Page 32 of Burn for the Devil
The same as it was in Timothy’s house, I couldn’t figure out if my eyes were open or shut and it didn’t matter. No air entered or exited my lungs, no pulse beat beneath my skin, nothing brushed my shoulders. No silky hair, no smooth fingers, no warm breath to send tingles of desire across my skin.
My heart pounded and I opened my eyes. I was in my bedroom at home, but I wasn’t alone. A large, slim hand covered with silver rings lightly pushed me back down before an index finger pressed against a pair of lips, signaling me to be quiet.
No.
Sitting back up, I snarled, yanking his hand away from his face. “It was you. This whole time, it was you.”
Ramone’s response was to climb onto the bed and crawl over me, caging me in. “It’s always been me, beautiful.” He leaned down to kiss my forehead and then nudged my legs open with his knee. Lowering himself, he moved a long leg between mine and rolled onto to his side, curling an arm around my waist.
“Why? Why would you do that to me?” Tears began streaming down my cheeks while my chest ached with a justified sense of betrayal. Ramone shut his eyes, pressing his forehead to mine. “Tell me,” I demanded, more concerned over my imprisonment than having watched a murder take place right in front of me. Shoving him away, the tumult of painful memories cascaded through my head.
Ramone reached for me; his expression unreadable but I pushed him away again, slapping at his arm while I disentangled myself from his limbs. Anger ran through me, fury over how he’d destroyed my life and caused me to doubt my own sanity combined with outrage over how I’d let my family do the same. It was all for nothing.
Was Ramone behind Matthew’s disappearance? I suspected he was, but prayed the handsome blond hadn’t met the same gruesome fate as my ex-fiancé.
So much blood.
“Get out,” I ordered the man, pointing at the door. “Get out of my house. Stay away from me. If I see you again, I’m calling the police.” I folded my arms over my chest, glaring at him.
He casually rolled off the bed and ran a hand through his hair. His sleeves were still rolled up, his skin mottled with reddish-brown smears. The swirling ink on his forearms seemed to shimmer, moving, with a life of its own beyond the flexing of the muscles under the skin. It was the same as the ink on the note. Tearing my eyes from the distraction, a thought came to me. “Wait,” I said. Ramone paused, his eyes hooded and lips parted. “The police. What about Timothy?”
“He disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” I repeated as he stared at me. I bit my lip and nodded.Okay. The same way my father’s old friends had made people disappear, I imagined. “You need to leave.”
Ramone came forward, backing me into the wall, forcing my head back. His hands wandered to my hips, heating my flesh. I held my breath. “Do you truly want me to leave?” he asked.
I glanced down, focusing on his chest, the way his clothes fit, noting the fine stitching and the gorgeous shape underneath the beautiful clothing. He was a well-dressed monster. I whispered, “You ruined my life.”
He leaned down, grazing my lips with his own, and said, “And you ruined mine.”
20
Samantha
With that statement, Ramone tugged me against his chest, gripping the hair at the nape of my neck, and pressing his lips firmly to mine. He kissed me deeply, his mouth dominating my own, chasing the oxygen from my lungs and weakening my knees. He thrust his tongue between my lips, tasting just like the beautiful, wicked thing that he was. His fingers lingered along my hipbone, tracing my curves as if committing them to memory.
Heat surged through my veins from the assault on my senses as he weaved his fingers through mine, trapping my arm over my head. My free limb traveled to his waist, clasping his firm waist right above his belt. The motion drew him in closer, leaving no space between us, the warmth of his torso radiating around the two of us like a blanket.
My suspended arm dropped free when he moved his grip back to my neck, bending my head. I felt his nose and his lips skate along my column, the scent of roses filling the air so strong the taste of the petals was on my tongue. His breath electrified my skin until all I wanted was the contact of his mouth, his teethscraping my flesh. I moaned my frustration and was answered by him flattening me against the wall, his erection grinding against my lower belly, and my own fingernails digging into his shoulder hard enough to draw blood.
No.
Pressing my hands to his chest, I tried to push him away. He was immoveable. “You have to leave; I’m not doing this with you. You hurt me, badly.”
He drew in a breath, leaning over me, caging my head with his arms. “You think you have a choice in the matter?” He tilted his head, and I watched the color of his eyes change.Change. Everything that had anything to do with this man made me doubt my sanity. “You saw what I did to Tim for you; I set you free. You belong to me.”
It was all too much for me. The tricks, the authoritarian attitude, the loss of my own will, and the compulsion to rip his clothes off and have my way with him. I lifted my arm and slapped his face, the sound echoing through my bedroom. The violence in his gaze took my breath away and left my hand suspended mid-air. He lifted his hand as if to grab me, and then disappeared. Vanished. Like he hadn’t just been here making my blood sing and my core pulse with need, my own personal devil.
I slid to the floor, shaking and clutching my head. Was I really this unstable? He didn’t deny trapping me in my dreams. I knew it was him, I knew it as much as the fact the sky is blue. How it was possible—that I didn’t understand. It shouldn’t be, it defied explanation.
Then, it hit me. It defied explanation because there was none. I’d had another mental breakdown and imagined everything, just like the last time. The pressure had been getting to me, that was true. My store had been busier, my parents were relentless with trying to marry me off, Matthew had ghosted me when he’d looked so promising, and Timothy had been coercing me backinto a relationship. Just like the imaginary tiny cottage in my dreams, I’d been making things up again. My brain was simply trying to protect me, and it’d sent me into a fantasy world. My life had always been easy, uncomplicated, and the sudden appearance of these stressors had sent me off the deep end. My little sister had suffered from some emotional problems—maybe it was genetic? I couldn’t make my parents live through that again. I’d simply had a nervous breakdown.
But I would be okay. There was no other choice but to be okay.
After I shoved myself off the floor, I walked into my kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, setting it on the island. My brief puzzlement over so many varieties of bottled water appearing in my refrigerator just like in the dream cottage was interrupted by the memory of Ramone slicing Timothy’s neck open. The visual came over me and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Stop.