Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)

She’s still on her stomach when I get back, lying there like the most beautiful portrait with my cum on her skin. I clean her up with the facecloth and dry her with the towel, but I don’t remove the underwear. I want to enjoy the fantasy a little longer. I drag her against me, fold my arms around her body, and kiss her in a backward way of lovemaking.

I can eat her lips all night, but she pulls away and says after dragging in some air, “I want my own gun.”

“No.”

“How am I supposed to move around freely if you won’t let me drive anywhere without a gun?”

“You’re not getting your own gun. Anyway, you first have to prove to me you know how to use one.”

She scoffs. “Told you, I shoot better than you.”

I tug a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m a damn good shot. You don’t want to take me on. You’ll only lose.”

A challenge sparks in her eyes. “You’re on.”

“You sure that’s how you want to play?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but you’re not getting your own gun.”

“Fine, but if I win, I get a prize.”

She can get anything out of me. She doesn’t even have to try very hard. I don’t tell her that though. It’s enough that I’m letting her be a part of every ugly facet of my life. She doesn’t need to also know she holds all the power.

Chapter 13

Cas

A headache splits my skull in two when I wake up. It’s early, but Ian is already gone. Considerately, he’s left headache tablets with my heart pills.

The sheet falls away when I sit up to drink the medicine, revealing the black and red underwear. A hot flush creeps over my cheeks when I think about last night and what we did. Our sex had been downright dirty. Perfect. I’ve never had sex with a man like Ian. He makes our dirty feel right. Special. I’ve never felt so revered or sated. This morning is different because I know he won’t look at someone else. He told me I’m the one-and-only, and with those magic words he took all the hurt from last night away, leaving me light and relieved.

Happy.

I’m his, but he’s just as much mine.

After a shower, the pills kick in, and the headache lifts. I dress and call to the lodge to ask for someone to fetch me. Banga answers.

“Hi, Banga. Can you please come get me?”

He clears his throat. “Ian said you should have breakfast in the room. Shona is busy now, but she’ll bring it over in a while.”

Inwardly, I groan. We’re not back to that, are we? I thought we made progress last night. “Ian doesn’t tell me what to do.”

“Cas.” He sounds panicked. “Please don’t be difficult. Ian won’t like it.”

“What he won’t like is if I walk over there unescorted.”

“Don’t put me in that position.”

Shona’s voice comes from the background. “You heard her. She wants to come here. Go get her.”

He blows out a heavy sigh. “I’m on my way.”

Banga arrives a short while later. He escorts me to the main building, but holds me back before we get to the deck.

“Ian has visitors,” he says.

The way in which he says it, with a guilty look in his eyes, makes me tense. His words are a warning, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight on the deck.

Ian sits at the table, flanked by two topless women. A man with a gold hoop earring sits next to one of the semi-naked women. Leon and Ruben are on the opposite side, their backs to me. A breakfast spread is laid out in front of them.

My step falters. Ian looks up, but doesn’t acknowledge me. If anything, he regards me with disinterest. The women, who are sipping juice, give me curious looks. They have the same auburn hair and amber eyes. Their faces are similar, but not identical. They could be sisters or twins. Their curls are piled on their heads in fancy updos, and their lips are painted red. They have perfect breasts, big and firm, decorated with nipple tassels.

I’ve never shied away from a difficult situation or a fight. Squaring my shoulders, I climb the steps to the deck. Like Ian, Leon and Ruben ignore me. The male visitor, however, sits up straighter.

“Who’s this delightful package?” he asks, trailing his gaze over me.

“Nobody,” Ian says, regarding me with disdain.

My heart jerks. I’m not stupid. The man wearing a fur coat on a summer’s day and black varnish on his long pinky nails is dangerous. I don’t need the AK-47 propped up against the side of his chair to tell me that. My gutfeel is enough.

By pretending I mean nothing to him, Ian is trying to keep me safe. Still, I won’t be degraded and kicked to the dirt. If Ian wants to keep me safe in his world, he can’t pretend I’m disposable. Admitting I mean something to him may be a risk, but he’d just have to man up and trust in his ability to protect me.