Rampant (2 page)

“The hell, Lex? You’re dry as fuck.” He pulled out then shoved in so violently, I arched to my toes. My teeth tugged at my lower lip and the metallic tang of blood lingered on my tongue. “I spent years molding you,” he said with a grunt, pumping a steady, harsh rhythm that punished from the inside out. “Bastard corrupted you.”

A whimper escaped my tight lips. “You’re hurting me.”

“Isn’t that how you like it? Come for me.”

It wasn’t going to happen. Icy fear doused my skin, battling the warmth of the water. How could I come if I wasn’t breathing? Wasn’t alive? I
wasn’t
alive.

I’m not here. This isn’t real. I’m safe in Rafe’s arms right now, having the nightmare from hell. Wake up…

Zach roared his release with a final plunge, ramming to the hilt and triggering sharp pain that spread outward from my cervix. The fog in my head enveloped me, and I barely noticed him rubbing my body down with soap until he turned me in the spray to rinse it away. He shut off the water, ushered me from the stall, and hauled me to the bed, dripping wet.

“You’re gonna scream my name.” He shoved me to my back and grabbed my ankles, his fingers trapping like shackles, and dragged me to the edge of the mattress. Forcing my thighs apart, he dropped to his knees. My mind left me, floated to the island and the memory of the dark abyss that had claimed Rafe. I visualized him breaking the surface and pulling himself onto land, but the daydream fractured, and I let out a startled yelp.

Something pinched my clit.

Zach, on his knees with his face buried in my pussy. His teeth clamped down unbearably hard, but the pain did nothing, didn’t even ignite a spark. No feeling, no forbidden rush of adrenaline storming through me. It might have been minutes. It might have been hours. I never came, never even got close, and no amount of him slapping me, pinching flesh and twisting nipples, would bring about an orgasm. Some previously dormant switch had been tripped.

Rafe had done that in the week we'd had together, when the walls had crumbled between us and I'd learned what it was like to feel cherished.

Possibly even loved.

“Snap out of it!” Zach slammed his fist into my face, and I cried out as the blow echoed along my cheekbone. He’d never hit me in such a visible place. I gaped at him as his finger curled inside me, pressing the spot that usually sent me soaring. He returned my stare, eyes narrowed dangerously, waiting. “Squirt like a fucking whore.”

“Never again,” I said, gritting my teeth. “Not for you.”

He jerked forward, fist raised.

“Go ahead! Hit me again.
Kill
me.” Please, God, let him kill me. “I’d rather die than be with you.”

A combination of hurt and violence darkened his features. I flinched, certain his knuckles were two seconds from connecting with my cheekbone again.

“You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice incongruent with the hard line of his jaw. “You’ll love me again. Somewhere inside you is the little girl who made me her world.”

“That girl was your sister!”

“I’ve never looked at you that way, Lex, and you know it. There’s no blood between us, so stop hiding behind shame. What we have is unstoppable.”

“What we have is fucked up. For God’s sake, Zach, we grew up together.” The echo of innocence pinged through my heart, leaving me bereft. Long ago, we'd been two kids playing in the yard, building forts that stood as tall as skyscrapers to my young eyes, yet they’d barely allowed Zach to stand inside the carefully constructed walls. He'd been my big brother, someone I always counted on and looked up to.

Until the day he'd wrecked me. I recalled that life-altering moment as if it happened yesterday. Only thirteen, too unsure of the change in his touch, struggling to understand what it meant. I’d sprawled stiffly beside him, incapable of moving as his fingers slipped beneath my panties. He’d smothered my fearful cry with a sweaty palm and had spread my thighs before burrowing past my innocence. Zach had taken something precious from me that night, and in turn I’d taken the freedom of the only man I'd ever love.

I’d
killed
him.

The reality of what had happened at the river was too painful and a tear crept down my cheek, as if trying to sneak past Zach's watchful gaze.

“You never cry.” He slowly lowered his fist. “In all the years we’ve fucked,” he said, “you never cried. Not once. Why now? Because of
him
?” His mouth twisted into something ugly…something arrestingly terrifying. “He's your past, Lex. I'm your future, and I'll do whatever it takes to bring you back to me.”

We slept the day away, Zach’s naked body trapping my own. Several times, I tried to extricate myself from his grasp, but his arms always tightened in warning. At some point, I’d fallen into a restless sleep where images of Rafe and the island tormented me.

Still haunted by the echoes of convoluted dreams, I hugged my knees from my spot on the four poster bed as Zach raided the closet. “Who’s cabin is this?” I asked, glancing at the window, where bright light had filtered through the curtains before we fell asleep. Now a strip of black peeked through where the material hung open, indicating the sun had set long ago.

“A friend’s. He comes up here in the fall to hunt.” As Zach sifted through flannel shirts, sweatshirts, and jackets, I wondered if the owner stored his rifles somewhere in the house. My gaze zoomed in on the closet, hoping to catch a glimpse of a gun.

“You’re so transparent,” Zach said. “You won’t find a gun in this place. He doesn’t keep them here.” He removed a black wife-beater from the dresser and pulled it over his defined pecs and abs. The sweats he wore swam on his toned frame, drawstring cinched tight. My brother was all hard muscle, and obviously, the owner of this place wasn’t. He grabbed a white tee and tossed it at me. “All you need to know is we won’t be interrupted for a few weeks.” Pointing a finger in my direction, he told me to get dressed.

I tugged the soft cotton over my head and eyed the door. The dresser and the closet were on either side, and Zach stood smack in the middle of the doorway, effectively blocking the exit. Watching me with the air of a predator, he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

I avoided the intensity in his probing stare and instead took in the room, the unfamiliar cabin walls, the smooth oak furniture. That damn window that taunted me, whispering to my desperation to slide it open and crawl through, except I knew he’d stop me before I could. The adjacent bathroom was a dead end for escape as well, with only a small vent-type window to allow air in.

“A few weeks, Zach?” Maybe logic would penetrate his thick skull. “What about your career? Won’t interrupting your training like this set you back?”

“My career is gone. It went down the drain the minute I thought I’d lost you.”

“Dad won’t be happy about that.”

“I don’t give a fuck what Dad’s happy about. I don’t about care about any of it, Lex. I’m done with MMA. You’re all that matters to me.”

I shook my head, feeling completely cornered. “I can’t live like this. Don’t make me.” Clenching my hands to keep from gouging flesh, I gnawed on my lip instead. “C’mon, Zach. If you don’t let me go, you’ll be on the run for the rest of your life. That isn’t a life.”

“As far as the world knows, you’re dead.” He shifted his feet and poked a finger at his chest. “I don’t have to run at all—I just have to make sure no one finds out you’re still alive. We’ll lay low here for a couple of weeks and go from there.”

His twitchy gestures made me nervous, and I wondered if alcohol was the only substance he was withdrawing from.

“How’d you do it?” he asked, his sudden question derailing my train of thought.

“Do what?”

“Fake your death.” He leaned against the doorjamb, folded his arms, tapped his foot. A dragon breathed fire down his right bicep. Unlike Rafe’s tattoos, which were beautiful, symmetrical, and understated in their simplicity, Zach’s begged for attention with detail and flaming color. “Better yet, how’d you get past your fear to do it?” He clenched his jaw. “You must have been desperate to get to him, for you to go anywhere near the river, let alone crash your car into it.” He tilted his head. “Must have been desperate to get away from me to fake your own death.”

I averted my gaze. Zach read me too easily. What would he do if he found out Rafe had kidnapped me? He might read something into it that wasn’t true. Just because Rafe had taken me, that didn’t mean I hadn’t been where I’d wanted to be in the end. But even worse he might get the same idea as Rafe and use the phobia against me. If he hadn’t thought of that already.

“Answer me,” he said, bringing me back to the moment with his biting tone.

“It wasn’t easy.” I stood, straightened my shoulders, and the muscles in my thighs tightened, readying to fight, to flee. I quelled the urge, as he had me trapped and there was no way I’d get past him and out that door. My stomach grumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten in twenty-four hours, and it gave me the perfect excuse to try and get out of the room. “Is there anything to eat in this place?”

He signaled for me to go to him, and I couldn’t help but notice the tremors in his fingers. I tried to pinpoint when he’d started drinking, but the onset of his alcoholism had been gradual, like a bad cold that begins with a sneeze and a vague ache in your glands until the next thing you know, you’re laid up in bed feeling like death incarnate. His drunken fits had been sporadic at first, beginning somewhere around the time I’d graduated college and escalating after I’d started dating Lucas.

“I’m sure there’s gotta be some soup or something.” He clamped his hand around my upper arm and ushered me from the bedroom. On the way to the kitchen, I eyed the front door, just a few feet away, yet it seemed like yards. The promise of escape disappeared from view too soon, leaving behind the fleeting idea of freedom. He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, wooden legs scraping across the floor unnervingly, and shot me a pointed look, but he didn’t push me into the seat.

Rafe would’ve shoved my ass into it.

I gave myself a sound mental slap. I had to stop torturing myself with thoughts of him. It fucking maimed too much, but unbidden, his voice haunted my mind, his words gruff with sexual need.

Howl for me. Come undone. I’ll put you back together.

My knees buckled, and I choked back a sob as I slid into the chair. I hadn’t accepted the idea that he was gone. I didn’t feel it in my heart, and like a dope addict clamoring for another fix, I clung to the frayed thread of hope that he was alive and looking for me.

Zach either didn’t care about my rocky emotional state, or he didn’t notice. He turned his attention to the cupboards and chose two cans of soup. As he prepared our food, he never quite turned his back on me. This was my brother, a guy I’d shared a house with for twelve years, which meant he knew me too well, knew what buttons to push, what words to use as weapons. He’d be stupid to let his guard down for a second.

I might have a sick attachment to him, but I despised him too. And I’d never felt so torn. Love for a brother, and hate for a twisted, obsessive…I didn’t even know what to call him. The term
lover
came to mind, but that wasn’t right either. He’d fucked me. A lot. And I’d let him.

Maybe if I’d fought harder, Rafe would still be alive.

My stomach roiled with renewed self-loathing, and when he carried two bowls of steaming soup to the table, I couldn’t fathom forcing the liquid down my throat. His gaze lifted and clashed with mine. I looked away, fearful my thoughts were plastered all over my face. He rounded the table, and his fingers brushed my cheek, making me flinch.

“I’m sorry I hit you.”

He was always sorry, yet it never stopped him from doing it again. I edged away from his touch. Even the feather-like caress of his fingers against my cheekbone hurt.

“Don’t pull away from me.” He grabbed a fist full of hair and jerked my head forward. “I’m trying to apologize, Lex, but fuck, you sure know how to piss me off.”

“It’s not hard.” I yanked violently from his grasp. The cost of freeing myself remained in his fist—several clumps of my hair. “You go off on the smallest things. Ever hear of anger management?” Or a cell for the criminally insane.

“Ever hear of the words
shut up
?” He stomped across the room and began rifling through drawers. As he busied himself with his frantic search for whatever he was looking for, my attention veered to the living room where the front door beckoned just beyond.

He took out a roll of duct tape, and I flew from my seat, my feet carrying me into the next room before I’d given thought to the consequences. The exit pulled at me like a net, as if dragging me from the depths of terrifying deep sea. My momentum slammed me into the door, shaking the coat rack in the corner by the closet. I hoisted it, launched it behind me, and prayed the obstacle slowed his thundering footfalls.

That’s when I spotted the keys hanging on the wall. I grasped at them with one trembling hand while the other fought with the knob, panic taking root in my fingertips. Finally, I flung the door open, catapulted off the porch, and ran toward his BMW.