The small bathroom filled with steam. It was weird being back here. The last time I was in this room, I was washing my sins down the drain. Now, I was ridding myself of Malice's bloody promise. "May I?" Anthony asked, his voice a rasp. He reached for the edge of my shirt and lightly lifted it. I nodded my head with consent, thrilled that he was touching me. Having Anthony so close felt like coming home. I was too scared to speak. What if I ruined this?
"I was worried about you," Anthony said while lifting the thin, stained shirt over my head and tossing it on the ground. "Almost got in my car and drove to Cora's compound to beat Nick's ass."
I chewed on my lip. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Anthony reached around me, as if wrapping me in a hug, and unclasped my bra. He shuddered the moment the straps fell down my shoulders and my breasts were free. He pressed tighter against me, and I felt him inhale and exhale against my body.
"I'm not sure if I know what scared really means anymore."
He pulled away and dropped to his knees. I watched in fascination as he unbuttoned my shorts and eased them over my hips. "Why?" I croaked.
"I guess when you've been through hell, everything else feels easy. I'm not mad that Nick risked you today. I'm mad that he trusted you to handle it. I'm tired of my family treating me like I'm broken."
"You're not broken, Anthony," I said while stepping out of my shorts. He reached up for my underwear and slowly, slowly eased them down, gasping at the sight of my pussy.
"Nick took you to the devil's playroom because you trusted him to take care of you. I might enjoy the privilege his guilt grants me, but one day, I hope he trusts himself with my safety too. I love my family, Juliet."
Anthony leaned close and blessed my inner thigh with a tragic kiss. He sucked on my supple skin while reaching around to dig his fingers into the meaty globes of my ass. I tilted my head back and basked in his teasing. He moved closer to the apex of my thighs and breathed me in.
"Get in the shower," he demanded before pulling away. I was sad that our moment was over, but I didn't want to pressure him. He stood up and stared at the ground as I moved to stand under the steamy stream of water.
I waited. And waited.
Anthony flipped off the lights, bathing the room in pitch black. I held my breath as I heard him move the curtain aside. He stepped into the small shower with me, his presence warm and comforting. I gasped when he wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. "It's easier for me..." He paused. "When I can't see."
"Just feel me, Anthony."
I slowly ran my fingers over his abs, his collarbone, his biceps. He let me explore the hard grooves of his body. I avoided his back and the scars I knew that were there, even though I wanted to kiss away the pain with my trembling lips.
Without warning, Anthony spun me around and hugged my back to his torso. I felt too aware of his hard cock poised against my ass. He kissed my shoulder. My spine. He ran his hands along my arms and reached around my waist and between my legs. I let out a moan when his fingers found my sweet spot of pleasure.
"You're too warm," he whispered. "Too alive." His tone sounded pained. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, but at that moment, I would have given him anything.
He teased my clit with the pad of his finger, circling around it with rhythmic circles. I braced both palms against the tiled wall as the hot water rained down on us. "Fuck," I cursed. Anthony felt too good for words. In the dark, in this intimate moment, I relished in every sensation.
Then, without warning, Anthony turned the water icy cold. It was a shock to the system, and I jerked out of the way, confused by what he was doing. "What is going on?" I asked.
"When he was done with me, he'd put me in a refrigerator with the others," Anthony admitted.
I tried to move out of the icy stream, but I couldn't. "Who are the others, Anthony?" I asked, my teeth starting to chatter.
"The cold ones. The dead," he admitted before slamming me against the wall and kissing me hard. I pressed tight against his body for warmth. I didn't understand what he was saying and wanted answers.
"He'd touch me. Torture me," Anthony said between kisses. I couldn't tell if it was tears or water running down his face. "Then he'd toss me in with all his other victims. I thought I was dead. I should have been dead."
I started to cry. I couldn't imagine all the pain this poor man went through. I cupped both his cheeks, forgetting how cold I felt. He seemed completely comfortable. "I was naked," he admitted. "I used her like a blanket. They comforted me. All their dead limbs. Their lifeless eyes. I don't know how to be with anyone alive anymore."
Anthony Civella thrived with the dead because they were the only ones there for him during his darkest moment. I pictured this bloodied man being tossed into a pile of victims. It was horrifying. With this realization, I let the water turn my skin to ice. I calmed my chattering teeth. I went stiff. I became what Anthony needed. "Let me die a little for you," I whispered.
He picked me up and carried me out of the shower and out of the bathroom. He placed me on a metal table. He kissed my skin. He ran his hands up and down my body. He got on top of me. He pried my legs open and sunk deep inside of me. It was this detached experience. I felt disconnected. Him. Him. Him. All I could focus on was Anthony Civella and his demons.
As more time passed, I settled into the warmth created by our moving bodies. I found the surface of my pleasure. I crawled to the forefront of my mind. My body was used for his selfish purposes. It didn't feel sick or twisted or wrong. I didn't feel used. It felt like progress, a step toward taking back his power. When he kissed me, I kissed him back. I moaned. I participated. I enjoyed.
I showed him how alive I was with every response, every hitch in my breath. Every moan, twitch, clench, and sob.
"Yes," I cried out as he moved faster. The metal table was loud, and every jolt of his body created this crashing, screeching sound. Anthony seemed so strong to me right then. He was the most powerful person I'd ever met. He conquered my body and his nightmares.
"I'm never letting you go," he said. "You're mine, Killer."
27
I faced my fears and fell asleep in the death dungeon. It wasn't comfortable, lying on Anthony's thin mattress. But he slept soundly, his muscular arms wrapped around my body. I spent most of the night staring at his face. I refused to pity him; a man like Anthony, who had overcome so much, deserved nothing but awe.
The next morning when we woke up, he wrapped me in his soft blanket and kissed my bare shoulder. We didn't talk about what happened the night before. Maybe avoiding it was unhealthy. But I felt closer to him now. I understood his traumatic past better, and I was able to navigate his unique needs, too.
Palm to palm, we held hands and walked upstairs.
Malice was in his bedroom with the door open, and when he saw us, he slammed it shut.
I got ready for the day feeling anxious about what was to come. It was such a strange contradiction to feel as though I belonged to each of these men while knowing at the same time that I didn't. I'd passed the point of no return and crossed that thin gray line of right and wrong, not thinking about my friendship with Vicky, not worrying about how it would affect their sibling relationship. I found pieces of myself within each unique relationship.