'Til Death: Volume Two
Page 25

I want him to suffer.
I wave down a cab and ask him to take me to the closest bar. I’m still so numb, only now my heart is pounding. I don’t know why it’s pounding. I haven’t been able to break through the barrier covering my heart. I need it to break. I need to protect my daughter. Yet here I am, driving myself farther and farther away from those who want to help me.
I thrust some money at the cab driver and get out when he comes to a stop. I hurry inside the crowded bar, and go straight up to get a drink. I order a vodka on the rocks, and shoot it down before ordering another. Then another. Soon I’m even number, and my heart is no longer pounding. I drop my head to the cool wood of the bar and clench my teeth.
They don’t understand.
They’ll never understand.
No one ever will.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KATIA
I’m drunk.
It’s because of that I don’t notice him approach.
It’s not until he’s standing in front of me, fists bunched, panting with rage, that I realize the situation I’m in. I look up slowly and take him in. Disheveled hair, black tee tight across his chest, black jeans hanging low on his hips, brown eyes ripping through mine with fury.
“Marcus,” I slur.
“How dare you?” he barks.
“How dare I what?”
He reaches down, hauling me up and dragging me through the people. He takes me outside into the fresh air, and immediately the alcohol hits my head harder. I groan, leaning against a wall in pain.
“You are trying to have me killed.”
I snap my head up at his deadly words. “How did you know?”
He throws his head back and laughs so bitterly it sends chills down my skin. “How did I know? Not, oh my God, I regret it, or I’m sorry Marcus, but instead, how did I know? What sort of monster have you become, Katia?”
“Monster?” I growl. “Me? You’re the monster here, Marcus.”
He shakes his head. He’s angry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. He’s panting, sweat trickling down his forehead. His entire body is wound up so tightly his muscles are bulging.
“You want to make me pay,” he roars so loudly I flinch, pressing myself against the wall. “Then you come and you fuckin’ do it to me; you don’t turn into a mother-fuckin’ coward and call on a hitman. What the fuck sort of woman tries to have a man killed? I fucked up, Katia, but death? Where the fuck did you go?”
Tears flare to life under my eyes and I scream, “She was all I had left!”
“And I never fuckin’ killed her,” he bellows. “I didn’t know. I didn’t do it intentionally.”
“You held me back,” I yell, lunging forward. He takes a step back and I stumble. He doesn’t try to help me.
“And I live with that, but this . . .” He laughs bitterly. “Imagine how proud she’d be looking down on you now.”
“Fuck you,” I scream, swinging out and hitting his jaw.
“You wanna make me hurt?” he barks. “Go right ahead. Hit me, Katia. Fuckin’ hit me. Do us all proud.”
I swing again, connecting with his jaw once more. He grunts in pain, but doesn’t try to stop me. Rage explodes in my chest, and months of agony take over. I swing at him, pounding into his face over and over, taking my fists to his perfect skin. It doesn’t go away. It doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t stop.
“Enough,” he barks after my fourth or fifth hit.
I keep going.
He takes my hands and hauls me backwards, slamming them above my head as my bottom hits the wall. I lunge forward but he doesn’t budge. I want to spit in his face, I want to kiss him, I want to smash him until he cries.
“Does it make you feel good?” he barks. “Does hurting me fix everything?”
“Fuck you,” I cry.
“Does it?” he bellows. “Fucking does it?”
“Go to hell!”
“I’m already fuckin’ there, baby.”
Then he smashes his lips over mine. I kiss him hard. I kiss him deep. He lets my hands go and I shove them forward, dragging them over his scalp, tugging his hair, bringing them down his neck, down his back and shoving them under his shirt, finding his hard, bare back. I dig them in and he hisses in pain.
“Make it fuckin’ burn, Katia. It’s what you want,” he growls against my mouth. “Make me pay.”
I knead his muscles like a woman crazed, desperate to feel more of him, even though he’s smashed against me. He slams me harder against the wall, bringing his hands down and shoving them up my skirt. His fingers dip beneath my panties and he finds my clit. There he starts stroking and flicking until I’m pounding at his back and screaming his name.
“Fuck,” he snarls.
He puts a hand under my backside, launching me upwards. I curl my legs around his hips as I thrust towards his hand, wanting more. Needing everything. My head is spinning, my rage is consuming and my fingernails are doing serious damage to his back. His cock is hard against my core, and I don’t want to wait anymore.
“Fuck me,” I mewl.
He jerks his jeans down, freeing his cock, and then he drives upwards, filling me. I throw my head back and scream his name over and over, my legs tight around his waist, my fingers drawing blood on his back. He tangles his fingers into my hair and he fucks me, hard and deep, just how I want it.
“Make it fuckin’ burn,” he snarls against my skin.