Chapter 30
Jennie
Lisa stares at me, the expression on her bandaged face unchanged at my revelation. I want to look away, but I can't, her grip on my chin forcing me to hold her gaze as I lay bare the awful secret that's been eating at me since our rescue.
Her lack of reaction makes me think she doesn't fully understand what I'm saying.
"I killed him, Lisa," I repeat, determined to make her comprehend now that she forced me to talk about this. "I murdered Majid in cold blood. When I saw him step into the room, I knew what I wanted to do, and I did it. I shot the weapon out of his hand—and when he was unarmed, I shot him again in the stomach and chest, making sure not to hit him in the heart, so he'd live a couple of minutes longer. I could've killed him right away, but I didn't." My hands squeeze into fists on my lap, my nails digging painfully into my skin as I confess, "I kept him alive because I wanted to look him in the face when I took his life."
Lisa's unbandaged eye gleams a deeper shade, and I feel a wave of burning shame. I know it doesn't make sense—I know I'm talking to a person who's committed crimes far worse than this—but I don't have the excuse of her fucked-up upbringing. Nobody forced me to become a killer. When I shot Majid that day, I did it of my own initiative.
I killed a man because I hated him and wanted to see him die.
I wait for Lisa to respond, to say something either dismissive or condemning, but she asks softly instead, "And how did you feel when it was over, my pet? When he lay there dead?" Her hand releases my chin and moves down to rest on my leg, her palm covering most of my thigh. "Were you glad to see him like that?"
I nod, dropping my gaze to escape her penetrating stare. "Yes," I admit, a shudder rippling through me as I remember the almost-euphoric high of seeing the bullets from my gun tearing through Majid's flesh. "When I saw the life leave his eyes, I felt strong. Invincible. I knew he could no longer hurt us, and I was glad." Gathering my courage, I look up at her again. "Lisa . . . I blew a man's brains out—and the scary thing is I don't regret it at all."
"Ah, I see." A smile tugs at her partially healed lips. "You think you're a bad person because you feel no guilt over killing a murderous terrorist—and you believe you should."
"Of course I should." I frown at the inappropriate amusement in her voice. "I killed a man—and you yourself said that it's normal to feel shitty about it. You felt bad after your first kill, right?"
"Yes." Lisa's smile takes on a bitter edge. "I did. I was a child, and I didn't know the man I was forced to shoot. He was someone who had double-crossed my father, and to this day, I have no idea what kind of person he was . . . whether he was a hardened criminal or just someone who got mixed-up with bad company. I didn't hate him—I had no opinion about him, really. I killed him to prove that I could do it, to make my father proud of me." She pauses, then continues, her expression softening, "So you see, my pet, it was different. When you killed Majid, you rid the world of evil, whereas I . . . well, that's a whole other story. You have no reason to feel bad about what you did, and you're smart enough to know it."
I look at her, my throat tightening as I imagine eight-year-old Lisa pulling that trigger. I don't know what to say, how to assuage her guilt over that long-ago event, and anger at Marco Manoban fills my chest. "You know, if your father were alive, I would shoot him too," I say savagely, causing Lisa to let out a delighted chuckle.
"Oh, yes, I'm sure you would," she says, grinning at me. The expression should've looked grotesque on her bruised and swollen face, but somehow it looks sexy instead. Even beat-up, bandaged like a mummy, my wife radiates an animal magnetism that transcends mere looks. The doctors told us that her face will be nearly normal once everything is healed, but even if it isn't, I strongly suspect Lisa will be just as seductive with an eye patch and some scars.
As though in response to my thoughts, her hand on my thigh moves higher, toward the juncture between my legs. "My fierce little darling," she murmurs, her grin fading as a familiar heated gleam appears in her uncovered eye. "So delicate, yet so ferocious . . . I wish you could've seen yourself that day, baby. You were magnificent when you faced Majid, so brave and beautiful . . ." Her fingers press roughly on my clit through my jeans, and I suck in a startled breath, my nipples hardening as a surge of liquid need dampens my sex.
"Yes, that's right, baby," she whispers, her fingers moving upward to my zipper. "You with that weapon was the sexiest thing I've ever seen. I couldn't take my eyes off you." The zipper slides down with a metallic hiss, the sound strangely erotic, and my core clenches with a sudden desperate ache.
"Um, Lisa . . ." My breathing is uneven, my heartbeat speeding up as Lisa's hand delves into the open fly of my jeans. "What—what are you doing?"
Her lips curve in a wicked half-smile. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"But . . . but you can't . . ." The sentence devolves into a moan as her fingers boldly push into my underwear and cup my sex, her middle finger slipping between my wet folds to massage my throbbing clit. The heat that blasts through my nerve endings feels almost like an electric spark, every hair on my body standing up in response to the zing of pleasure. I gasp, feeling the tension gathering inside me, but before I can reach my peak, Lisa's fingers withdraw, leaving me hovering on the edge.
"Take off your clothes, then climb on top," she orders hoarsely, pulling back the blanket to reveal a hospital gown tented with a massive erection. "I need to fuck you. Now."
I hesitate for a moment, worried about her injuries, and Lisa's jaw tightens in displeasure.
"I mean it, Jennie. Take those clothes off."
Gulping, I jump off the bed, unable to believe that I feel the compulsion to obey her even now. Her left arm is in a cast, she can barely move without pain, and yet my instinctive response is to fear her—to want her and fear her at the same time.
"And lock the door," she commands as I begin to pull my shirt up. "I don't want to be interrupted."
"Okay."
Leaving my shirt on, I hurry over to the door to turn the lock that gives us privacy. Every step I take reminds me of the pulsing heat between my legs, my tight jeans rubbing against my sensitized clit and adding to my arousal.
When I return, Lisa is in a semi-reclining position on the bed, her gown untied at the front and her hand stroking her erect cock. There is a stiff bandage around her ribs, but it does nothing to detract from the raw power of her body. Even wounded, she manages to dominate the room, her appeal as magnetic as ever.
"Good girl," she murmurs, watching me with a heavy-lidded stare. "Now strip for me, baby. I want to see your sexy little ass wriggling out of those jeans."
I sink my teeth into my lower lip, the heat in her gaze turning me on even more. "All right," I whisper, and turning my back to her, I bend forward and slowly pull down my jeans, making sure to sway my hips from side to side as I expose my thong-clad ass to her eyes.
When the jeans are all the way down to my ankles, I turn back to face her and kick off my shoes, then step out of my jeans, leaving them lying on the floor. Lisa watches my movements with undisguised lust, her breathing becoming heavy as the tip of her cock starts to glisten with moisture. She's no longer touching herself, her hands clutching the sheets instead, and I know it's because she's close to coming, the hard column of her sex jutting up in defiance of gravity.
Keeping my eyes trained on her, I proceed to take off my shirt, pulling it up over my head in a slow, teasing motion. Underneath, I'm wearing a silky white bra that matches my thong. I bought several outfits online earlier in the week, and I'm glad I decided to get a few nicer underwear sets. I love to see that look of uncontrollable hunger on Lisa's face—the expression that says she would move mountains to have me at that moment.
As the shirt falls to the floor, she says roughly, "Come here, Jennie." Her gaze devours me, consumes me. "I need to touch you."
I inhale, my sex flooding with wetness as I take a couple of steps toward the bed, pausing in front of her. She reaches for me, smoothing her palm over my ribcage, and then moves her hand higher, toward my bra. Her fingers close around my left breast, kneading it through the silky material, and I gasp as she pinches my nipple, causing it to stiffen further.
"Take the rest of your clothes off." Her hand leaves my body, making me feel bereft for a moment, and I hurriedly unclasp my bra and push the thong down my legs before stepping out of it.
"Good. Now straddle me."
Biting my lip, I climb onto the bed, straddling Lisa's hips. Her cock brushes against the inside of my thighs, and I grasp it in my right hand, guiding it toward my aching entrance.
"Yes, that's it," she mutters, reaching out to grip my hip as I begin to lower myself onto her shaft. Releasing her cock, I use my palms to brace myself on the bed, and she groans, "Yes, take me in, my pet . . . All the way . . ." Using her grip on my hip, she pushes me lower, forcing her cock deeper into me, and I moan at the exquisite stretching sensation, my body adjusting to being filled and penetrated by her thick length.
It feels like the sweetest of reliefs, the pleasure-pain of her possession acute and achingly familiar all at once. As I watch her, drinking in the look of tormented pleasure on her face, it suddenly dawns on me that this could just as easily not be happening—that instead of lying underneath me, Lisa could be six feet underground, her powerful body mangled and destroyed.
I am not cognizant of having made any sounds, but I must have, because Lisa's eye narrows, her hand tightening on my hip. "What is it, baby?" she asks sharply, and I realize that I've begun to shake, chills wracking my body at the image of her lying there cold and broken. My desire evaporates, replaced by remembered terror and dread. It's as if I've been doused with ice water, the horror of what we've been through bubbling up and choking me from within.
"Jennie, what is it?" Lisa's hand slides up to my throat, gripping the nape of my neck to bring my face closer to her. Her eye bores into me as my hands clutch convulsively at the sheets on each side of her chest. "What is it? Tell me!"
I want to explain, but I can't speak, my throat closing up as my heartbeat spikes, cold sweat drenching my body. All of a sudden, I can't breathe, toxic panic clawing at my chest and constricting my lungs, and I begin to hyperventilate as black dots encroach on the edges of my vision.
"Jennie!" Lisa's voice reaches me as if from afar. "Fuck . . . Jennie!"
A stinging blow across my face snaps my head to the side, and I gasp, my hand flying up to cradle my left cheek. The shock of pain startles me out of my panic, and my lungs finally begin working, my chest expanding to let in much-needed air. Panting, I turn my head to stare incredulously at Lisa, the darkness in my mind receding as reality pushes back in.
"Jennie, baby . . ." She's gently rubbing my cheek now, soothing the pain she inflicted. "I'm so sorry, my pet. I didn't want to slap you, but you looked like you were having a panic attack. What happened? Do you want me to call for a nurse?"
"No—" My voice breaks as sobs rise up, bursting out of my throat. Tears begin to flow down my face as I realize that I completely freaked out—and that it happened during sex. Lisa's cock is still buried inside me, only slightly softer than before, and yet I am shaking and crying, like a crazy person. "No," I repeat in a choked voice. "I'm all right . . . Really, I'll be fine . . ."
"Yes, you will be." Her voice takes on a hard, commanding tone as her hand moves down to grip my throat. "Look at me, Jennie. Now."
Unable to do anything else, I obey, meeting her gaze with my own. Her eye glitters a bright, fierce brown. As I look at her, my breathing begins to slow, my sobs easing and my desperate panic fading. I am still crying, but silently now, more as a reflex than anything else.
"Okay, good," Lisa says in that same harsh tone. "Now you're going to ride me—and you will not think of whatever got you so upset. Do you understand me?"
I nod, her instructions calming me further. As my anxiety melts away, other sensations start to creep in. I become aware of the clean, familiar scent of her body, the crisp feel of her smooth leg pressing against my calves . . .
The way her cock feels inside me, warm, thick, and hard.
My body responds again, further distracting me from my panic. Taking a deep breath, I begin to move, rising up and then lowering myself onto her shaft, my core growing wet and soft as pleasure starts to curl low in my belly.
"Yes, just like that, baby," Lisa murmurs, her hand sliding down my body to press against my clit, intensifying the tension growing inside me. "Fuck me. Ride me. Use me to forget your demons."
"Yes," I whisper. "I will." And keeping my eyes on her face, I pick up the pace, letting the physical pleasure carry me away from all the darkness, the inferno of our passion burning away the memories of icy horror within.
When we come, it's within seconds of each other, our bodies as attuned to each other as our souls.
That evening I go to sleep in Lisa's bed, not my own. The doctors okayed it after cautioning me not to jostle her ribs or face during the night.
I lie on her right, my head pillowed on her uninjured shoulder. I should be asleep, but I'm not. My mind is buzzing, humming like a beehive. A million thoughts are running through my head, my emotions oscillating from elation to sadness.
We're both alive and more or less intact. We're together again, having both survived against all odds. I no longer have any doubts that in some fucked-up way, we're meant to be. For better or worse, we fit each other now, our twisted, damaged parts locking together like a jigsaw puzzle.
I have no idea what the future holds, whether things can ever truly be all right again. I still need to convince Lisa to honor my promise to Jackson—and I need to ask the doctors for a morning-after pill, given the fact that neither one of us remembered to use protection earlier today. I don't know if it's possible to get pregnant so quickly after losing the implant, but it's not a risk I'm willing to take. The possibility of a child—of a helpless baby subjected to our kind of life—horrifies me now more than ever.
Maybe I will change my mind with time. Maybe in a few years, I will feel differently. Less scared. For now, though, I am sharply cognizant of the fact that our life will never be a fairy tale. Lisa is not a good person—and I'm no longer a good woman.
That should worry me . . . and maybe tomorrow it will. At this moment, however, feeling her warmth surrounding me, I am only aware of a deepening sense of peace, of a certainty that this is right.
That this is where I belong.
Raising my hand, I trace my fingers across her half-healed lips, feeling the sensual shape of them in the darkness.
"Will you ever let me go?" I murmur, remembering our long-ago conversation.
Her lips twitch in a faint smile. She remembers too. "No," she replies softly. "Never."
We lie in silence for a few moments, and then she asks quietly, "Do you want me to let you go?"
"No, Lisa." I close my eyes, a smile curving my own lips. "Never."