Heartless (Merciless 2)

I couldn’t stop shaking. If it wasn’t for my brothers, I don’t think I could have continued living. In a way, it was our first act together that led to this empire. Nothing can bring you closer to someone than death can.

I remember how I didn’t want to bury Dave like Sebastian suggested because I couldn’t stand to see upturned dirt after watching my mother being lowered into the ground only days before. I threw up as Sebastian dug a hole. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t deal with what I’d done and what I was capable of.

And so, we tossed the body in the bed of the truck instead after covering the partially dug shallow grave, and Sebastian disposed of the body in the river. All while I uselessly rocked myself in the passenger seat of the truck, loathing myself and what I’d done.

“When did you kill him?” Aria asks me, breaking up my thoughts and bringing me back to her. I blink away the memories and the heavy sadness in the pit of my chest.

It takes me a minute to realize I hadn’t voiced the last bit of my story. She thinks I just lost it at the bar. She doesn’t know that I did it days later and that I led him into the house knowing I wanted to see the man die.

“Does it matter when he died?” I ask her, wanting to keep the truth from her and thinking that it makes it better if it was just heat of the moment. But nothing makes being a murderer better.

She doesn’t answer me, she only lowers her cheek to my chest and I continue holding her, remembering how I shook that night after ditching Dave’s dead body into the river. “The shaking will stop,” I whisper.

Time passes slowly, neither of us speaking until I finally feel the weight of the day and tell Aria to sleep.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she tells me wearily and then forces herself to swallow. “I’m afraid I’ll see him. He’ll be there waiting for me.”

“Shh,” I hush her again, cupping her chin in both of my hands and gently placing a kiss on her forehead. I notice then how calm her body is.

It’s amazing what a distraction can do to a person. It can make you forget about everything.

“He’s gone,” I remind her, although her prolonged fear worries me.

Killing him was supposed to set her free.

It will, the voice hisses and calms the worry creeping up on me. Nodding as if in agreement with the voice, I kiss her once more, pressing my lips to her smooth skin and then pull back, waiting for her to look at me.

“I told you. All you have to fear is me.”

Aria’s hazel eyes are deep with emotion, swirling with an intensity that pulls me in and pins me down until her lips part and my gaze drifts to them.

The yearning to press my lips to hers nearly wins, but instead, I remember yet another aspect of tonight that I’d planned and forgotten about.

“Wait here,” I command her, and disappointment causes her gaze to lower, but she releases me for the first time since I’d crawled into bed to be beside her.

As I walk to the dresser, I strip off my shirt and pants before grabbing the case with a syringe in it and a bottle of oil from the drawer. I haven’t needed it for so long, but she needs it tonight. It will let her sleep if nothing else.

Standing next to the bed, I motion for her to come to me before telling her to turn around and get on all fours. I’ve come to expect a lot of things from Aria. Her sass and her mouth, her questions, and defiance.

But tonight, all she does is obey, and that stirs up something inside of me. Both the pure and the depraved desires. She doesn’t even ask why.

My hand gentles on the curve of her ass then moves up to her waist and back down before I give her the shot, making her jump slightly before she steadies herself and then I can push down the plunger of the syringe.

“Birth control,” I tell her and then smirk at the thought as I add, “it’s better late than never.”

Aria only murmurs a response, placing both her hands flat on the sheets and her cheek follows as she turns her head.

“I have this for you too,” I tell her after setting the empty syringe down on the nightstand and pushing on her hip. “Sit up,” I command her, and she obeys easily, wincing slightly as her ass presses against the comforter.

“It should help you sleep,” I explain as I pull the liquid into the bulb syringe. The oil is clear, a pure drug that will hit her hard the first night. “Have you ever heard of Sweet Lullabies?” I ask her, and she tilts her head with a crease in her forehead indicating her confusion.