Page 18 of Madness & Mayhem

I want her with me. Always. And it can never be in Hellcrest Heights.

She needs to come with me, and we need to get as far away from here as possible.

Another step forward, and the floor creaks. Lakyn’s eyes snap open, though she doesn’t see me. Only the shadow in the corner of her room.

I watch as the fear enters her gaze, a cloudiness that is as heavy as a rainy day. Her body snaps ramrod straight, and she rolls over, crab-walking across the mattress as she attempts to get away from me.

I step toward the bed, and she only grows more fearful.

Leaping forward, I grab her around the ankles, pinning her down as I come into view.

“Lakyn,” I rasp. “It’s me.”

Fear, betrayal, anger, and most of all, love shines through her gaze.

Tears spring to her eyes, and her body loosens as she leans forward. I let go of her ankles and she rolls over, getting to her knees and crawling over to me. Her hands go to my biceps, and she grips me tightly.

“You’re alive,” she whispers, heartbreak in her tone as her nails dig through my sweatshirt and into my skin. My skin shudders as pain rolls through me.

My finger goes up to her mouth, and I brush ever so slightly against her lower lip. “I’m here. With you.”

Her eyes crinkle as pain sinks in, and I know I’m the cause for it.

“Where have you been?” she asks, her eyes dropping to my abdomen.

I brush my hand over the fabric, careful to not press too firmly. “Stitching myself up.” Anger fills me, though I can’t tell whether it’s at her or myself.

“I tried to kill you,” she says simply.

Her fingers move to where she stabbed me, and I grab her wrist, pushing her until her back hits the mattress. She fights against me for a moment, but I’m stronger, holding her down as I press my knee on the bed, climbing on top of her.

Her breathing picks up, until she’s heaving beneath me. “Please,” she whispers, her voice echoing between the trees.

I smirk, reaching out, the tips of my fingers brushing against the fluttering fabric of her sweatshirt.

“Please what, baby Lake? Take what I want? Give you life? Give you death? Take you away from here? Which would you like first, because I will be delivering all of them,” I growl, my fingers curling into her shirt. I can hear the threads break from my stretching. She lets out a squeal, and my other arm swings out, curling around her waist. My muscles stretch, and a growl releases from my throat as I pull her against me, her front grinding against my wound.

I sink into the mattress, and our limbs become tangled with each other’s. Our bodies collide as we sink into her mattress, and I press into her with a possessiveness, an aggressiveness as I give her a taste of how angry I am.

The skin on my stomach stretches, and I can feel the stitches of my wound pull taut. It’s an ache that makes me feel like I’m tearing in two. Her breath whooshes out of her as I grab her wrists, hauling them above her head.

She stares at me with wide eyes, tears slipping past her temples and falling to the mattress. Her chest quakes with each breath, and I move my knees up on either side of her waist, pinning her to her bed.

Her brow furrows and she looks down, her eyes going wide after a moment. “You’re bleeding!” she hisses, panic in her voice.

I glance down, seeing the bottom of my shirt soaked in red, a damp circle growing larger by the moment. It starts to drip, too much blood pulling in the fabric.

I reach down, pulling the fabric up, seeing a stitch pulled, torn in the middle. The wound is swollen, red around the edges. Blood seeps between the stitches, dripping down and falling on top of Lakyn’s stomach. I reach down, pulling her shirt up, hissing through my teeth as I watch my dark, crimson blood paint her creamy stomach. It quivers when the drops fall to it, tensing lightly as they roll toward her belly button.

“You bleed for me,” I grunt, bringing my hand down to her thighs, where I know cuts I’ve sliced across her skin lay, and then drag it up, to her blood-covered stomach, smearing it into her skin. “I bleed for you.”

She whimpers, using her free hand and bringing it down to my cut, hovering below it. A drop of blood falls to her fingertip, and she brings it up, drawing it down my mask. “I thought you were dead,” she whispers.

I shove her shirt up, my blood smearing with it. I don’t have gloves on. Masking my fingerprints is no longer needed, not unless I take another life.

Which I plan to, but at this moment, it’s all about Lakyn.

Her shirt goes up, bunching under her breasts. Her skin ripples with goosebumps, though she remains motionless, watching me with scared eyes.