From the Ashes: A bullied Companion Novella (Possessed #2.5) Page 3

  Just the thought of someone touching me sends a nasty chill up my spine. I had enough physical contact in jail with no choice but to let it happen. I dread when people like my mom decide I need to be hugged or given a gentle touch on my arm to show support that I don’t even believe they mean.

  I’ve been so bored with my own company lately that I was foolishly looking forward to dinner with Mr. Mysterious for about five minutes. Then I realized all the problems that would follow.

  What if he figures me out then expects something in return to keep quiet? Could I do it? I don’t think so.

  My thoughts spin out of control at this point, so when my phone rings, I actually scream and dart into the closet I was about to refill my supplies from.

  Seeing an unknown number flash as it rings, I hit the end call button. I don’t answer numbers I don’t recognize. If they can’t tell me who it is, I don’t need to speak to them. Plus, it could be Landon trying to call me again, and I don’t want to deal with his questions right now. Once my heart is finally under control, I feel my phone vibrate with an incoming text message.

  Unknown: Pick up the damn phone, woman.

  I hesitate. Maybe they think it’s someone else?

  Ashley: You have the wrong number, sorry.

  Unknown: No, I don’t. Come outside, Ash ;)

  It can’t be him, can it?

  Unknown: I’ll wait as long as you make me…

  I think it might be him.

  Leaving the stupid broom closet, I make my way towards the side exit. Stepping out and around the building, I see him. Sitting atop the sexiest machine a man can ride, in dark-wash jeans, a Henley t-shirt with a leather vest over top, sunglasses, and a cocky smile, he watches as I slowly walk towards him.

  “That’s a shitty fucking uniform.” There’s laughter in his voice, but geez, what a way to make a girl feel good.

  “Yeah.” I look down at the plain black pants and ugly beige top with the hotel’s name on it. “It’s itchy as hell, too.”

  “Go change. Let’s get out of here.” Because I can just leave.

  “I can’t take off whenever I like. I’m on parole. They could send me back if I fuck up.” I sure hope he doesn’t hear the abject terror in my voice.

  Hot man doesn’t say anything, just gets off his bike and reaches for my hand which I pull away before he can grab it. I can’t let him touch me; he can’t know my secret. Frowning at my dismissal of his contact, he tells me, “You won’t go back. You served your time. The worst they can do is threaten you because losing your job isn’t part of your parole conditions.”

  “You know this how?” Why must he be logical? Why can’t he just accept that I don’t want to be around people?

  “I have your file,” he reminds me.

  Right.

  “Look, I don’t want to, okay. I have a system, and I prefer not to fuck with it.”

  “You have a dinner break, right?”

  “No,” I stubbornly lie.

  He laughs like I told some funny joke. “C’mon, Ash, we’re going.” Grabbing my arm, he pulls me behind him, forcing me onto his bike. I’m as tense as I’ve ever been, terrified he’ll feel the scars under my shirt. Which is illogical because they’re so tiny.

  Looking from him to the hotel and back, I can’t decide. I want to go, but that ugly voice in my mind keeps rearing its head saying he’s bad news. “I don’t even know your name,” I point out, again.

  “Hop on, and you’ll find out.” It’s a dare. I know it is.

  “I have to tell my boss I’m taking my dinner break,” I try to argue.

  “I’ve already done that.”

  “Oh.” I’ve got nothing else.

  “C’mon, Ash. What have you got to lose?”

  Million-dollar question.

  Looking around for what I’m not sure, I get on the bike behind him. Placing my hands on his hips, I gingerly hang on.

  Laughing at me, he pulls my hands further around him. “Right here, sweet stuff.”

  “What about a helmet?” I finally think to ask just as he pulls the throttle back.

  “Just wait,” he directs. Wait for what?

  Immediately, I feel him release the clutch and hit the road. The wind in my hair hitting my face is one of the most soothing things I’ve ever felt. The vibration of the machine between my legs is hypnotic. I’m soon lulled into a sense of freedom. With nothing holding me down, I take in… Everything. For the first time in my life, I can feel all the bad things fall away at once.

  Gripping his waist tighter, I feel his muscles ripple beneath my fingers. Strumming them up and down his abs like a guitar, I lay my head on his back and realize in this one single moment, I’m happy.

  On the heal of that, though, comes the guilt and shame. My eyes pop open to watch as the happiness I felt for a split-second slips away to invade someone else. Always someone else.

  Pulling away from his back, any autonomy I’ve experienced is lost to me. I have been such a shitty person. I don’t deserve any happiness that tries to fight its way into my life. I never would. I’ll be spending my life trying to make up for it, helping others find that moment of bliss.

  Declan

  Her change is swift and immediate. I feel it the moment her fingers tense in their sensual caress of my abs. Having her plastered to my back the way she is, has me feeling like a king.

  I thought putting her on my Thunder Black Indian Scout Sixty motorcycle would free some of her inhibitions and for a split second, I felt it did. When she tightened up behind me, I wanted to tell her to shut her mind off, to just enjoy the freedom. I have a feeling, though, that no matter what I say, the demons in her mind are going to control her better than I ever could.

  The small diner I’m taking her to is just around the corner now, and come hell or high water, I’m breaking ground with her tonight. I don’t care that she’s supposed to be a job; she’s a gorgeous woman that I’m more than interested in, and she’s hurting. Far greater than anyone in her life probably knows.

  Pulling up to our destination, I shut my bike off. I can hear her heavy breathing behind me and know she’s fighting for control. I decide to take it from her.

  Climbing off my bike, I turn to her, clasping her face in my hands. “When you’re with me,” I say to her and am shocked to see her eyes are blank slates. She’s completely shut down. “You shut your brain off. I’m in control, Ashley, and I won’t let you ruin that, you understand me?” I can’t let her lack of emotion sway me. She needs someone to take the reins, and I plan to be that someone.

  Fire enters her eyes at my demand, and I can’t begin to explain how thrilled I am. She’s going to fight me, and I’m going to reap the rewards, but just when I think she’s going to argue with me, her eyes dart to the diner.

  “Nice…place,” she comments; disbelief in her voice.

  It might look like we’re about to walk on the set of Grease, but the food is amazing. Heavy on carbs, and high on life. Dragging her behind me, we go in and sit where we like. I’ve come here often enough that they know me, so I grab menus on the way past the hostess station.

  As Ashley sits down in the booth, I signal the waitress who just came out from the kitchen for two coffees. At her nod, I sit, too. I watch Ash as she looks around and takes in the retro surroundings before staring into her lap, playing with her shirt.

  “Tell me something,” I say.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Anything you want.” I would like her to open up on her own.

  “I’m sure you’ve read all about me by now,” she counters.

  That’s true, but I want to hear it from her pouty lips. “I have. My file doesn’t tell me everything, though.”

  “What are you missing then?”

  “The things you’re hiding,” I deadpan. I know she’s covering up secrets.

  “Who says I’m hiding anything?” She can’t look me in the eyes.

  “I know what you did, Ashley.”

  “T
hen you know I deserve everything I’ve gotten since then.” Her voice has gone so quiet I strain to hear her.

  “What happened in jail?” I have a feeling that’s where a lot of her secrets originate from.

  “Nothing. I was in jail. I’m a failure.” The regret I see in her eyes has me questioning everything I’ve read about her before she went in.

  “What were you like as a child?” I’ll try a different approach.

  “Spoiled.”

  She very well may have been, but I feel like there’s more to it. “How so?”

  “What do you mean, how so? I was an over-privileged, spoiled brat. If I didn’t get what I wanted, I threw fits, and everyone tossed crap at me that they thought I wanted like it was candy.” Now we’re were getting somewhere. She’s bitter about it.

  “You didn’t want these things?” I was curious about why she threw the fits.

  “What? No. I mean maybe when I was little, but after a while, I just wanted to stop being treated like a problem. Fits got me attention.” She shrugs like her emotional neglect was no big thing.

  “So, let me get this straight. You acted the spoiled princess part in order to get some kind of attention from parents that treated you like a problem?” I’m pissed. Here she is beating the fuck out of herself because she believes she was the problem when her parents didn’t handle her the way they should have.

  “What? No, of course not. My parents gave me everything. I was the problem. I was always after more. I needed everything. I threw stupid hissy fits when they refused to get me things.” That she thinks she is entirely to blame for her spoiled ways blows me away.

  “Did you have a lot of nannies?”

  “Well, yeah, my parents were busy people. I was a surprise baby. I don’t actually think I was supposed to happen.”

  “So you were raised by other people instead of by your parents?” I don’t find anything wrong with that, per se. What I have issue with is that she is taking full blame for something that she was made into.

  “I know what you’re doing,” she says as the waitress places our coffee on the table.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re trying to blame my parents for me acting the way I did. It’s not all their fault. I shouldn’t have always vied for their attention; I should have left them alone when they told me to. I should have accepted that I was never supposed to happen. This is on me. Not them. I’m at fault.”

  I’m truly amazed at what she has just confessed. “Think that through again, Ashley,” I tell her, wanting her to hear her own words. While admirable that she is willing to take all the blame for her actions, I have to wonder that if she had gotten the attention she craved, would she have sought it out by hurting others?

  I understand the concept of any attention—bad or good—to a child is better than no attention at all, but what she is telling me is fucking blowing me away. She’s no fucking angel, not by any means. Especially after what she’d orchestrated with her brother’s woman, but she is not wholly responsible for the person she grew into.

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” she confesses quietly, shame coloring her words.

  “Let me ask you something, Ash. If you had gotten what you needed from your parents, would you have sought other ways to get that same attention?”

  I watch as she opens and closes her mouth. She is contemplating coming up with some dumb fucking excuse as to why she is the failure. Why she was such a fucking mistake. I have half a mind to blast her folks for that. Then I wonder if she’s ever told them of any of it. Do they know she has craved their love so deeply it’s warped her sense of right and wrong?

  “Let’s play a game,” I say instead.

  “What kind of game?” She’s skeptical.

  “Twenty questions. Only let’s go with ten, so you don’t feel trapped. I’ll ask you one, and then you ask me one. The catch is, you can’t lie to me.”

  Huffing out a breath, I watch as she sits back and crosses her arms defiantly. “Fine.”

  “I’ll let you go first.” I want her comfortable enough to do this. I don’t plan on asking too hard of questions just yet.

  “What’s your damn name?”

  A bark of laughter escapes me. “Declan Hart,” I answer. “What’s your biggest fear?”

  I can see the lie before her mouth opens. “Being alone,” she shares softly, shocking me. I would have bet she wasn’t gonna tell the truth. “How old are you?”

  “Forty,” I tell her, and she seems to perk up at that. Daddy issues? Probably. I’ll be her fucking daddy any day of the week. Just the thought of having her naked ass over my lap has me needing to adjust myself under the table. It also forces me to ask a question I probably shouldn’t. “How do you feel about role play?”

  A confused look crosses her face. “Like dress up?”

  “Not quite,” I respond, voice full of intent. I can feel the heated look in my own eyes. This girl’s got me in fucking knots.

  It takes her a minute. “Oh,” she utters quietly. “Umm, I don’t know.” Her eyes light up at the thought, however. “How much of this is going to be reported back to Zach?”

  Fuck, she has to mention that fucker’s name doesn’t she. “Not a damn word unless I feel like you’re in danger or put someone else in danger.” I need her trust almost as much as I am coming to need her. I would never reveal her secrets. “What do you do for fun?”

  Ashley

  Fun? I don’t remember the last time I did anything for fun. “I read to pass the time, sometimes I play solitaire.” His frown at my answer is disconcerting.

  “That’s it?”

  Why is he pissed off now?

  “Isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”

  “It’s a follow-up, humor me.”

  Rolling my eyes, I answer. “Yes, that’s it. It’s not exactly easy to trust anymore, yanno?” My question is rhetorical. “Why do you care about finding out all my dirty secrets?”

  His bark of laughter rings hollow as he replies, “Beats the fuck out of me.”

  “Right.” I don’t know what to say to that. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting. I have this strong attraction to him, and here he is pissed off to even be in my company. Looking at the clock on the wall, I decide I’m done. I don’t need or want to put myself out there for a man who doesn’t even want to be here. “Look, I gotta get back to work. Thanks for the coffee.” I’m up and out of my seat before he can even respond.

  Running from the restaurant, I hear him call, “Ash! Wait a fucking minute,” but I keep running. Darting between buildings, over fences, down alleys. My lungs burn with every breath. I ignore it and pump my legs harder, push my body further.

  I can hear the rumble of Declan’s bike as he speeds through the streets. Stopping between two stinky dumpsters, I’m so pissed at myself. I’m trying so fucking hard to get my shit together, to lose the pity and move on. But it seems as though every time I make progress, I have a setback.

  The ringing of my phone startles me from my thoughts. Pulling the offending device from my pocket, I stare as unavailable number flashes across the screen with every ring. To answer or not to answer?

  “Fuck,” I curse, answering it knowing it’s him. “What?” I snap.

  “Where the fuck are you?” he bites out, and disgustingly enough, I feel a pull in my heart to have him near.

  “What do you care?” I feel more hormonal than a pregnant woman.

  “What kind of fucking question is that? Tell me where the hell you are, or you’ll regret it.” There’s a trace of dominance in his voice I can’t help but respond to.

  “What are you gonna do?” I’m taunting him, and I know it. “I don’t answer to you. You’re not my PO or my father; you can’t do shit.”

  “You’re right, I’m neither.” His voice darkens like the calm before the storm. “I’m much fucking worse.”

  I can hear the promise in his tone, and I’m dying to keep pushing him but have no clue why. “
Whatever, Declan. You can’t do a thing. I’m not required to give you anything,” I snarl back.

  “You’ll regret that,” he vows just as I hear the click of him hanging up. Pulling the phone from my ear, I debate calling a cab to take me back to work since I don’t know where I am exactly.

  Looking up one way of the dark alley, I can’t see the end, so as I’m about to chance the other way, my body is slammed into the brick wall I was leaning against. The smell of garbage increases, and I gag as I try and scream, fighting off my captor. His hand over my mouth prevents that, and I freeze. Fear causes my brain to stop all rational thought, making my limbs feel like lead weights. I don’t know what to do.

  “I fucking warned you,” is whispered in my ear as my captor’s free hand reaches up to wrap around my throat just tight enough to start restricting air flow. I begin to panic when his voice finally registers.

  “Declan?” I try to mumble through his hand.

  “I told you you’d regret running from me.” His tone… The menace in it, the heat, the sexual undertones… They all register in the darkest recesses of my brain, and I arch into his touch just as he slides his hand from my mouth and down my jaw, over my shoulder and roughly down my back, pushing me as hard into the brick as I’ll go.

  “What are you doing?” I wheeze out, barely able to catch my breath as his hand pulses around my throat. God, can he hear the desire in my tone?

  “Whatever I fucking want. You think I can’t possess this bitchy body any more than Zach or Daddy Dearest, huh? Well, I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. As of this fucking moment, there is nothing in, on, or around this body I won’t fucking know about.”

  Fear heightens my arousal. God, this is so sick. What’s wrong with me? He’s nearly choking me out, and I want more, I want his hand to squeeze so hard I have to rely on him for every breath. I want his control. I want every dirty, nasty thing he can dish out and then I want even more.