Chapter 58 Leo
The ride out to my safehouse was a blur of wind and throttle. I didn’t think. I didn’t let myself. The engine roared beneath me like a beast with a grudge, the vibration numb in my hands, my thighs, my chest. Cold air sliced past my jaw. I welcomed it. Let it cut. Let it bleed the heat off my skin.
I needed distance. From her. From that room. From my goddamn self.
The safehouse sat behind a cluster of auto shops and rusting shipping containers, just past the railroad tracks. It was a windowless concrete bunker with no name, no neighbors, no questions. I killed the engine, coasted to the back door, kicked the stand down. My heart was still hammering. The front of my jeans was still tight. My skin still stank of wanting her.
I unlocked the steel door and went in.
Bare floors. One low bed. No distractions. That was the point.
I didn’t take off my jacket. Just pulled my phone from my back pocket with unsteady fingers and found Samantha’s name.
Come to the safehouse. Now.
It didn’t take long.
Samantha: Seriously? I thought you’d never call me again.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t say why. I didn’t say please. I didn’t say anything. I set the phone down and paced the room like a caged animal, trying not to remember the look in Kristen’s eyes when she asked me what I was going to do. Trying not to remember how ready I was to fail. How desperate.
I stripped off my jacket. The rest stayed on. I didn’t want to feel comfortable. I wanted the opposite.
Twenty minutes later, headlights cut across the windowless wall. I heard the engine. I opened the door without thinking.
Samantha stepped in wearing black jeans and a crop top, tits barely covered, her makeup dark and perfect. She had that half-smirk on her face she always wore when she was getting into trouble.
“Well, damn,” she said. “Didn’t think you had my number saved.”
I didn’t answer.
Her mouth opened again — some flirty joke about my timing, probably — but I didn’t give her the chance. I stepped forward, gripped the back of her neck, and kissed her hard. Harder than I meant to. My mouth crashed into hers like a punishment.
She gasped against me, surprised. But her hands came up anyway, fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer.
I spun her around, slammed the door shut behind her with one arm, never breaking the kiss. I walked her backward until her back hit the wall, our mouths still locked. Her tongue tasted like gum and whiskey. My hand slid down her side, gripping her hip, her ass, anywhere I could touch. I pressed my hips to hers, and she moaned into my mouth when she felt how hard I was.
“Fuck,” she muttered against me. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Shut up,” I growled. I kissed her again, rough, teeth clashing.
She melted. Just like that. Let me take.
Her legs parted instinctively. I pinned her to the wall with my body, grinding against her, my hands roaming under her shirt, over her bra, tugging it down. I bit her neck. She whimpered.
Then I pulled away, breathing hard.
“Bedroom,” I said.
She grinned. “You mean the cot in the murder bunker? Classy.”
I didn’t laugh. I just grabbed her wrist and pulled her with me. I could feel it again — that sharp edge of tension riding up my spine. Not desire. Not really. Just pressure. The need to break something. Use someone. Make it stop.
We got to the bed. She turned to face me, straddled my thighs, pushed me down onto the mattress.
“You’re quiet tonight,” she said, grinding against me. “I like it.”
She leaned down, kissed me again. Slower this time. She undid my belt one loop at a time, dragging it free with a flourish. I gritted my teeth. Her hands went to my zipper.
“You’re already so hard, baby,” she murmured. “Should’ve called me sooner.”
Her hand slid into my jeans, past the waistband of my briefs, fingers wrapping around my cock. I hissed through my teeth, closed my eyes.
She eased down, dragging her tongue along my stomach, pausing at the base. Then lower. Her mouth was hot and wet. She licked slowly, teasing the head, tracing the underside. My hips bucked without my permission.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
She smiled up at me, then took me in deeper.
I groaned, head falling back against the mattress. My hands curled into the sheets. The pressure was building fast. Too fast. My skin was tight, my breath coming in gasps. I could feel it climbing, ready to blow.
And then—
Kristen.
In my imagination. Her eyes wild. Her fingers in my waistband.
That voice. That fucking voice.
“Does it turn you on so bad, Leo?” she whispered. “Does seeing your best friend’s daughter slick and helpless and wet make your cock throb?”
I let out a low groan. “Oh fuck yes, Kristen.”
Everything stopped.
Samantha jerked back.
“What?” she said, blinking. “Who the fuck is Kristen?”
My eyes snapped open.
My whole body went cold.
“What?” I repeated, voice flat.
“You just said her name,” she said slowly. “While I was— yeah, you were definitely not talking to me.”
“It’s none of your fucking business.”
She sat back a little, brows raised. “Okay. Jesus.”
“Just suck my fucking cock.”
Her mouth parted, like she was going to argue. Then she saw something in my face, and she hesitated. For a second, I thought she might leave. But she didn’t. She dropped her gaze, then lowered herself again.
I shut my eyes and blocked it out.
Just focus.
Just finish.
Her tongue circled the head of my cock. Her hand worked the shaft. I felt it building again, thick and urgent.
My fists clenched tighter. I breathed harder. Her mouth was good. Wet and tight and warm. She moaned around me, sending vibrations straight through the base of my spine.
I was going to cum.
“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum,” I rasped. “Keep going.”
And just as I hit the edge—
Kristen’s voice again. Clear as glass.
“That’s it. There you go. Cum for me. Cum for your best friend’s daughter.”
That phrase detonated in my chest.
I came hard. My whole body arched off the bed, hips jerking. I spilled into her mouth with a groan so raw it barely sounded human. My vision whited out. My head throbbed. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. Only feel.
Samantha pulled back, licking her lips, a little smug now. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Well,” she said. “Whoever this Kristen is—”
I snapped.
I grabbed her by the throat and slammed her back onto the bed. I kissed her again, rough and unforgiving. Her eyes went wide.
“Shut up,” I growled. “You are to never bring up her name again. Ever. Do you hear me?”
She blinked up at me, panting. Her pupils dilated.
“…Okay,” she breathed. “Damn.”
I didn’t wait.
I pushed her back onto the mattress and crawled over her, dragging her thighs apart with both hands. Her breath hitched, her eyes wide, lips parted. I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t speak. I just shoved my jeans down far enough to free my cock and lined myself up between her legs.
She reached for me, but I grabbed both her wrists and pinned them above her head. My weight held her still.
“Just shut the fuck up,” I muttered.
I slid in with one thrust.
She gasped — head tipped back, spine arching. I filled her all at once. No warning. No teasing. Just heat and stretch and pressure. Her body clamped around me instantly, already wet, already ready, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t making love to her. I was using her.
I ground my hips deep and slow, once, twice. She whimpered beneath me, breathless.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Leo—fuck—”
I silenced her with a hand across her mouth. She moaned against it, eyes fluttering shut.
Then I started to move.
I drove into her hard, brutal, rhythmless. Every thrust a statement. Every thrust a rejection of the girl haunting my thoughts. I tried to fuck Kristen out of my system. I tried to make Samantha’s moans louder than Kristen’s voice in my head. It didn’t work. So I fucked harder.
The bed creaked under us, the frame hitting the wall in time with my hips. Her legs wrapped around my waist without invitation, her heels digging into the backs of my thighs.
“You like that?” I muttered, hand still over her mouth. “You like being used like this?”
She nodded, fast, eyes wild.
“Good. Don’t speak.”
Her back arched off the bed. Her hands twisted in my grip. I shifted the angle and bottomed out again, grinding deep and slow just to hear her muffled scream under my palm.
I pulled out almost entirely and slammed back in, again and again, skin slapping loud in the room. Sweat dripped from my forehead onto her chest. My muscles burned from holding back. But I wasn’t finished.
I flipped her over without warning, grabbed her hips, yanked her up on all fours, and shoved back inside.
She cried out, clutching the sheets.
“That’s better,” I said under my breath. “Don’t look at me.”
I fucked her like that for a long time, watching the tremble in her thighs, the way her back arched, the slick glide of me disappearing into her over and over again. Her hair stuck to her neck. Her moans broke into gasps.
She came again. I felt it. Her body shuddered around me, clenching so tight it pulled me closer to the edge.
But I didn’t stop.
I didn’t stop until I couldn’t think anymore.
Until there was nothing left in my head but her.
And it still wasn’t the right her.
I dragged her back by the hair.
Not hard enough to hurt — just enough to take. Her spine bent into a perfect curve, ass high in the air, her mouth open with a breathless cry as I slammed into her again. My hand wrapped around her throat from behind, and I bent low over her, teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder.
“You’re just a hole,” I said under my breath, more to myself than to her. “Just something to fuck.”
She shuddered. I felt her clench around me again.
I didn’t slow down. I didn’t let her speak. I just kept pounding into her, every thrust deeper, faster, harder. My fingers dug into her hips, her waist, her neck — I didn’t care. She moaned for it. Took it. Gave me everything I didn’t want, everything I needed anyway.
The sound of our bodies slamming together was obscene. Her slickness coated my cock, soaking my thighs, sticky and hot. Her voice had broken down to desperate, choking little sobs of pleasure, like she couldn’t even form words anymore.
She tried to crawl forward once — some instinct to pull away, to breathe, to recover — and I grabbed her hips and yanked her back, burying myself to the root with a brutal thrust that made her scream.
“Stay right fucking there,” I growled.
She whimpered. “Yes—fuck—yes, Leo, please, just—don’t stop—”
I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I grabbed a fistful of her hair again and used it as leverage, dragging her back into every punishing thrust. My abs tightened. My thighs burned. I felt the pressure building again — deep and electric, racing through my spine, coiling in my gut like it was going to tear me in half.
And still, it wasn’t her.
Still, behind my eyes, it was Kristen.
Her voice. Her body. Her mouth.
Her hands in my waistband. Her lips around my name.
I let out a low, furious growl and bent over Samantha’s back, pushing her flat to the mattress, folding her in half beneath me. Her body went pliant, open, trembling. She cried out something incoherent as I fucked her even harder, using her now with full weight and force.
I didn’t stop.
Not when she came again. Not when I felt my own orgasm rising like a gunshot waiting to go off.
Not until everything in me gave out at once — and I finally exploded inside her, emptying myself with a violent, silent shudder that left me seeing white.
It wasn’t about anything but not seeing Kristen.
But she never left.
Even after the fourth time. Even after Samantha passed out next to me, legs trembling, breath shallow, skin glazed in sweat.
Even then.
I lay flat on my back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
My cock throbbed again.
I glanced down.
Kristen’s image was still there. Branded behind my eyelids.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
Samantha stirred beside me, murmuring something, but I didn’t move. I just watched myself. Willed the arousal to die. Willed her image to leave.
Then my phone buzzed.
I didn’t want to look.
But I did.
Edward.
I answered.
“What,” I said, voice hoarse.
“You have to get down here,” he said. “Right now.”
My body tensed.
“What is it?”
“You’re not going to believe me if I tell you.”
“Try me.”
Edward exhaled. “There’s a letter.”
My stomach dropped.
“A letter?”
“Yeah. From the other world.”
My heart started to pound.
“What?”
“It was sent specifically to you,” he said. “To the leader of the Bloodhounds.”
I sat up fast. My pulse was in my throat.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I said.
And I was already pulling on my jeans.