like a bad person. Yeah, it’s a little bizarre that you pay women to screw you, but that doesn’t mean you have a bad soul.”

  “It’s not my soul that’s bad, Cambree.” My admission chokes me. If only I were strong enough to tell her that it’s my body that’s scarred, that I’m not bad, but my past is. The true monsters were the men who brainwashed me into thinking I wasn’t worthy of even the simplest things, like breathing.

  “This is who I was.” With a feeling of uncertainty, I hand Cambree the photograph. The darkness makes it nearly impossible for her to see the picture. I can tell as I watch her intently. Honestly, I’m not even sure if she can make out the image, which may or may not be a good thing. “Use your phone to see it, but only shine it on the photo.” She tilts it to the side and stares at it attentively, squinting.

  “You’re handsome, and if I could see you, really see you, with the lights on, I’d bet that you’re still just as handsome.”

  Her voice sounds like angels as the clouds part from the sky. It’s a glorious sound. If I could have met her right after the attack, maybe I could believe her words. Too much time has passed now. It’s hardened my heart and changed me from the inside
out. What’s left is simply a small fragment of my old self and a sordid body.

  Cambree continues to speak. “I wish I knew what happened. This man,” she holds the picture up in front of her, “he’s not living life in the dark. From the looks of it, he appears happy.” She turns her body, positioning herself closer to me on the side of the bed. Her arm brushes mine. Her touch makes me gulp. “I hope that one day you’ll feel secure enough in our friendship to tell me about what changed you. The man in this photograph and the one sitting beside me are clearly two different people. Let me help you remember who that man was. You’ve been nothing but nice to me. Am I wrong that he and you still have a lot in common? Or have you blocked him out completely and replaced his memory with nothing but darkness?”

  A harsh tone sets itself within me. Her words irk me and I snap, “It was a mistake showing you.” I quickly reach in front of me to take back the photo. Gripping the edge of the picture, I tug.

  Cambree’s grasp only tightens; her smile fading as she speaks. “You wanted to show someone. You’ve probably been dying to, but you never had the chance because you’ve never felt like you could trust anyone. I get that you’re lonely. I’ve been there. Rock bottom isn’t a happy place. But I had someone holding their hand out in front of me, begging me to take it, to let them help me climb up out of the hole. Let me be that person for you. You’re already paying me.”

  A brief moment passes as my heart tries to catch up with my brain. I hear what she is saying. It’s registering, but not clicking.

  “I can sense that you’re scarred, on the inside and out,” Cambree says with certainty laced in her words.

  I freeze, more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt before. A slow clench in my jawline forms and I feel like I’m going to explode. Not from anger, but passion. This amazingly breathtaking woman, who I’ve only just met, has emotionally touched me. The connection that I’ve longed to feel since the attack is sitting right in front of me, except I don’t know what to do or how to act.

  What’s wrong with me? An internal debate causes chaos in my mind, clouding it in the process. For a split second, the careful, secretive side of me gets lost in my own thoughts. Images of me laying Cambree down, crawling on top of her, rubbing her soft skin and sinking into her, make me wish I were anything but a monster. She deserves more than to be hiding herself away in a room with someone who is supposed to be dead. I’m too ashamed to face the world with scars that label me as a freak. I admit I was once vain, but the man that I am today is anything but that. I’m weak. The fear that my attackers would somehow find out that I’m not dead has forced me into this secretive lifestyle. It’s hindered me in ways I never imaged when I first went into hiding.

  I don’t deserve her – or even the idea of letting myself get lost in her – or even taste her, if just for once. Because I know, just one taste won’t be enough. I’ll be addicted, and dealing with another flawed situation in my life isn’t something I can handle right now.

  “The look in my eyes isn’t an inviting one, Cambree. It’s a warning.” My expression stills and grows serious. I’m trying like hell to convince her and myself.

  “I don’t get why you’re fighting this…pull. I feel it too. I’m not fighting, I’m not even struggling.”

  Grinding my teeth, I know in the pit of my stomach that she is right. Hell yes, I’m fighting this strange feeling. I’m scared out of my fucking mind because I honest to God feel something. My once stone-cold heart now beats a warm melody. Why her out of all people? I’ve never felt the amount of desire that’s building as strong as I do in this very moment. I’ve never contemplated bearing my soul to someone else, or even giving someone a glimpse of what lies inside of me. They could have my body. I was okay with sharing that, but my soul was not to be touched, and goddammit, Cambree did just that.

  Roughly, I turn to her. My face is stern when our eyes connect and my heart pounds wildly in my chest. Licking my lips, I swallow hard. My expression grows stiff, fighting the temptation that burns in me. “I think you should get out.”

  Time stands still, my temper flares from within, and I pray that she has enough strength to walk away because I don’t. Although it’s only our second encounter, I feel drawn to her even though I know I shouldn’t.

  “You can kick me out. I’ll go. It’s fine. But just remember, you are still going to be here in this room alone, until you let someone in. When you think about that, when your reality sets in and you have to order your only friend to find another service girl, remember you pushed me away.”

  Cambree walks out the door. The sound of it slamming shut in the frame feels like a swift kick to the balls, and I’m left with only my thoughts, wondering what in the fuck I just did.

  It’s only been a few days after Niko kicked me out of his room, but I’m still annoyed and a little pissed that a grown man would act so childish. I don’t know what I expected out of him, but it surely wasn’t that.

  “I don’t know why he’s such an ass, Jarod. You tell me. Really, you should have warned me. Where was the ‘he’s a raging dick’ clause in the paperwork?” My lips press together in anger. A few seconds pass before I part them to take a sip of my iced coffee. I sit across from him in the booth, staring blankly while waiting for his answer, tapping my foot impatiently on the floor.

  “The dark is a tempting place, Bree, but it isn’t for everyone,” he says, still using the name I gave when I introduced myself.

  His vague statement makes my head spin, like a basketball player rotating a ball on his index finger. What does he mean it isn’t for everyone? Does he, or Niko, think I can’t handle the dark or his demons?

  Although the universe might be telling me to walk away, I know that I can’t. Yes, Niko demanded that I leave, but I think he was really just deflecting the issue. He’s probably not used to women being so forthcoming with their feelings. I know I keep going back and forth. I want to use him for money. I want to heal him. My head is crowded but for some dumb reason, I feel as if I have a service to do. Not technically speaking, since he did pay me to service him, but theoretically.

  The poor guy lives in an estate as grand as the White House itself, but he keeps himself locked away in a small corridor like a prisoner. I know he thinks he isn’t worthy of anyone seeing him. What I don’t know is why? We never got that far, but like with every story, even if it isn’t a happily ever after, I want to know the beginning, middle, and the end.

  “I want to go back,” I admit as I sit my empty cup on the table in front of me. Leaning forward, I grab my purse from off the floor and slide the leather strap over my head so it’s snug against my chest.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Bree. It’s been a few days since you left the estate. You know—” Jarod stops midsentence, his left eyebrow raises a fraction.

  “I’m not stupid, I know he’s probably already screwed some hooker, but I want to go back. He’s your best friend, and spending time with you has made me realize he is worth it, even if he doesn’t see it himself. He’s never going to be the man he once was if he doesn’t stop trying so hard to be the monster he thinks he’s become.”

  Loose tendrils of dark hair fall in my face as I ask, “How many? If I go back, I just need to know how many women he’s had this week. I don’t know why. I know it’s not even my business, we’re not involved romantically in the slightest, but I have to know.”

  “None,” Jarod is quick to answer. His words don’t resonate with me for a few seconds. I want to turn away, to hide my excitement, but I can’t.

  I’m instantly wide-awake, my eyes glued on his. “But, I thought…you were going to say….”

  The warmth of Jarod’s smile echoes in his voice. “I was going to say, you know…I’ve never seen him act so uninhibited with a woman, especially one he just met.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask bluntly.

  “For starters he offered you a drink. He didn’t get right down to business, and he showed himself to you, physica
lly and emotionally. And the picture, well that was the icing on the cake. He pushed you away because you made him feel something. He hasn’t felt anything but loneliness and hate in a long time. Going back is your decision, but it’s one you shouldn’t make on a whim.”

  Niko Kincaid surprises me once again. After the intensity of our time spent together and his asking me to leave so abruptly, I thought for sure he’d have his wicked way with someone by now. If for no other reason than to push thoughts of me out of his head, but he didn’t. And because of that, my decision to return to the estate is made.

  “TOMMY, YOU’VE GOT TO get a handle on this Anton situation,” Neil says into the phone. “If he catches wind that Mr. Kincaid is still helping you, who knows what he is going to do.” Neil runs his hand through his hair in agitation as he sits across from me. “All right, I got it. He’s not going anywhere, but you’d be foolish to think I’m just going to sit around while that maniac is on the run. Got it, bye,” he spits out the words impatiently then disconnects the line and stares blankly at the wall.

  It’s nearing noon and I’ve already heard more bad news this morning than most people hear in a year. My attacker is still at large and I’m still in hiding. It feels good to finally have a name for one of the assailants, but knowing that it was one of the first men my father had locked up is hard to hear. It means that Anton has been harboring a lot of hate toward my family for some time now. What still bothers me is, not knowing whom his accomplice was.

  “He left me for dead.” I glance around the room sharply, my eyes blazing with fury. “There’s got to be more to the story? I get he was thrown in jail because of my father’s passion for cleaning up the streets. He turned him in and Anton killed him? It seems a little extreme, and then to come after me?” My voice is hoarse with frustration and a longing for the truth as I question Neil.

  He lowers his head, his eyes darkened with shame. “Yes,” is all he’s able to force out.