Page 67 of Redemption

My hands shake so much when I write the last sentence I have to stop and breathe. My chest feels too tight and the sensation of something crawling under my skin makes me gag with revulsion. I remember him so clearly, I don’t even have to try very hard to feel his hands around my throat, choking me, or his lips on mine, his taste, his scent, the intrusion of both body and soul.

If he comes here… if we meet again. Then I’m going to have to kill him. It’d be him or me. I shiver at the thought and clutch my hands hard in my lap.I hate him!And that’s not even entirely true. I glance across the room at Cecilia’s peacefully sleeping form. The blanket rises and falls with her slow calm breathing. How can I truly hate someone who has given me such a blessing?

How can I kill her father?

My cheeks are hot and wet and I realize I’m crying. We have to move. That’s the only solution. We’re not safe here anymore.

They say there’s a storm coming in a few days. If it’s anything like last year, then nobody can come here and nobody can leave. That means a few days, or maybe even weeks, of peace.

I close the journal and drop it on the table. He’s always on my mind, and yet I can’t see his face any longer. It’s been so long. I wonder if I’d even recognize him.

I hope to God I’ll never find out.

Christian

I’m restless and infuriated. I’ve got all this pent-up energy that hasn’t gotten its release. My self-loathing has reached a new high and it’s as if I itch inside.You let her go! You fuckin’ fuckin’ moron!

The twenty-minute drive along the highway hasn’t done anything to calm my nerves and I need something I can’t properly articulate. I aim to take a left turn toward my hotel in the east part of the center of Winnipeg, but then I change my mind and continue straight forward instead, to the vibrant core of the city, to where the bars and the clubs are.

At one in the morning, the night life is buzzing on one of the main streets. I cruise slowly, still unsure what I’m looking for. Finally, I decide to park in a poorly lit alley. Outside the air is chilly and it smells of approaching snow. I sharpen my senses and listen to the night, standing absolutely still for a few moments. The car chirps twice as I lock it and then I start walking, a bit more at ease. I’m the biggest predator out here. No one’s above me.

And I’m not below anything.

Black heavy doors. Giant bouncers on the outside, five bars and three dance floors on the inside. I don’t know what made me pick the place. Inside it’s foggy, multi-colored laser beams sweep through the mist, across sweaty bodies of people too drunk, or too stoned to walk straight. They seem to want to steer into me constantly. I don’t really fit in, and yet I do if I work my magic, if I allow myself to transform and become one with the heat, with the mood, with the pulse. With the beat of the dance music, hard, raw, nagging and ruthless, the whiskey and the lonely girl by the bar, I suddenly know what made me pick the place, what it is I’m looking for.

People could get lost here, not to be found until the next morning. People could get killed here. I’m sure it has happened. It’s that kind of place.

I feel a little less frustrated. Something’s bound to happen, something that’ll give me my release. I steer languid steps toward her, she has her back to me and is completely unaware I have her pinned. I almost laugh at the irony. It’s the little bitch from the boutique my hit was at yesterday. She has long straight hair, charcoal black, all the way to her ass.

The sight makes my gut clench, remembering a similar sight of a red-headed woman who turned out to be my downfall.

She’s wearing leather pants and a very small white top that shows a piece of her hard, trim belly.

Alluring.

I shake off the memory of Kerry and sneak up behind her, grab her hips and pull her toward me as I bend my head and bite her where the neck meets the shoulder. Hard, but not hard enough to break the skin. It’s a daring move. I know it’ll work. A girl like her, playing tough and hard to get, is begging for a master, for someone to just take her.

She yelps and tries to push away, her whole body screaming of indignation. I let her turn so she can see me and feel her soften already. Using the new position I press her tighter against me, letting her feel my hard cock. I already know I’ve won. Her eyes widen with appreciation, flirting back already.

“What’s your name, baby?”

“Cherry,” she gasps.

She’s not Kerry, but there are enough similarities. My heart makes an unhealthy leap in my chest. Too fucking close. “Come.”

“Where’re we going?” She giggles a little too loud, too drunk to be apprehensive of the situation, and squirms in my grip, rubbing against my cock. She molds into my rough embrace, already fitting like a glove, and I know how I’m gonna pull this off.

“My place.”

This is what women always do. Fucking throw themselves at my feet. It’s utterly boring. It’s the opposite of what Kerry Jackson did.

And look what I did to her. To someone I actually liked.

I’m a fucking monster.

Twenty

Kerry