Page 28 of The Price Of Possession

I’m naked attacking a man double my size.

I've lost it.

My tears of despair are now replaced with an unbridled hurricane of wrath. My cracked nails catch on his shirt, lacerating it. I force his back against the jagged rocky gravel. They dig into his backside, but he doesn't even try to stop me or let on that he's in any discomfort. My stomach is on fire from the burns. His jeans are still undone, slung loosely off his hips. His hands find my sides, forcing me down until my pierced clit sits flush with his evident bulge. I ignore it, focusing solely on the destruction and demise I want to cause him.

His shirt gives way, ripping open exposing his chiseled, heavily tattooed abs. It steals my breath away for a fleeting moment. But it doesn't stop me. I viciously dig my nails into his flesh so deep he bleeds, hissing in pain. His face contorts in a furious flare making him jolt upward. The shirt falls off in tatters leaving him bare.

It's then I realize I've never seen Kieran naked, let alone shirtless. Then . . . I see them.

Scars. Burns.

Deep lacerating marks forged deep into his skin. The tattoos cover most of them, but not all. Is this why he is covered in ink? To hide his scars? They're all healed, and obviously old. I pause, chest heaving as I soak up the realization. The air grows thick. Was he abused, too? These aren't self-inflicted. At least, not all of them.

A few are fresher and newly healed. My fingertips trace over the welts and scar tissue along his abdomen. He has a raven wrapped in thorns. The raven itself appears distressed and unable to fly free. For a moment my anger dissipates, replaced by cognizance. It takes all but two seconds before he flips like a switch. His enigmatic, chaotic attitude is replaced with a cold, hardened mask.

His hand snaps out and snatches my wrist in a painful hold. His eyes carry a visceral edge. He doesn't utter a word. He doesn't need to. Another piece of the puzzle. He's an enigmatic labyrinth that needs to be solved.

“That's enough,” he growls at me.

My body judders. No one has ever touched my scars. I've buried those memories. I've always fucked with my clothes on for that very reason. Her fingers brushed over the welts, reminding me of all the fucked shit I've endured. I'm a Goddamn freak show. The last thing I need is for someone to get a glimpse of my past life. Or worse, her pity. Nah, I don't need anyone's sympathy. Fuck that.

I shove her off, knocking her into the rocky outcrop of gravel. I'm sure it will add to her collection of bruises. Act now, think later as always. Her face collapses under my aggression, melting into a heavy frown. I snatch my jacket and shrug it over my shoulders, shielding my deformities from her. She's still naked from my claim. I should offer her something, but I don't. Her eyes drill into me as she tries to connect the dots.

Ya, I'm a cruel asshole, sweetheart.

“What happened?” She curls herself into a tight ball to keep warm, ignoring my callous behavior entirely like she's used to it, expecting nothing less.

I refuse to provide answers. I say nothing at all. She's pushing the envelope and it is consuming me from the inside out. I’m a hair's breadth away from fucking her into silence. Partially because it will help get this aggression out and the need to possess every fractured piece of her teases me. My self-control is hanging by a damn thread. It's obvious by her reaction she's in a state of shock and disbelief. Could be the cold, too.

She has no idea if she's free to go or my prisoner the way her eyes shift between me and the ossuary. I offer her no explanation for either conundrum. I stalk over to the Bugatti and rip the passenger door open without a single word. Uncertainty falls over her features. She's probably weighing her options. Running wouldn't get her far. I'm sure it's confusing as shit in that little head of hers.

Try me, sweetheart.

She wordlessly follows, sliding into the front seat knowing she's stuck with me for the time being.

Smart choice.

She sinks into the cool leather. Her gaze stays trained forward. I sail around and climb in the driver's seat. Her scent fills my car and I curse internally. I didn't account for any of this shit. I haven't a clue what the hell I'm doing or where I'm going. My best bet would be Zain's, but that could come back to bite my ass if she spouts off to Vesper about the trials I've put her through.

And frankly, dealing with any other shit right now is out of the question. Bringing her back to Mortensen's would be her suicide. I already know what he would do once he sees what I've done to her body. At this moment, despite my internal rage, I still find myself unable to give her up. I'm caught up in her and how our world connects together.

Nothing is simply black and white anymore. As much as she pushes boundaries, something draws me to her. Like the grim reaper to death. I rummage in the backseat and present her with a sage green wool blanket. She shrugs it over her bare shoulders. The tires kick up gravel as I speed out of the cemetery. My hands cling to the steering wheel in a vice-like grip until my knuckles turn white. Dust settles in my rearview.

We drive in silence and thank fuck for that. I'm not sure I could hold back without going postal on her. Not that I give much of a fuck, but I know it’ll lead to a heated discussion I don't feel like fucking having. The bitch has a backbone when she's not deep into one of her depressive rollercoasters of emotions. I still have yet to figure out why. I hate the fact I even give a shit at all.

We pull up to Mortensen's estate against my better judgement. I'm running out of options. Guess I'm hiding her until I figure my shit out. No doubt I’ll regret this. Her face turns stark white when the massive august structure comes into view. It's almost humorous. I throw the car in park. I like watching her squirm. Anthracite stones creep high along the horizon. The property is magnificent. It's been in the family for generations. Would have been mine if I wanted to follow in my father’s fucked up footsteps, but nah. I turn my attention back to Clara.

“Nah, I'm not handing you over on a silver platter.” I muse, finally giving her reprieve. I run my hands along the steering wheel. “You'll stay in my room. You don't touch shit. You don't leave the room. Understand? If not, I'll take you back to the mausoleum. We both know you don't want that. Or shit, maybe you do.” I chuff.

“No,” she says quickly. She clutches the blanket against her body as if intone to my depraved thoughts racing through my mind.

She steals a few glances in my direction, probably trying to cypher my motive. Her throat visibly swallows. She trembles against the leather seat. She exits the car still wrapped in the blanket and sucks in the frosty air as it slaps her skin. Her cheeks turn rosy.

I exit, too. “He’s not home. Probably at Void. He indulges regularly,” I say simply.

She scurries behind me, blindly following. I chuckle at that. I could lead her in a death march and she'd willingly comply. What choice does she have though, I guess.

I take her around to the back. I don't need the staff questioning why I'm bringing in a naked bruised woman, though it wouldn't be the first time. The French doors click open and I head straight to the back bedroom bypassing the sitting room and bar. She lags behind, clearly not used to such a bougie lifestyle. She's never seen a spec of wealth and power in her existence. Once she crosses the threshold, I snick the heavy carved door shut. She turns to me, red cheeked and still slightly pissed with me. I hide a smirk.