I sit back and stare. Even though it’s dark and there is only a porch light on, I can make out that this house is nice. I mean real nice. I grew up in a nice home. It was nothing fancy, but we were comfortable. My parents were good people, and possibly still are, but I can never go back. And I’m not sure I want to.
I’m such a disappointment.
They even told me so.
So I’ve been on my own for a while after I left he-who-shall-not-be-named. Asshole.
And I’ve been getting by, barely.
I want more for myself. I want to do more, earn my own way and live life.
But that’s hard when no one wants to give you a chance.
Kyson stops the car, gets out, and grabs my bag from the back seat, not once asking me to follow as he walks to the front door. I know I have to get out, but I haven’t moved. It’s hard. Is he being nice, or does he plan to kill me?
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the car. After closing the door softly, my bare feet carry me along the cement driveway until I reach the large, black double doors which has one side open to allow entry into what seems like an open-planned living space. Stepping farther in, I see furniture that looks surprisingly homey as well as comfy. Wooden floors shine to an almost reflective finish, add to the flow of the room, and translate through to the dining area as well as the kitchen. I instantly smell clean, as in no mold or trash.
Is this how he lives? It must be nice.
Standing there for a good five minutes, I just stare. I can’t say I’m accustomed to places like this, because I am not. Managing to finally move, I hear a noise and follow the sound to the kitchen, stopping when I see an older lady dressed in a nightgown making a coffee. She turns to me, a soft smile on her face as she holds a container of sugar in her hand. Her white hair is pulled back in a bun, and she has kind eyes.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi,” I say, lifting a hand.
“Would you like a coffee? I made you some supper. It’s on the table.” She motions behind me, and when I turn, I see Kyson sitting at an ebony wood table and eating. He’s concentrating on something on his phone and doesn’t pay me a lick of attention. But the food, wow. The plate set in front of an empty leather chair is full—steak with veggies, biscuits, gravy, and a side salad. My mouth starts watering. “Hope it’s okay, dear. Do you eat meat?”
I look back to the little old lady, wanting to cry, but manage to hold it in. “I do.”
“Nancy, she will eat. Don’t baby her,” Kyson growls out. I take a deep breath and move to the table. I pull out the seat, but he still hasn’t looked my way. Whatever’s on his phone is interesting, that’s for sure.
Picking up the knife and fork, I don’t bother waiting for him to reply. I take in the art on the wall next to me as I stuff my face, literally. I’m surprised he has anything decorating his walls, least of all the colorful abstract art in purples and turquoise. When I look back at my plate, I’m pleased that I’ve only gotten through half the steak and veggies. I get the feeling I’m being stared at and look up to see his eyes are now on me. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and slow my chewing.
“How long has it been since you had a decent meal? Do you have no manners?” he asks softly, but it’s filled with venom.
Chewing the last of what’s in my mouth, I swallow, then answer, “None of your goddamn business, asshole.” I stab another piece of steak, and the lady, Nancy, coughs from behind me as she brings over a glass of lemonade and places it in front of me.
She taps my shoulder to gain my attention. “I’ll have breakfast ready in the morning. Do you have any requests?”
“Pancakes?” I ask, smiling. If he’s going to force me to stay here, I’m going to take advantage. She nods and walks off, leaving me alone with Kyson. I look back at him and find him studying me.
“Do you have any form of manners?” he asks.
I fork up another piece of steak and put it in my mouth, not answering him. I stare at him as I chew. His jaw tics, and then I open my mouth and chew loudly. Now his jaw clenches hard as he stands and stomps off with his plate. I hear him throw it in the sink before he returns to the table—it’s a wonder it didn’t break—as I feel him come up behind me.
“Get up and follow me,” he growls.
I place my fork down and slowly, painfully slowly, take a sip of my lemonade before I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
I feel full and fuck, it feels good.
Standing, I push my seat out and turn to face him. “Lead the way, boss.” I smirk at him.
Kyson goes to speak, but then I guess he thinks better of it and turns to head out of the kitchen. I sigh and go after him, remembering that he is the devil. Just because he gave me food, that does not make him a good guy. I know for sure, he is anything but.
As I walk up the stairs behind him, his round ass fills my view.
He has a nice ass, toned and tight.
This man is good-looking—he may be the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen.
He halts at a door and opens it. I stop next to him, unsure, and he nods to the room beyond. I step in to find a television and a bed. I’m too excited to be sleeping in a bed that looks like it wasn’t pulled from the dump—with fresh sheets—and to see a flatscreen TV that looks brand new, to even realize until it’s too late that he’s shut the door behind me.
Then he locks it from the outside.
And then he leaves.
Running over to it, I bang and scream his name.
Kyson doesn’t come back.
When I see him next, I plan to scratch his eyes out. Villain or not.
Asshole.
Seven
Kyson
That woman screamed for most of the night until I assume she passed out. And not long after that, I did as well.
I unlock the door this morning, expecting to find her still asleep. Instead, I step back as something flies at my face, hitting me right in the eye. And then I’m kicked in the stomach. The feisty bitch goes to kick me again, this time in my junk, but I’m expecting that from her, and catch her leg before she can even attempt to swing it into position. Spinning her around so her back is to me and my arms are wrapped around her waist, holding her arms down, I growl in her ear, “You threw the toilet brush at me.” My eye still stings from the hard hit.
She shrugs. “You locked me in here, asshole.”
“It’s a nice room with a comfortable bed, a TV, and its own bathroom,” I remind her. Her scent registers in my nose, and she smells good. Clean, like some sort of fucking flower. I push her away because I can feel my cock twitch with her being so close.
That can’t happen.
Ever.
“So you think you can lock me up? What world are you living in, asshole?”
“My world. And as far as I’m concerned, you are mine until I can figure out what to do with you.”
“Do with me?” she asks, shock registering on her face as her mouth forms a perfect O.
“Yes. Most people don’t get the choice. We simply kill them.” I turn and leave the bedroom.
“So you’re deciding whether to kill me or not?” she asks, and I can hear the fear in her voice.
“Pretty much. So stop throwing shit at me,” I tell her, walking down the stairs.