Page 103 of Shattered In Darkness

I cover her mouth so my father doesn’t hear. I want her screams. I want to drown in them. Her legs lock around my waist, nails in my back. I grab her jaw, making her look at me while I fuck her. Eyes wide, lips swollen. She whispers she loves me. Over and over.

She cums hard, clenched around me, shaking. I can’t hold back either. I follow her, spill inside, bite her shoulder until she whimpers. Heaven. Hell. Both.

We stay tangled, sweaty, marked up. For a sliver of time I feel almost normal. Like this is what people live for. But she’s not relaxed. I notice too fast. She keeps peeking at the clock on my nightstand, tensing when she hears footsteps on the stairs. She flinches when I brush her hair off her cheek.

I kiss her again, softer this time, trying to melt the tension off her. She lets me, but her eyes never stay closed for long.

“What’s wrong?” I finally ask, voice low. I brush her hip, circle her with my arm.

She shakes her head, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing. Just—can’t stay long today. Marcus is meeting with the Russians or whatever, but he always checks on me after.”

There’s a shadow in her voice. Something colder. I don’t like it.

“He’s not going to catch you. You’re safe here.” I mean it. I’d kill for it to be true.

She shivers. “You don’t know him. He always knows.” She cuts off. Her gaze goes somewhere far away, past the walls, out into the void.

I try to force my brain into gear. “Hey.” I pull her tighter, force her to look at me. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here, and as long as I’m here, nobody will fucking hurt you. I know you’ve had a lot going on, especially since your mother died, but I’m still here.”

She’s silent, then a long sigh releases. “She’s dead, Brody. She slipped on those rocks and her head… It was fucking everywhere. I can’t get the picture out of my mind.”

My stomach clenches. I remember the funeral. The mess Marcus made of it. The glassy look in Lola’s eyes ever since. Everything changed after that day.

I stare at the ceiling. “You don’t have to talk about her.”

She nods, but she’s already pulling her clothes on. Hurrying. Zipping her hoodie, tucking her hair behind her ears over and over like if she makes it perfect, none of this happened. I want her to stay. I clench my jaw; if I say the wrong thing she might run. If I say nothing, maybe she already is.

She pecks my cheek, squeezes my hand.

“Text me?” I say, even though it’s stupid, even though I hate how needy I sound.

She flashes a quick, sad smile. “Always.”

I watch her vanish out the window, light as wind. Maybe this is normal for other people. For us, it never is.

It’s fucking quiet after. I shower, scrub the sweat and her perfume off my skin, but it never leaves. I leave the water running hot until it scalds, but I can’t shake the image of her crying, the way her body went rigid when I touched just right.

I text her. Nothing. I text again. An hour passes. There’s a hollow grinding panic in my chest, twisting my guts tight.

Ten more times. No answer. I call but it goes straight to voicemail. Dead.

Something’s wrong. I know it. The old obsession comes back. I pace my room, nearly break my phone when I slam it onto the desk. Sophie asks if I’m okay through the door. I don’t answer.

It’s late when the message comes. An unknown number. Plain, no bullshit.

Go to this address. Look at what your girl is up to when you’re not around. You can’t trust her.

I read it three times. Part of me wants to believe it’s a prank. The rest knows it isn’t. I punch the address into my phone. I know the street. Trash everywhere. Burnt-out streetlights, houses stacked too close, boarded-up windows.

Fury. Cold, clean. My hands don’t shake as I take my keys, get in the car, and drive without thinking. I park two streets down, killing the engine. I walk the rest of the way, scanning for any sign of trouble. Predators know predators.

The house stinks of piss and wet cigarettes. Laughing echoes inside, men’s voices. Shadows flicker through stained curtains. I find the side window, off the alley. Grimy but see-through.

And there. There she is.

Lola.

My fucking Bambi.