Heartless (Merciless Book 2)
: Chapter 17

It’s my birthday, but it wasn’t until I saw Carter’s phone that I knew what the date was.

No one here knows it’s my birthday; why would they? They also don’t know that yesterday was the anniversary of my mother’s death. The day before my birthday.

And for the first time, I didn’t go to her grave.

I start to cry again, and I don’t know if I’m crying for my mother, for my family, or for Carter and the boy he used to be. I could cry forever, and it wouldn’t be enough for the tragedy our families combined have suffered.

My back leans against the wall of the bathroom. To my left, the door is shut and in front of me, the shower is running to drown out the sounds of me crying. I wanted a shower to wash it all away. A hot, scalding shower.

Instead, I’m crouched on the floor by the door. I can barely stand, I’m so lightheaded and exhausted. I don’t trust myself in the shower. I don’t trust myself or anyone else anymore.

I know my father is a horrible man. A godawful man condemned to hell. I didn’t know what he did to Carter. I had no idea. “I didn’t know,” I whisper to no one. I was so blind for so long and I wish I could go back. I hate all of this. I hate all the pain. I hate that there’s no way to go backward.

I can already accept my father’s death, as cruel as it sounds. For what he’s done, there’s no mercy in his death. More than that, he lived when my mother died. And he knows I’m here, yet he’s done nothing. Nothing was ever done for my mother’s murder. I’m sure my father would do nothing to honor my death.

Flames along the side of the house I’ve drawn flash before my eyes. I can’t forgive him. I can’t forgive my father, and I don’t even want to know when he’s gone. I don’t want to give him the honor of mourning him.

But it’s not just him.

It’s Nikolai too. Why hasn’t he come for me? Please, he can’t be the same man my father is. A staggering breath leaves me. I know he’s not, and I can’t accept it.

I won’t.

I’ve never felt so torn—no, so ripped apart.

But I’m sick of crying. I’m sick of dealing with death, time and time again. I’m my father’s daughter. I live in a world where attachments are limited and mourning only fuels hatred. I’ve stayed hidden and quiet, attempting to go unnoticed for years and stay out of the way, and therefore, out of the sights of men who would see me as a bargaining chip. Yet, here I am, in the hands of a man hellbent on murder and vengeance.

But as I thought about how every anniversary of my mother’s death, Nikolai brought me to her grave, I started to despair. How every birthday, I woke up replaceing a text from him and a note that he would take me wherever I wanted to go.

And how that didn’t happen this time.

And how it never will again, and there was no way I could stop it.

There’s no way I can save him.

I mourned the death of a man who still breathes. Not being able to hear him today or talk to him and let him know how I miss him and wish I could do something to stop it all, is a death in and of itself. And in its place is what I’ve been taught to hold my entire life. Hate.

It’s as if Carter’s already killed him; he’s taken my only companion in this world away from me. And the anger in that realization grows by the second. Hardening my heart.

Maybe next year, when I visit my mother’s grave, Nikolai’s will be near.

The thought and visions of an old gravestone next to a newly carved one bring a new flood of tears.

That’s all I can do. To mourn them.

To mourn us all. And to cling to my hate for a man I’m growing to love.

A soft click causes my eyes to lift to the doorknob and I watch it slowly turn. Haphazardly wiping my eyes, I slowly rise to my feet, leaning against the wall as Carter opens the door. Steam that fills the room drifts to the open space and the hot air makes my heated face feel that much hotter.

Carter stops after one step in the room, staring at the empty shower for a moment before turning to me when I let out a heavy and broken breath. The look in his eyes showed true fear until it settled on me.

I saw fear in the eyes of a man who does nothing but revel in it.

Still, I feel like nothing beneath him as he stares down at me. “I thought you were in the shower.” His eyes roam my face, searching for something.

I try to swallow, but I can’t. Instead, I shake my head softly and pray for him to leave. I should have stayed in the hideaway room.

“I don’t like to see you like this.” Carter’s statement sounds genuine, but all I can give him in return is a sick and sarcastic huff of a laugh. It croaks from me and I can barely breathe in after. Reaching for the tissues by the sink, I turn my back to him. My shoulders are still shuddering with the mess of sorrow that weighs down on me.

His large hand settles down on my shoulder, carefully, gently, and he tries to pull me close to him. To hold me like he’s done before. With half a step forward, he attempts to hug me from behind, he even closes his eyes and lowers his lips to kiss my bare shoulder.

But I’m quick to turn, push him away and step out of his embrace. He can’t hold me and think it makes it all go away. Not anymore.

The tissue is balled in my fist as I push him again, shoving him away.

He doesn’t let me comfort him, so I won’t let him do the same to me. To use my pain against me. So, he can do as he pleases, regardless of the consequences they hold for me.

“No, you don’t get to touch me.” My words come out sharply with a fierceness I didn’t know I still had in me. Rage heats in his dark eyes as his expression hardens and he stills where he is, his jaw tense and his shoulders rigid.

“Tell me now that you don’t want to throw me back in my cell.” Again, emotion cracks my words. I stare back at him, waiting for a response. It’s difficult not to see the sorrow and fear in his gaze that he’s showed me before.

“The only place I want to throw you is on my bed to remind you of what I can give you.” He speaks quietly, in a deep tenor that sounds raw to my ears. “You still belong to me,” he reminds me.

My lips twitch up into a sad smile. Sad for him that he thinks he could possibly ever have me the way he wishes. It will never happen.

A flicker of anger, the cluck of his tongue, one step toward me, and Carter morphs back into the man I recognize from weeks ago. Cold and calculated.

But you can’t go back. He, of all people, should know better.

“Kneel,” he commands but I can hear the desperation in his voice. He may want to pretend but he knows can’t control me when I’m like this. I can barely control myself.

“Send me back to the cell.” My demand comes out strong and with defiance, no one could deny.

I’ll be better in the cell. Better there than the hideaway where I’m simply avoiding him. The cell leaves me no options. I need it. I need to get away from the man standing in front of me.

If Carter touches me, I’ll cave. I know I will. I’ll forget the pain and the anger. I’ll forget to mourn. There will be nothing of me left but what he wants there to be.

I’m weak for him. “I need to be away from you,” I whisper with harsh anger on my tongue.

“No.” His denial of my request should only strengthen my resolve to disobey. But my limbs feel weak, and I so desperately need to be held. I want him to be the man to do it.

“Do I need to try to run?” I ask him in an obstinate breath, not daring to look him in the eyes.

“As if you could get away from me.” His answer comes out softer than it should. And with more comfort than I can resist.

“Fuck you,” I spit out at him in a last-ditch effort.

“You really want to go back to your cell, don’t you? I could always keep the door open if you prefer. So you can pretend I’m the monster you want me to be.”

I could always keep the door open. The words force tears to my eyes. He would take it away. Take away the pretense that I have absolutely no choice. Instantly, I hate him for doing this to me.

“I hate you,” I spit at him, every bit of anger and sadness mixing into a deadly concoction.

Carter’s eyes blaze with heat in the mix of all of this as he steps closer to me. With each step forward he takes, I take one in reverse until the back of my knees hit the edge of the tub.

“Admit it,” he whispers so closely to me I can feel how hot he is. The hot water sprays down behind me, filling the room with white noise and heat. I can’t take my eyes from Carter’s as he leans in closer. His shoulders cage me in and his angular jaw holds nothing but dominance as he tells me, “Admit that you understand, and you know this has to happen. Admit it,” he asserts.

“There’s always a choice.” I barely get the words out as he touches me. As he lays a finger, a single finger on my collarbone and lets it travel lower. His touch is fire to my skin. And I’ll be damned if I don’t want more of it. When my eyes reach his again, my heart twists with unbearable pain. The sadness conveyed in his expression reflects his low tone as he utters, “It’s comforting to think we have choices.”

When his eyes lift from my throat, where his finger travels up and down in a soothing stroke, the pain in his expression vanishes and once again the hardened man commands me, “Admit it. And admit you’re mine.”

Slap! I can’t explain why I did it, even as my hand stings with severe pain, my lungs refuse to move, and fear overwhelms my body. A bright red handprint marks Carter’s face and slowly he tilts his head back up to face me.

I slapped him. I struck Carter Cross.

One breath and he grabs both my wrists and shoves them above my head.

“Carter.” The way I say his name is like a plea although I don’t know what I’m begging for. I’m in over my head, feeling lightheaded and full of nothing but fear. Fear of him, of what’s to come. Of everything.

“Aria,” Carter’s voice is strangled and reflects exactly how I feel. I open my eyes to beg him for forgiveness, to apologize, but his eyes close and he crashes his lips to mine.

Pressing them deeply to mine with a savagery I need to feel, nipping my bottom lip, devouring me until my own lips part and my tongue seeks his.

Fuck. I need this. I need him.

His fingers tighten around my wrists and he stretches them higher as his other hand roams down my body.

I don’t know at what point the mourning and defiance changed to this. To the absolute need to be fucked by him, worshipped by his body. The feel of his powerful hold and brutal touch that turns soft the instant I need it to be, is addictive.

It’s worse than any drug.

His left hand nearly releases my wrists, but the second I try to move, he tightens them again. “Carter,” I say, and his name is a strangled moan as I squirm against the hard wall while his right hand replaces my panties and shreds the lace. The thin fabric falls down my leg, tickling me in its wake and during all this, every nerve ending in my body is on edge.

“Aria,” Carter moans my name, his scruff scratching my shoulder as he breathes against my neck. I’m so hot. Everything is hot and ready to be lit aflame.

His thick fingers drag along my pussy, the moisture there aiding in how easily they travel up to my clit then back down to my entrance. Pausing each time to tease me and bring me closer to the edge.

“Tell me you don’t want me, that you’re really done with me and I’ll stop,” Carter whispers and then drops his head to the crook of my neck. All I can hear is the mix of our heavy breathing and the white noise of the shower behind us.

My eyes open as I shudder and try to breathe, to make sense of any of this, and that’s when I see us in the mirror. A sad, ragged girl with red eyes and nothing but pain reflected in them. Pinned to the wall by a man built to consume and bred by this world to hate.

And my heart breaks.

It breaks for both of us.

I don’t want to cry anymore. “Please,” is the only whimper I can manage, and I don’t know what I’m pleading for.

Maybe just to take the pain away, if only for a little while.

Carter’s strong chest presses hard against mine, trapping me and overwhelming me as he shoves his fingers deep inside of me while ravaging every inch of exposed skin with his lips.

I heave in a breath; my neck bows and my body rocks with the immediate pressure building deep in my belly. It rocks through me like waves. So close and threatening.

My nipples harden and my toes curl, my hips threaten to buck, to move away knowing the heavy hit is coming. But with Carter, there’s nowhere to run. And the pleasure is an onslaught, an unforgiving bliss I’m submerged in.

My body is paralyzed by the blinding pleasure, and it’s only then that Carter releases me. He doesn’t let me sag against the wall, he immediately grabs my body, hugging me to him until he can lower me to the floor and shove his pants down.

He fucks me like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He takes his time, although each thrust is punishing.

I claw at his back and he bites my shoulder.

I scream out his name and he screams out mine.

Neither of us breathing, save the air from each other’s lungs.

The heat, the passion, the need… it’s all undeniable. I can admit that. Of everything Carter wants me to admit, I can admit that he has a part of me I didn’t know existed and a part of me no one else will ever have.

“How can I hate you and love you at the same time?” I ask him in staggered words as I struggle to breathe. My eyes open wide, realizing what I said, but Carter either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care as he climbs off of me, his cum leaking from me as I lie on the cold floor, panting.

A part of me cracks as he stands and runs his hand over his face and then down the back of his head. Standing with his back to me, a part of me shatters. I’m such a fool. A foolish girl at the whim of a monster. Lost in my pain until he can overpower it with pleasure.

He carried me to his bed. Wordlessly.

He wiped between my legs with a warm, damp cloth and then carried me to his bed. I can’t look at him; I can’t do anything but lie here. And every tick of the clock makes me wonder if I should climb out and go sleep on the floor of the hideaway.

My heart hurts too much.

At least he’s not touching me. Every time the bed groans and the covers shift over my naked body I tense, thinking he’s going to hold me, but he doesn’t.

I replay the last twenty-four hours over and over again.

“Why did you look scared when I wasn’t in the shower?” I finally ask him, breaking the silence and the pretense that I could even try to sleep. “I don’t understand.” I give him the reasoning for the question as it came seemingly from nowhere. They’re the only words that have been spoken between us since the slap, apart from the confession that went unheard.

“Jase had a lover once,” Carter answers me, softly spoken, but rough and deep. I can hear him breathe heavily, feel it even with the dip of the bed and then he adds, “She killed herself in the shower.”

My lips part, although I stay lying on my side, my back to him. More pain. More tragedy. I wonder what Jase did to her that made her kill herself. I didn’t think he was capable of such a thing. The question is on my tongue, but I don’t ask it.

Carter had fear in his eyes when I wasn’t standing in the shower because for a moment, for one brief moment, he thought I was lying dead in the tub.