Series: The Moretti Crime Family Series by J.L. Beck
Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 111428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
A second later, he releases inside my tight channel with a roar that shakes the walls. It’s violent, and all I can do is let it happen.
He collapses on top of me, his weight pushing my body into the couch.
“Tell me who he is?” he pants, pressing his lips to the back of my head.
“I… I don’t know. I swear. I’ve never met him before. I’m not lying to you.” I’m completely out of breath, but somehow, I get the words out this time.
As fast as he entered me, he’s pulling out, plunging me into icy waters at the loss of his body heat. Hate burns in my chest and tears sting my eyes.
Why did I let this happen? I could easily tell myself that I didn’t have a choice, but I chose to enjoy it. I chose to let him make me come. Shame consumes me, replacing all other emotions. There is something wrong with me. I just let him fuck me in front of some random man who he beat up.
He fucked me, used me because he assumed I was lying. I feel raw, and that feeling only grows as his release slips out of me, dripping onto the floor and down my thighs. It’s a reminder of what I let him do. I should’ve fought him, should’ve begged him to stop, but I orgasmed. I fed right into his darkness, feasting on it as if I was starved.
I’m going to be sick.
I’m about to push off the couch when I hear footsteps behind me. Turning, I peer over my shoulder and find Markus holding a gun in his hand. The shiny metal catches in the light. My eyes bulge out of my head, wondering where the hell the weapon came from and what he’s going to do, but before I can jump to stop or protest, he pulls the trigger.
The noise is deafening, and my ears ring and remain that way even after the man slumps back in the chair, a bullet hole through his head.
The air turns to ice in my lungs, and my whole-body freezes. I stop breathing, stop blinking, stop moving. All I can do is stare at the man on the chair.
What just happened? This has to be a dream. A nightmare, actually.
That’s all I can think about. It’s not real. It’s a movie, some kind of special effect. The man is going to sit up any minute now, wiping the fake blood away. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, and still, nothing happens. My lungs burn, and I realize I’m still holding my breath.
I try to suck in a bit of air, but I feel like there are nails in my airways. My throat constricts, making it hard for me to breathe or swallow. I blink, trying to wake myself up, trying to leave this horrible nightmare behind, but the man is still there, sitting in the chair with a hole in his head.
This isn’t a dream, Fallon. This is reality, your new reality.
Everything around me moves in slow motion.
Markus turns to me, lowering the barrel of the gun to the floor. There isn’t an ounce of remorse in his gaze. It’s almost as if he doesn’t care that he just killed someone. Like it’s normal for him. It hits me then.
He killed someone.
Shot them dead, right in front of me.
“Now you know what will happen if you ever try to escape me. If you ever think you can lie to me and get away with it. Next time, I won’t fuck you… I’ll just kill you.”
Shock ripples through me with the effect of a lightning strike. I know it because I feel nothing of the world around me. It’s like I’m disconnected. Someone has pulled the plug on my body. The ringing in my ears continues, and all I can see is the man slumped over, his brain matter splattered against the wall.
I can’t unsee the evil in Markus, and that is as terrifying as the dead man before my eyes.
8
Markus
I’ve completely fucking lost it. Lost my mind—lost touch with reality. I’ve gone off the deep end, and there is no way to bring me back. Fallon is in my blood, beneath my fucking skin, and I can’t shake her. I can’t claw her out.
The thought of her lying to me, of her knowing that fucking bastard, consumed me. I had to claim her right then and there, had to show her who was in control. Looking at her shocked expression now, a sliver of guilt forms.
I want to focus on the now, the part of my life I can control and change. I don’t feel guilt for killing that fucker, nor do I feel bad for saying what I said to her. I need her to be afraid. I need her to know who is running the show. This was inevitable and had to happen. Nonetheless, the guilt is still there, sticking to my bones.