Break Me: A Dark Romance Serial Page 4

  Ignoring the dog – you should know by now I’m a cat person – I make my way onto the porch, sidestepping the toys that are scattered all around. So this is Mr. Kyle Jackson’s residence. So obviously married. So obviously has kids. So obviously naughty.

  I grin devilishly as I ring the doorbell. In seconds, the door opens and a little girl is standing before me. I look at her slightly confused. I don’t have much experience with children. Plus, she looks quite strange in an orange tutu and pigtails. And her face is covered in paint. Or chocolate. I’m not sure.

  “Hellooooo,” she sings at the top of her lungs, grinning like a lunatic at me.

  I don’t get children.

  “Um, hi,” I say hesitantly. “My name is Opal. Could I-”

  “Opal!” she screams excitedly. “That is the prettiest name in the whole entire wide big huge world. Are you a princess?” She looks at me all serious, anxious for my answer.

  I straighten up and stifle a laugh, instead looking at her very seriously. “Indeed I am, little girl.” She shrieks with pleasure as I continue. “And I’m here to speak to your daddy about a very urgent royal matter.”

  She looks like she might burst as she screams at the top of her lungs. “DAAAAAAAD!”

  “What’s up, little bean?” a friendly voice asks as someone thumps down the stairs, cheerfully taking two at a time, from the sound of it.

  A stocky guy appears at the door with a wide, toothy grin. He rubs the little girl’s head and she grins happily, then he raises his eyes to meet mine. And that’s when all the happy bullshit ends.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice trembling lightly.

  “Daddy, she’s a princess,” the little girl says. “I helped her find you!”

  He looks completely horrified for a split second and I have to stifle my laughter. Finally, he grins as if nothing is wrong at the little girl and smacks her bum. “Daddy will save this princess from the flying dragon!” The girl shrieks. “You go watch your brother and I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  The girl looks a little bit disappointed, so I reach in my purse and pull out a feather. Mr. Jackson looks positively horrified as he recognizes it as part of my costume, and I’m enjoying this just a touch too much.

  “Here,” I whisper conspiratorially at the girl, looking around as if to check if anyone’s listening. “This is a magic feather. I’m giving it to you, so you can make a wish on it every night.”

  The little girl’s eyes widen as she grabs the plume, but before she can thank me, her Dad steps outside and shuts the door. He looks ready to burst as he glares at me.

  “What the actual fuck?” he finally demands, and I really can’t hold it in anymore. I giggle softly, covering my mouth with my palm as I try to shut up. “What are you doing here?” he demands, looking pissed. I sober up and straighten my back as I look at him seriously, but with a wicked glint in my eyes.

  “You obviously know who I am, so no need to introduce myself, right?” I say confidently and maintain eye contact though he’s struggling to look away. “I need some information from you - don’t worry, I’m not here to get you in trouble.” His stiff posture relaxes slightly. “I need the name, address, anything … of your friend. The one I danced for.”

  He looks confused for a moment, which worries me. I hope he’s the right guy. “That tall, dark dude?” he asks finally. I nod. He shrugs. “I don’t know much about him. He … he said he was having a night out before getting married.”

  “That much I know,” I grumbled. “I need a name. Aren’t you two friends?”

  He looks surprised at my assumption. “I wouldn’t say that … He saw I’d booked you for a private dance, for myself. He asked if he could have it and threw in a lot of money for it.”

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise as Kyle Jackson grins at me. “You’re a piece of work, honey, but I was drunk and late, so I just took the money.”

  I don’t care about his personal choices, all I care about is Mr. Dark and engaged’s name. “Can you tell me anything about him?” I ask pleadingly. “Anything at all.”

  He looks lost in thought for a moment before a look of recognition comes over his face. “I remember something,” he says triumphantly and I look at him, expecting more. Suddenly, another look passes his features and he makes a grab for me. Before he can touch me, I twist his arm and he yelps in pain.

  “Don’t even think about it,” I say sweetly and twist his arm back so he lets out a stifled cry of pain. “Tell me. Now.”

  “He … he had a box of matches,” he finally manages to say. I let him go and he rubs his hands before speaking again. “It was from a pub … The Drunken Sailor. He said it was on his street. Now wouldn’t you like to earn a bit of extra- hey! HEY!”

  I ignore his calls as I walk off abruptly.

  He has a family to take care of.

  And I have business to attend to.

  Chapter 10 – Claws out

  I’m standing in front of a brick house now, glaring at it as if it is the one thing to blame for my misfortune. I bring my trembling hand up, once again cursing my erratic heart, and confidently press the doorbell. I let it ring for ages.

  I’ve walked up and down Willaby Street for an hour and I’m freezing. After finding The Drunken Sailor, I’ve rung the bell on every house down the street. I’m on to the other side of the lane now, and I’m tired and confused. Why the hell am I doing this? I wonder.

  Every single time I ring the bell, I’m fully expecting a woman to answer the door, maybe in a towel – it would be the perfect clichéd ending to a story I never should have been a part of, anyway.

  The ringing is buzzing in my ears, when the door finally opens, or maybe I should say is thrust aside. The anger is vibrating off of him. And yes, yes, yes – he opened the door. No sign of the dreaded fiancée – yet.

  He’s staring at me, hard. First, he looks angry as hell, but his expressions are changing so fast I can barely keep track. Confusion, more anger, even a bit of sadness. We’re just standing there, glaring at each other. After almost a minute passes, it’s getting a little ridiculous.

  “You should come in,” he finally says with a stone cold voice. “You must be cold. I can see your nipples through your sweater.”

  My cheeks redden instantly but I don’t give him the satisfaction of covering my chest or looking down. Instead, I glare straight at him, gritting my teeth. “You must be hot. I could see how hard you are from across the street.”

  Not waiting for his response, I move past him into his home, being careful not to touch him. I do notice that he doesn’t reply to what I’ve said and a nonchalant look at his crotch tells me why. With a smug look, I look around.

  His house is a gorgeous brickwork, exposed walls everywhere, and gorgeous hardwood floors. There’s not much else, though. I glimpse around, trying to drink it all in, but he’s standing in front of me in seconds.

  “I only take unwanted visitors in the hallway,” he says coldly, blocking my view as I get angrier and angrier. “So I take it you’re a stalker on top of your glitzy career?”

  I am so angry I’m about to scowl like a child, or better yet, scratch his face off. “And I take it you’re a cheater on top of being a doctor?” I spit at him.

  He honestly looks confused for a moment, before he apparently realizes what I’ve said is true. “Oh,” he says softly. “That.”

  “Yes, that,” I say sweetly. “What a lovely way to reference your bride-to-be.”

  He’s pressing against me once more now. “You don’t know anything,” he says into my face.

  “I know you’re a scumbag,” I say angrily, pressing against the wall as he gets closer and closer.

  “Why are you here, then?” he asks, teasing me with his closeness. I mustn’t give in …

  “I came to tell you that you’re the worst kind of person there is,” I spit in his face, trying to convert my itch to touch him into anger. “You’re a liar, and a cheat. Your poor fianc
ée needs to know what kind of guy you are, you dumb shit!”

  He snarls at me and suddenly, his fist is up and he hits the wall, hard. Before I can think how badly his fist must be hurt from the contact with the brick, I’m transported into another time, a time when it started the same – just a fist to the wall.

  But it ended with a fist to my face, to my stomach, to my hair. It ended with a long stay in the hospital and a restraining order. It ended in what I am today, and I am nothing.

  I’m so scared now. I’m cowering from his touch. I’m covering my face with my hands, shaking, my heart beating like crazy, like it’s about to burst out of my chest.

  I’m alone.

  I’m fragile.

  I’m broken.

  And I’m about to get hurt.

  I whimper. I am weak. I am nothing.

  Chapter 11 – Never have I ever

  Someone’s holding me ever so softly. Lifting me up. Carrying me. Setting me down somewhere soft. My heart is still beating.

  Beat.

  Beat.

  Nothing.

  Beat.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Beat.

  Beat.

  Beat.

  It’s all wrong. All messed up. Just like me.

  I try to calm down and realize I’m having a panic attack, my first one since high school. I used to get them pretty badly whenever I was sick and told I’d need more surgeries or treatments. It was my way of coping, just like all the little scars I have in well hidden places. I’m okay now. At least I thought so.

  Slowly, but surely, I’m coming back. I breathe slowly. I don’t let myself think. I relax into him, cuddling closer, resting my head on his chest.

  “I love you, baby,” I whisper softly to Christian.

  He strokes my head softly, never replying, just like the old days. It will all be okay.

  ***

  Long minutes pass before I come to. Then I’m up, and looking around. I don’t know this place. Alarm bells ring in my head.

  “You’re okay,” someone says behind me and I whip my head back. I’m lying on a bed with white sheets, and he’s behind me. The guy from the club. If the imprints on the bed are anything to go by, I was just lying next to him.

  Confused, I furrow my brows and wait for recognition to sink in. Slowly, I remember.

  My hand whips up to my forehead and I feel for the wound where he hit me. I feel my breathing getting heavier, frantic – again, no, not again, please.

  His hands are around me again, prying my hands off my face softly, gently.

  “Nobody hurt you,” he says gruffly, wrapping my own hands around my body so I’m hugging myself.

  “But you were going to …” I whisper, and he leans closer until his mouth is almost touching my ear. I shiver. I love him so close.

  “You got me frustrated,” he says softly into my ear. “I would never … I could never hit a woman. Not you.” He’s playing with tendrils of my hair, which I’m wearing in a bun today. Slowly, he untwists the elastic until my hair falls down my shoulders in what I presume are messy curls. I sigh despite myself and turn around slowly until I’m facing him.

  “Why did you bring me into your room?” I ask softly. “Why not the couch?”

  He looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s considering my question just as hard as I am. He doesn’t answer me in the end, instead tugging lightly on the ends of my hair. It feels good. Too good.

  Chapter 12 – If only for a night

  We’re quiet for a while and I feel myself relaxing slowly, the panic draining out of my body like bathwater down the drain. I feel my heart slowing down until it’s found a somewhat normal beat.

  “Opal,” he whispers in my ear and I find myself shiver. I love hearing my name on his lips. I want him screaming it. I love the way he rolls it around on his tongue, as if it’s a pleasure just saying it. I want more, so I stretch in his arms and turn around slightly, so I can see him. He pulls me close, close, closer.

  “I’d like to know your name too, please,” I say softly as he straddles me on his lap, his hands caressing my hips. I’m in heaven.

  “Jack,” he says simply, and I love it. Jack and Opal. Opal and Jack. It’s simple, and it’s unique at the same time. Special, and plain and perfect all around. I need there to be a Jack and Opal. I don’t even care if there’s another girl, another woman. He could be married for all I care. I need this.

  “This is weird,” he says nervously and I look up into his eyes. I do realize what we’re doing isn’t exactly common. We’ve met a handful of times and I’m straddling him in his bed. And I know I’m not the only one who likes it.

  I laugh softly. “If only for a night though, right?” I whisper close to his mouth, wanting to taste him, lick his soft, full lips. I want to claim him and make him all mine. At least for tonight.

  It’s as if a switch went off in his head – again. He pushes me off his lap, getting up from the bed. He leans against the wall in his bedroom and murmurs something to himself.

  “What? What is it now?” I ask,feeling confused and tired from all of his mood swings.

  “I don’t … I don’t do this,” he finally says, and I look at him questioningly. “I’m not allowed,” he adds as if that explains it all as he looks at me with so much guilt and desire it makes me wet between my legs.

  I scoot to the edge of the bed and look up at him hopefully. I know what this is about – I’ve dealt with married men plenty a time. I don’t care anymore if he is engaged or not. All I want is a lick and a taste. I’m sure I can get over him as soon as it’s done. He won’t be the first one or the last one to disappoint me when it comes to sex.

  “It’s okay,” I say softly, smiling. “I don’t care about her. Would it be easier if we went to my place?”

  He’s just shaking his head now, not saying anything. He’s rubbing his eyes like it hurts him to look at me and I feel hurt again. I don’t care what kind of game he’s playing, but I’m going to get this man, once and for all.

  I get up and come closer until I’m standing inches away, but he still won’t look at me. I lift his chin up with my pointer finger and he closes his eyes tightly so he doesn’t have to see. “She’ll never know,” I whisper, almost touching his lips as I feel him take a deep breath.

  “You need to …” he says softly.

  I perk up, rubbing my hand across his chest. “Yes?” I whisper innocently. “I need to what?”

  He finally opens his eyes, but he’s looking anywhere but me, which is hard, considering we’re standing with barely an inch of distance between us. “You need to leave,” he says, and it sounds like it pains him to deliver this final blow to me. Not as much as it does me though – but I try my best to hide how much he just hurt me.

  “Fine,” I shrug, grinning devilishly. I know I’ll get what I want in the end. He’s too far gone now, anyway.

  I grab my faux fur coat which somehow ended up on the floor and head out of the bedroom. With a last look over my shoulder, I ask him something. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  He looks completely weak as he points to the door on the left and I lock myself in it. Nice, clean and lots of marble, I notice. I like it. Taking my signature lipstick out of my purse, I scribble my phone number on his mirror. I bet he’ll write to me before tomorrow, I think giddily. I flush the toilet for good measure and let the water in the sink run for a few seconds, before I come out of the bathroom.

  He’s gone. But there’s a Post-It note on the bed, bright yellow and stark against the white sheets. I pick it up.

  Let yourself out. Cab fare is on the night stand. –Jack

  For some reason, this makes me insanely angry again – he’s treating me like a whore again. I grit my teeth as I tear the paper note in the smallest shreds I can, then grab the money he left for me. It’s too much, but I don’t care. If he wants to treat me like a whore, so be it. He doesn’t know my main rule, though. I sleep with a lot of people. But not more
than once. I make sure they all know it.

  For one night only.

  That’s what you’re getting, Jack.

  Chapter 13 – Young, wild and free

  He grips my hair, pulling my head as far back as it goes. I’m breathing ragged breaths, waiting for the crack that would mercifully end my life. It doesn’t come though, and I’m still fighting to live, even though I want nothing more than sleeping, laying down, resting my weary eyes.

  “You’re nothing,” he barks in my face, his spit landing on my lips as my eyes fill with tears once more. I know they shouldn’t, know that it will only make things worse. Yet I can resist turning into a sobbing mess as they spill over the edges of my eyes, blurring my vision. Yes, this is better. Blur it. Blur it all into oblivion.

  I don’t want to see what’s happening. I don’t want to see him pulling my head back again and then cracking it open on the wall. But I do.

  I see it.

  I see the blood spill down.

  Hear myself moan as I slowly drift out of consciousness.

  See him drop me on the floor, discarded like a broken toy.

  But I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel it when my skull cracks, don’t feel it when the blood rushes down and floods my vision. I feel nothing. I am numb.

  “NO!” I scream out loud, jumping up.

  Beat. Beat.

  Nothing.

  Beat.

  Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  Beat. Beat, beat, beat.

  “Just a dream,” I say out loud to convince myself. Pearl jumps on the bed and snuggles closer, gently biting my fingers. And I feel it. I feel her sharp little teeth digging gently into my skin. She knows exactly how to help. I smile and stroke her softly, ignoring the fact that I’m completely soaked through with terrified sweat.

  I lay back down, landing on something hard. Frowning, I dig around the covers and pull out my cell. The screen is glowing and I see I have unread messages. Before I can stop myself, I’m already hoping. Wishing. Willing it to be him. I unlock the screen and scroll.