Page 51 of Ricochet
“I told you, I can’t.”
A strong grip at the nape of my neck and the welcoming pain made my eyes open on their own volition. The blue orbs were right there, his face inches from mine, and another sinister smile taking over.
“You see,” he clutched my hair tighter, “I told you, you can. Now come on, I need to show you something.”
My head was screaming at me, the coiling in my stomach growing stronger—hunger and pain mixing together—but he kept pulling me toward another set of stairs. The muscles in my legs were screaming at me, tight from the lack of exercise, but the idiot in front of me didn’t stop. He wasn’t holding my arm anymore; it was my hand now imprisoned by his.
“Where are we going?”
“Shhh.” He turned to me with a finger over his lips. “You don’t want to wake up the wolves.”
It was the middle of a fucking day. Who slept at this hour?
With his constant pulling, I was surprised I didn’t end up falling somewhere in the middle of the grand staircase. We were now on the second floor, and he looked like a little kid the night before Christmas.
You know, the little kids whose families were celebrating Christmas in the proper way.
He was bouncing in front of me, and I had to admit, it was kind of funny seeing a grown ass man behaving this way.
“This way.” He pulled me to the right corridor where several doors greeted us. All of them closed, except for one.
The one at the end of the hallway, the one from where unmistakable sounds of pleasure were echoing throughout the whole area.
“Tristan,” I started. “What are we doing here?”
He ignored my question and kept pulling me toward the source of a female voice. I struggled to get free from his hold, but it was futile even trying. My captor, unlike me, at least had a proper meal in the last couple of days.
“Tristan,” I seethed.
The female was getting louder now, the unmistakable pleasure ensuing in that room. Something coiled tight in my lower stomach.
“Look.” He pulled me closer to where he stood, just at the entrance of the room, and as my eyes took in the scene in front of me, the previous coiling dissipated from my stomach, moving into my chest and leaving a trail of anger I felt only once before.
A redhead was on all-fours, right in the middle of the bed. A redhead I knew all too well, because, you never forget a face you wanted to smash into the wall.
Cynthia-fucking-Larson was moaning, screeching, and throwing her head back, as Kieran pounded into her from behind. Her full tits bounced with every stroke of his, and it was like a bad deja vu playing right in front of me.
Me coming to his apartment.
Me trying to surprise him.
Me seeing him fucking her once before.
Me leaving and my world falling apart.
He thought he could fuck me up, and then go and fuck the first whore he could find?
Red.
Red.
Red.
All I could see was fucking red.
“You like that, baby?” His voice was raspy, strained.
“Yees,” she answered in a moan, as if she knew what he felt like. As if she knew what he looked like in the middle of the night, when the whole world fell apart, and he kept screaming for someone to save him from his own mind.
