Page 38 of Twisted Love

He decided to shut up before he admitted something more, something he shouldn’t, and concentrated on what he’d worked so hard for. Pure bliss.

Her nails raked down his chest as he felt the first slight twinge of what was to come. When she dug the hard tips in, he felt a pulse of pleasure that blew his mind and his balls.

His eyes flew open as that pulse came again. He groaned from somewhere deep in his chest and as pleasure coursed through straight up to his brain, his eyes caught on the pendant. He didn’t really see it at first, all he could concentrate on was how he felt, the sound of Keily encouraging him, but then his brain settled a little.

Where did that come from? It took him a minute to remember he’d bought it accidentally. He’d wanted to get her the one next to it, but he’d been in a rush that day. Instead of going through the process of getting a refund, he’d let the sale go through at the online jeweler where he’d bought it.

A butterfly encrusted with tiny diamonds.

Butterfly.

Memories burst alive inside his mind, came back to haunt him as a smell in his nose.

That fucking necklace.

Why hadn’t he just asked for a refund? Was it to taunt her? To remind himself in some kind of fucked up unconscious way that he shouldn’t be with her?

He swiped at his nose and pushed her gently off of his hips to sit up on the edge of the bed. Shame, humiliation, pain coursed through him as the memories played out. Anger replaced the familiar emotions; her scent replaced the smell of charred flesh. The anger bloomed, became something strong that he couldn’t ignore or swallow down.

That fucking butterfly necklace.

In an instant, everything changed. Seeing that necklace dangling around her neck brought rage instead of happiness.

The sounds of an 18-year-old young man screaming in agony filled his head, the sound of laughter, a shrill protest that was followed by a slap of flesh against flesh. The girl stopped screaming at the boys to stop, but the boys didn’t stop. They used that stick to press the keychain, two inches around, deeper into the skin of his buttock. It was smooth now, the scar tissue barely noticeable, unless you saw it.

He’d taken pains to ensure she’d never seen it, that nobody ever did. If he’d gotten the butterfly placed on his ass as a drunken tattoo or even as a scarification that he’d wanted it wouldn’t have mattered. But he hadn’t asked to be attacked that night, he hadn’t asked to be a part of those boys’ sick pleasure at his screams.

And Keily now had a butterfly he’d given her hanging around her neck.

Fuck.

He had to leave, he had to get out of there.

He remembered now why this was all a bad idea, why he shouldn’t have hired a woman like her in the first place.

She wasn’t the right one for him, he couldn’t love a woman like her, even if she was all but perfect. He was still too broken to ever love anyone properly. He might never be able to love a woman, or anyone else properly.

Keily was completely unaware of what was going on inside Logan’s head. She had rolled to face away from him and hadn’t spoken yet. She might even be asleep again. He didn’t know and right now it didn’t matter. He had to leave her place, not come back, that was the only way any of this would end.

He hadn’t had the nightmares for years, but they’d started again. The only way to banish the hell was to go back to the predictable, empty, but profitable life he’d lived before. And leave her.

20

Keily

“You’re leaving?” She rolled over as she felt him get up from the bed.

“I am, yes.” He answered softly, searching around for his clothes.

“Logan? Why are you leaving?” But her eyes had fallen on the scar and she stared at it. Was that a…butterfly?

Memories flared to life, memories she’d banished from her mind. A drunken night at the pond, the screams of a helpless boy, her own screams at Joe to stop and let the boy go. She’d been unhappy when they pulled the guy out of the woods, she’d been angry when Joe had ripped her favorite keychain from her hands, and terrified when Joe ordered his buddies to hold the guy down.

When she protested louder, shrieked at Joe to stop, he’d slapped her. It hadn’t been the first time he’d slapped her, only the first time he’d done it in front of others. He’d hissed at her that she’d be next if she didn’t pipe down, but she’d still protested. Only, not as loud as before.

She couldn’t stop the memory of that gangly boy’s screams that night, or the smell as Joe had branded the guy with her keychain. She’d suppressed that memory, hid it from herself as best as she could. But that boy’s name hadn’t been Logan. He hadn’t looked like Logan either.

He’d been goofy, a nerd that she’d barely taken notice of throughout high school. Now, she couldn’t forget his face. But that wasn’t Logan’s face. Was it?