“No.” Just a girl locked in my basement.
She nods, as if to herself.
“And you?” I press. If she has a boyfriend, I’ll just throw him off of a cliff so I can keep fucking her. “Do you often cheat on your boyfriend with strange men you meet in the woods?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend. I just moved here a few weeks ago. And you weren’t strange. You were Natalie’s friend.” That’s probably the most words she’s said to me at one time.
“That’s pushing it.” I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “Natalie and I aren’t exactly friends. She dates my brother.”
Her eyes widen. “Atlas is your brother?”
Oh boy. “No, no. Not literally. I’ve just known him my whole life.”
She bites her lip, looking down at the table, as if she’s thinking.
“Where did you move from?” I ask her to get her out of her head. It seems when she disappears in there, she doesn’t talk much, and I’m not done asking her questions.
She squirms a little. “Originally? West Virginia. I move a lot.”
“Fuck boys everywhere you move?”
“Chase girls every night into the woods?”
“Maybe.”
She laughs, pushes her—my—bowl away. “Sometimes,” she admits, answering my question.
I don’t like the answer, but I don’t know why. I tell myself it’s because she’s just a kid. A kid I hit and fucked and bruised, but still.
“Let’s go upstairs.” I stand to my feet, chair legs scraping on the floor behind me.
She shifts in her seat. “I need to get home.”
“Work?”
She shakes her head.
“Parents?”
Another non-verbal ‘no’.
“Damn, okay, just spit it out then.”
“I just want to be alone. I don’t like to talk.”
I’m momentarily stunned into silence. Not many people would have the balls to say that to anyone they just met, let alone someone who just cooked for them, even if it was processed noodles.
I’m not entirely sure she’s even telling me the truth. It seems more like she wants to get away from me, but she likes me.
Maybe that’s why she wants to get away. I get that.
I flash her a smile. “Good. With my belt around your throat, you won’t be able to talk.”
Night comes too soon.
Ella seems to float down the stairs, as if whatever I did to her up there left her with a spring in her step instead of bruises on her skin.
“Hurry your ass up,” I snap at her, shoving on my hoodie. “I’ve gotta drop you off and I’m already late.” I told her I was meeting my ‘brothers’. Which is true.
She jumps down the last two steps, her green eyes holding mine as I rake my hand through my hair. She doesn’t say anything—she never seems to say much—and just takes her sweet ass time putting on her thigh-high boots, sitting on the bottom step of my stairs.
I sigh, leaning my head back against the door. “Where do you live anyway?”
She snorts.
I dip my chin to glare at her. She zips up her boots, stands to her feet and smooths down her dress. It’s wrinkled. Her lip is swollen. Hair a mess on top of her head.
She looks fucking amazing.
“Far from here.” She runs her hand over the messy bun, tied up with a rubber band she made me find for her since obviously I don’t have hair ties. “I’ll get a ride.”
She pulls a phone I didn’t even know she had out of her bra.
My mouth falls open as she scrolls through it, like she actually thinks I’m going to let her get a fucking ride. The gates to the neighborhood are guarded with armed men, anyway. And yeah, sure, if she was just an okay lay, I’d probably just give ‘em a call and tell them to let the cab through.
But she’s more than okay.
I grab the phone from her hand, and she glares up at me like she wants to slap me, for the fourth time.
I press my finger to her lips. “I’m taking you home.” I slip her phone in my pocket, other hand still on her mouth, and she makes to bite my finger. I snatch it away before she can. “You’re a crazy bitch, did you know that?”
She doesn’t say anything, just walks past me and lifts her middle finger as she pulls open the door. This kid is full of fucking surprises.
She does live far, and she lives in a trailer park. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a trailer park in my life, but it’s fascinating. There’s a dirt road, full of potholes that I have to steer carefully around—she laughs at that—and there are cars worth more than the fucking trailers themselves which just…makes no sense.
My car is a little extra. But my house…it’s worth four times as much as the McLaren.
Whatever.
“Which one is yours?” I ask her.
She doesn’t answer for a few seconds as I maneuver around another fucking pothole and I want to strangle her. If I pass it and have to turn back, I’m gonna be pissed. I’m already fucking late, my back is on fire, and I might never see this girl again which would probably be for the best but also makes me irrationally annoyed.
“Last one,” she finally answers me.
I turn in, notice that there aren’t any lights on outside, and no car in the muddy driveway. The screen door is nearly hanging off the hinges, and the porch looks like it could collapse at any minute.
She reaches for her seatbelt.
“Wait,” I say, turning off my lights. I don’t know this area of Alexandria well, but I don’t want to have to stab anyone that tries to come bum some money off of me. I realize maybe that’s a stretch and I’m being a snob, but then again…stranger things have happened.
She glances at me but undoes her seatbelt anyway. She brushes a stray lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Her lip is still red and swollen, and it’s making me hard and making it difficult to think about just what it is I want to say to her.
“Stay with me again tonight.”
She snorts, looking out the window. But she’s not getting out, so…
“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun today.”
“Do you work?”
“Excuse me?” It’s Sunday. Even if I had a normal job, chances are I’d be off today.
She turns to glare at me. “Do you work?”
Yeah. I kill people for a living. Sometimes for fun, too. “Yes.”
“What do you do?”
I wonder if Natalie mentioned the name Unsaints to her, but I’m not about to bring it up. “That’s none of your business.”
In the dash lights, I see her mouth pull up into a smile.
“Is anyone here?” I ask her, gesturing to her house, remembering she’s fucking nineteen. So damn young.
“That’s none of your business,” she parrots me.
I scrub my hand over my face, think of letting it go. Letting her get out.
Let it go.
Instead, I reach across the console, grab her by the throat. Her breath comes out in a rush but it’s not my imagination that sees her eyes light up.
“When I ask you a question, Ella, I want you to fucking answer it.” I’m not sure if this is a game. I don’t treat girls nicely, but I don’t always do…this.