Then Liesel disappeared.
She didn’t show up in any of our classes.
She didn’t come to her locker.
She didn’t sit with us at lunch.
She was gone.
I had to find her, clearly something terrible had happened.
I ran back to the club where I worked for Enzo’s father. I pulled up all the security cameras I could find. But I didn’t find her at the house, the club, or any of the properties Enzo’s family owns.
She wasn’t at the guest house or the house she grew up in either.
She was gone.
There was only one place she could have gone—the ocean.
It took me all day to find her.
When I did, she was passed out. Blood spilled from her wrist onto the sand.
I had killed before but never saved.
Until then.
That night I saved her.
“I regret it,” I say.
“What?”
“I. Regret. It.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, and we both know what I’m talking about without saying it—I regret saving her. I wouldn’t be in this mess if I had just let her die. If I hadn’t searched for her that day. If I hadn’t found her.
“Me too,” she snaps back.
I nod.
She lets out a deep breath as she pulls her knees to her chest.
“I lied,” Liesel says.
I let a beat go by before I answer her.
“I know.”
Just like I know that she didn’t want to die that day. She wanted the pain to end. She didn’t want to be alone.
Liesel opens her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it.
“Come on—bedtime,” I say.
I snatch her glass and put it back in the bag along with mine. Then, I pick up the towel we were sitting on and pack it in the bag before I start walking toward the house.
Liesel keeps step with me, walking by my side instead of behind me, almost like we shared a connection, instead of more lies.
I drop the bag off in the kitchen, and then head up the stairs.
Liesel follows silently, but I can feel the apprehension flowing off her.
We reach the top floor before I stop.
“Last chance, my bed or locked up?”
“Locked up,” she says fiercely.
It pisses me off.
I may not be able to handle her near me during the day, but at night, I want her with me. Her words feed the monster inside me.
An idea forms to persuade her.
“Follow me,” I say.
Liesel does. She chooses her moments, and it seems she’s going to fight me with her lies, not her fists.
I lead her into my bedroom.
She stops abruptly in the doorway. “I said I wouldn’t sleep in your bed.”
“I’m not asking you to sleep in my bed.” I walk over to the closet door and open it.
“This is the only room in the house that doesn’t have a window or door for you to climb out of.”
She smirks. “Why did you let me roam around the beach when you knew I escaped?”
“Because I don’t care how you spend your days. I just care about your nights.”
She tugs on her robe, closing it tighter around her waist.
She hasn’t asked for clothes.
And if I know her, her stubborn ass won’t.
She can pull it as tightly around her as possible, but it can’t hide her body from me. The robe is too big for her, which somehow makes it easier to see the swell of her breasts and the muscles of her legs. The rest of her, though, is left up to my imagination, at least for tonight.
“Don’t test my patience, Liesel. Get in the closet or get in my bed.”
I won’t chase her if she runs; I won’t have to. She wants to act strong and tough, as if I don’t affect her. Her body tells the real story though—the storm brewing in her eyes, the way she’s biting her plump lip, the way she’s twisting her body away.
Her eyes run down my body, and she notices that my cock is straining in my pants for her.
Before I can say anything, she runs into the closet like that’s going to save her.
I move to close the door.
“You lost a week of time for lying.”
“What about my punishment?”
My jaw ticks. “Goodnight, Liesel.”
Then I close the door, locking her in my dark closet.
I pull out my phone and text Joel.
Liesel is in my closet. Do your worst.
I grab my tennis shoes by my bedroom door and slip them on. I pull my shirt off and head out into the night for a run.
This time, I won’t be here to save her.
21
Liesel
Langston won’t forget about my punishment.
The door closes shut with a hard thud, followed by a clink of the lock.
I grip the handle, feeling Langston still standing on the other side of the door. I press my other hand to the door, and I feel his hot desire.
Why didn’t he rape me?
Why didn’t he kiss me? Touch me? Force himself on me?
I know he’ll punish me. He won’t forget.
I made sure the lies I’ve told stung. I may not be able to escape, I may not be able to fight back physically, but I can inflict pain with my words.
I hear footsteps and then nothing.
He’s gone.
It’s still early. Maybe he headed back downstairs for another drink before bed? I wish I had drunk more, then maybe I’d be able to sleep in this dark closet.
He put me in a fucking closet—the bastard.
I feel around the walls, hoping for a big pile of clothes to sleep on. All I feel is drywall.
He removed all the fucking clothes!
My back hits the wall in the farthest corner of the dark closet before I slump down to the floor.
I can’t see an inch in front of me in the darkness.
Langston left me alone in a pitch-black, box of a room. Maybe my punishment is sleeping in the darkness with my nightmares? He doesn’t know that it’s not the darkness or the nightmares that I’m afraid of.
The pain I feel comes from somewhere else—something Langston will never understand.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping the pain and torment won’t come for me tonight. There are only two ways to keep the pain out: sleep and sex.
Sleep isn’t going to happen for hours. I’m used to living on very little sleep. And there is no way I’ll be able to fall asleep on this cold, hard floor.
I can do something about the other option.
The one good thing about being locked in a dark closet is that there are no cameras in here.
When I fucked Waylon all night, I did it as much for the cameras, for Langston, as I did it for me. I put on a show for Langston, showed him what he can never have.
Tonight is all about me. I need this. I need the distraction. Langston doesn’t get to watch me pleasure myself.
I grab the strap of the robe, untie it, and let the robe fall open.
Instinctively, I look up into the corner to double-check there isn’t a camera. If there is one, I can’t see it. And if Langston is watching, an uneasy feeling will take hold of me.
None does.
There is no camera.
I purse my lips as I let out a breath, trying to relax. This is my happy place—fucking.
I can’t fuck Waylon, but I can fuck myself.
I close my eyes, tuning out the world.