Cold Cole Heart Page 7

  I run my fingertips along the tiny hole on my side before bringing my bloody hand up to inspect it. “Are those scars on your hands from her?”

  He grabs my wrist and yanks me forward. I fall against his chest, my fists clutching at his sweater to keep from tumbling over. “Everything she did to me, I do ten times worse,” he snarls, his hot breath tickling my face.

  “Why?”

  “Because you deserve it,” he bites out, his face red with fury.

  I blink several times in confusion. “I don’t deserve this. I didn’t deserve what he did and I certainly don’t deserve what you’re doing. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  His hand slides down to my side and he digs his thumb into my cut, making me cry out in pain. “You deserve to pay over and over again, Anta. This is your life sentence on repeat.”

  He pushes his thumb in so hard, I nearly black out from pain. Without thinking, I slap him hard across his face. For a moment, we both freeze. His eyes bore into mine, shock flickering in them.

  I’m shocked too.

  I never retaliated against Alan.

  Why am I doing it against Heart?

  He’s bigger and tougher looking than Alan ever was.

  Yet…

  I’m not afraid of him. Well, not completely. Sometimes he scares the hell out of me, but it’s fleeting before hope comes crashing back into me. It’s the hope that feeds my bravery around Heart. Apparently my bravery is starved too.

  “You hit me,” he growls. “You fucking hit me.”

  Lifting my chin, I face off with him with false bravado. “Yeah, and you cut me. I’d say we’re even.”

  When he fumbles for the knife on the bed, I go crazy. My fingernails become claws as I lash out at him. I fall back against the mattress and kick him hard in the stomach, enjoying the groan that comes from him. I’ve barely grabbed onto the hilt of the knife when he tackles me. It’s a battle as he tries to pin me with his weight. He’s heavy and the thick chain digs into my abdomen as he manhandles me.

  “Stop.” His words are soft and menacing.

  Tired and used up, I relax in his grip. He plucks the knife from my grip and holds the blade against my throat. I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable.

  This is my life.

  I was never meant to have a real one.

  If anything, Heart taking me was simply ending this sentence much sooner than I thought. Alan would have never let me go. He would’ve hired someone with my mother’s money—with my money after I inherited it—to kill me and make it look like an accident. I was never leaving that loft alive. And now that I’ve somehow managed to do it, I will still die. Just differently and quicker.

  My heart aches and I tremble.

  I miss my mom.

  Our late night beach walks.

  Talks of my future and college.

  Those Sunday mornings when I’d begrudgingly get out of bed to help her make pancakes.

  Hot tears stream from my eyes as I remember my mother. My bottom lip wobbles as a choked sob pierces the air. The tip of the blade presses into my lip and he pulls it down slightly.

  “Your death is the only certainty here,” he murmurs.

  I blink open my eyes and nod. “I know.”

  “I’m going to make you hurt so badly.”

  More tears spill from my eyes and my words croak from me. “Anything to make the inside not hurt so badly.”

  His black eyebrows pinch together as he regards me. “You want me to cut you.”

  I close my eyes and focus on the sting on my side. It burns and throbs. I don’t like it, but I don’t hate it either. “I just want to be done.” I let out a resigned sigh. Not really. I want to be done with pain and captivity and monsters. But life? If I could ever get away from hell, life would be heaven.

  His nostrils flare angrily and he pulls away from me, taking his knife with him. He stalks out of the room. I curl up on my side and wonder how many days I have left until all of this ends. I’m wondering how Alan is handling my absence when Heart returns carrying a first aid kit. He sits down beside me and sets to cleaning the wound he inflicted. Once it’s bandaged up, he tugs on my chain until I’m sitting up.

  “Look at me,” he instructs, his voice emotionless.

  I meet his stare with no emotion of my own. My tears have run dry. My heart has ceased to beat for anything. I simply blink at him.

  “Heart?”

  His eyes drop to my mouth. “What?”

  “Is that your real name?”

  “It’s my last name.”

  A small smile tugs at my lips. With him not in psycho mode, he’s back to staring at me with curiosity. His features are softer and I have the urge to touch his face. “What’s your first name?”

  “None of your business,” he grunts, an irritated expression on his face. He starts to get off the bed and I let out a whine that has him halting. “What?”

  Can you stay?

  I want to beg him. Despite everything, I crave his nearness. His voice. His touch.

  “No.”

  “I didn’t ask anything.” The tears form quickly. Because apparently I have a death sentence, I reach forward and touch his handsome face.

  His eyes close briefly as I run my fingers along his sharp jawline. “No.” Rough voice. Not at all convincing, though.

  The chain clanks as I move to straddle him. His palms go to my ass, but he doesn’t move me away. Beneath me, I feel his cock harden with need.

  “Stay.” His humanity sparks in his eyes sometimes and it gives me hope that I can do something with it. Make him see. Get him to realize what he’s doing is wrong. To work with me rather than against me. Or maybe I’m just a masochist.

  He stiffens and pops open his eyes to glare at me. The humanity I’d hoped would be in his eyes is missing. “Was that a command?” His fingers grip my ass in a brutal way now that has me whimpering but not pulling away from him.

  “Stay,” I repeat, my voice firm.

  He laughs. Cold and menacing. “There’s something wrong with you.” His gaze darkens. “If I stay, I’m going to hurt you.” The threat lingers in the air. A tease to see if I’ll bite so he can probably humiliate me further.

  I greedily run my fingers through his hair, my nails scraping along his scalp. Pressing my breasts against his chest, I whisper against his lips, “If you stay, you can hurt me.”

  His palm slides to my throat and he squeezes. Exhilaration surges through me and I don’t understand the sensation. Leaning against his grip—encouraging him—I brush my lips against his.

  “Natalie,” he warns, his mouth parting slightly.

  I don’t heed his warning or the way he begins choking me. Instead, I desperately seek his mouth. My teeth nip at his bottom lip before I slide my tongue into his mouth. A small, shocked groan escapes him the moment our tongues touch.

  “Heart,” I murmur against his lips.

  He clutches my throat so hard I gasp for air, but it doesn’t stop me from attacking his mouth. Now that I’ve tasted him, I am desperate for basic human connection. When his other hand grips my hip and he all but urges me to grind against him, I can’t help but feel I’ve won this round. He’s forgetting his cause and getting lost in the moment.

  His teeth nip at my tongue painfully and I cry out. Then, his mouth pulls away only to suction itself to my neck the moment he releases it. I roll my head back and offer him my throat that he’s eager to devour. His bites, although painful, aren’t meant in a torturous way. They’re much more feral and ravenous in nature. As though he can’t control his basic need to taste and nibble on me.

  “Your pussy disgusts me,” he spits out. There’s no venom in his voice. He says these things like he’s trying to convince himself.

  I simply nod as to agree with him and begin tearing at his sweater. He makes a snarling sound before biting my tit. Before he draws blood, he pulls away and licks away the pain. I’m writhing and out of control with need to have him. I just want to be kissed and he
ld. I want to feel safe and adored for five minutes of my damn life.

  Just five minutes.

  He doesn’t fight me off when my hands go to his belt. The moment I have him unfastened and his thick, pulsating cock in my hands, he groans.

  “You’re a fucking witch,” he bites out.

  I lift on my knees as I align our bodies. We both moan when I slide all the way down his length. His palms find my ribs and he digs his fingers into my flesh as he guides me to move on top of him.

  Fast.

  Fast.

  Fast.

  I just want to go slow.

  I don’t want the moment to end. For him to leave me alone for hours with nothing but my thoughts. Every part of my body hurts, but not this. This feels good.

  “I’m going to kill you. You’re not changing anything,” he whispers.

  “Just do it fast.”

  As if preprogrammed to do the opposite of whatever I want, he stops his movement. His cock throbs within me and I squirm as I ache for him to touch me. He slides his hand between us and rubs at my clit. Slowly, almost painfully so, he brings me close to orgasm. Each time I think I might slip off the edge, he backs away.

  Over and over again.

  His cock is hot inside of me, but he refuses to move it. He keeps me locked in place with his other hand.

  “Please,” I beg.

  “You want to come?”

  “Please.”

  He grins at me, wolfish and evil. “You don’t get to come, Anta.”

  With a furious growl, I slap at his face with both hands. “I’m not her!”

  “Stop!” he roars as he flips us over onto the bed so that now I’m on my back. With me pinned beneath him, he drives brutally into me. Too fast, but he rubs up against me in just the right way. His hand abandons my clit and he settles for choking me again. The sensations are too much and I slip into ecstasy with my next breath. He squeezes hard, shutting off my air supply, and I come harder than ever before. Light explodes around me like a beautiful fireworks show. My sudden orgasm sets him off because his heat surges into me without warning.

  “Fuck,” he snaps, his hips still pistoning against me. “Fuck.”

  I run my fingers through his sweaty hair and stare into his eyes. “Stay.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Please,” I beg.

  He smiles, beautiful and bright as he pulls out of me. His cum runs from my body, soaking the mattress below. “Everyone’s torture is different. And if fucking and leaving you makes you lose your goddamned mind like I did in that hell hole, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  I choke on a sob as he steps away and tucks his wet cock back into his jeans.

  “Enjoy your insanity and loneliness.” His words echo in my heart long after the slam of the door does in my ears.

  SHE’S MAKING ME CRAZY.

  All that I’ve done before now made sense. Now, nothing makes sense. The normal punishments and cruelties don’t get carried out. I find myself eager to stare at her pouty mouth and hear her soft, sultry voice.

  What the actual fuck?

  In the past, I’ve had to do a little recon after the fact in order to best be able to torture my victims. Often, that meant stalking their old life to look for clues. And since Natalie is the biggest damn mystery out there, I’m driving my ass back to Seattle to learn more about her life. I’ll slip into her home undetected and figure out what makes her tick. How to make her crazy like me.

  Just thinking about her pleas for me to stay has my cock stirring. I’ve fucked her twice like she was some chick I picked up at a bar, not someone I lured into my car and stole for the sole purpose of killing.

  I will kill her.

  I just don’t know if I can prolong it like I want to. The longer I wait, the more of a chance she has to get inside my head and fuck even more shit up.

  A car honks behind me and I refrain from flipping them the bird. If I want to remain unnoticed, I can’t cause any sort of scenes. Ignoring the driver, I pull over and park in the street a few buildings up from the loft she shares with her cousin.

  From my previous research, I know he leaves the house every morning around seven-thirty like clockwork. He drives an expensive-ass BMW and wears suits that cost more than any man should pay for a piece of clothing.

  So why was she wearing that dress?

  The question is one that’s been niggling at me for some time now. She wore a fancy mink coat over the shittiest dress I’d ever seen. Bloodstained. Torn. Ratty as hell. It didn’t add up. Her makeup was done beautifully and her hair was smoothed to perfection. The shoes were nice as well.

  So why was she wearing that dress?

  Irritation washes over me as I remember her words and insinuations. That her cousin Alan was worse than me. My basic computer research yields that the smug bastard is well-liked among his peers and the community. There’s buzz he’s running for office. Yet, she behaved as though he were cruel to her.

  Anger surges through me at the thought of him touching her. That first day when I’d taken her horrible dress, I’d seen the red lashes on her smooth skin. Everything about her screamed battered victim. The more I think about it, the more it pisses me off.

  She was supposed to be like them.

  Natalie was supposed to be another Anta. A bitch. A lying cunt. A conniving whore. Spoiled beyond belief. From all outside indicators, she was.

  But now?

  She’s not at all what I expected.

  I don’t know if I’m furious or relieved. The verdict’s still out on that one. One thing’s for sure, though, I’m going to find out every dirty detail about her. I’ll expose it to her and shove her face in it. Once I know more about her, I’ll be able to refocus my efforts to end her slowly.

  Slowly.

  A smile tugs at my lips.

  I climb out of the SUV and attempt to keep my head down, away from cameras. The trek into the building is quick and since it’s raining, the doorman is distracted helping a woman with two yapping dogs out of her car. I skim past them and slip inside. One of the things I’d procured from Natalie were her keys. So when I’m on the floor of her loft, I use the key to enter the place. Thankfully, there isn’t an alarm and I’m sure it’s because this building probably touts that it prides itself on not letting any riffraff through the doors.

  Once inside, I close the door behind me and take a quick peek. The home is immaculate. Expensive and sparse décor. No warm family photos or anything to suggest this isn’t simply a model home. Every item has a place. Perfect. The bad thing about homes like this is you can’t find their dirt. They hide the juicy stuff where their friends and colleagues can’t see. I’ll have to dig deep.

  After I sweep through the living room and kitchen, I dart down the hallway. I locate a simple bathroom. On the counter are a few cosmetics. Her things. The fact she’s naked and chained in my house has my dick stiffening again. I bypass the bathroom and come to a door. It’s locked, but I use my weight and my knife to jimmy the door open. As soon as it swings open, I inhale the sweet scent of honey.

  Her room.

  My gaze scans the room and my stomach tightens. Nothing. The room is plain. Worse than plain. Empty. There’s a bed with a thin blanket and one pillow. No television. No pictures. No furniture aside from the bed. Nothing. I’d expected to see books or something. The only thing that indicates this room is hers is her lingering scent. I drop to my knees and search under the bed. Nothing. The closet is bare as well.

  What the fuck?

  With a heavy sigh, I stalk toward the master bedroom. Inside, the room is fancily decorated like the rest of the house. A picture of Alan and Natalie sits on his end table. He’s smiling with his arm around her and she’s staring blankly ahead. I grit my teeth because for some reason, I’m really beginning to hate this asshole.

  Inside his end table, I find condoms, handcuffs, and lube. Nothing else. I rifle through his drawers and eventually make it to his closet. At the very top is a box. I pull
out the heavy box and set it on the floor in the closet. When I open it up, I stare in confusion.

  A woman.

  Beautiful and familiar.

  I’ve seen her in movies.

  I pick the picture up and study her features. Same striking features as Natalie. Same dark hair and impossibly long lashes. Same fucking pouty mouth. Beneath the photo is a photo album. I crack it open to find baby pictures. A girl. The book is full of pictures and I watch Natalie grow before my very eyes.

  Her smiles are so bright.

  All the time, without fail.

  The last picture is of her sitting at the bar with her back to windows that overlook the ocean. She can’t be any more than seventeen in the picture. Her hair has been piled on top of her head and her cheeks are rosy and full. Her fork is poised as she’s about to shovel in a bite of pancakes, but she’s paused to grin at the camera.

  I stare at it for far too long.

  How did that happy teen end up in her cousin’s house living with him? In all her photos, she’s surrounded by eclectic items. There’s always a book nearby and the pictures are colorful. Now she lives in this drab place.

  Well, not anymore.

  Triumph surges through me.

  I feel satisfied knowing that she doesn’t live here any longer. She lives with me.

  After rifling through the box some more, I collect what I want before replacing it on the top shelf.

  I’ll find out what I can about her and then use that shit against her.

  It’s late when I get back home. The light pouring from the living room window makes me take pause. I turned off the lights before I left. Quietly, using the howling wind as my cover, I slip out of my vehicle and slink through the shadows toward the house. A shadow moves inside. I unsheathe my knife and peek in the window.

  What I see sucks the breath out of my chest.

  Natalie.

  She’s not in her chains and she’s wearing my fucking clothes. I stare, completely in shock, as she settles on the sofa with a book in hand.

  What the ever loving fuck is going on here?

  Unable to move, I simply watch her. She should have escaped and run for help. Instead, she clearly showered because her hair’s still wet, changed into my clothes, and made herself at fucking home. I clench my fists with the need to go inside and scream at her. To tell her this is my motherfucking show.