Ready Or Not (The Hunter’s Club #2)

Chapter 38

38

Loathe - FKA Rayne

Manson leaves me for another day. I don’t hear any more screaming from upstairs. Which either means he’s killed Riley or she’s icing him out.

I hope she’s icing him out. She has to be. Otherwise, he’d have no more use for me, and I’d be dead.

I shift on my blanket, moving to a new position to get some feeling back in my ass. Manson has chained me to the steps with a handcuff around my ankle and a chain. I have enough room to move around, use the bucket he’s left as a toilet, stretch, and sleep. The basement is old and empty, smaller than the rest of the house. There’s a small part of the wall that’s crumbled down, leading to the crawlspace under the other part of the house.

I’ve picked every last bit of my scalp and the skin around my nails. It’s taken everything I can not to pick the scabs on my leg off. The only thing keeping me from doing that is the fear of infection. If it gets infected, I can’t run. But that doesn’t stop me from picking just the edges. Not enough to bleed, but enough to occupy me. There’s nothing else to do down here. Well, that and think about how royally fucked I am. I hoped Manson would take my offer. I’ve been running their situation around and around in my head, and this is the best thing I can come up with to save my own ass.

At first, being down here in the quiet calmed my nerves. Being alone after days of being scared for my life helped regulate me. But now, I want a shower. And something comfortable to sit on. I just want to get out of here.

The door at the top of the stairs bursts open, and after so much silence, I jump. I cross my arms and stand, watching Manson watch me. His gaze is dead. “You have a lot of nerve.”

I stiffen. Manson seems to catch the movement and cocks his head. He takes a slow step down. “Demanding things of me.”

I swallow.

“You’re counting on Riley to keep you alive.”

Another step.

“But you know, there are things worse than death.” Another step.

I don’t move, but I want to. I feel his slow approach with every piece of my body. I want to run. But there’s nowhere to go.

The closer he gets, the more I realize how much stronger he is than I am. Panic kicks in, and my whole body trembles.

Manson’s hand snaps out, and he grabs my neck again. He pins me to the stair supports so hard my breath bursts out of me. In a second, he ducks down and unlocks my ankle, then throws me away from the steps.

“Run.” His voice is soft.

I scramble away. There’s nowhere to go, but I still run. The movement pushes power into my limbs, and everything buzzes. The basement isn’t that big, but I try to get him to chase me far enough that I can double back and get to the stairs.

Manson follows slowly, his face in shadow. “Run faster, little deer.”

The words crawl up my skin. It feels wrong when he calls me that.

I dart around the room to the stairs, but Manson darts after me. He’s fast, and he grabs my arm. I scream, trying to rip it away from him. He shoves me backward, slamming me into the wall. I grit my teeth, expecting my head to slam into the concrete, but it doesn’t. I see him pull his hand away from my head and the wall.

“She wouldn’t want you to hurt me.” The words come out laced with venom.

Manson looks down at me. His eyes are so expressionless they shoot fear through me. “I don’t have to hurt you to make you miserable.”

I scream, clawing my hands out at Manson. He catches my hands, pinning them above my head and pressing his body into mine.

“Atta girl, fight me. Show me how much you hate me.”

“Fuck you!” I try to headbutt him, but I can’t get enough space between the wall and his body to make any impact. I jerk my foot up and try to slam it down on his feet.

Manson chuckles, running his hand up and down my side. It’s gentle and sends a shiver up my body. I hate that I like it.

“No!” I scream, kicking out at him. He just laughs, continuing to touch me. He lightly runs his large, tattooed hands over my breasts. It makes me shiver, and against my will, I feel myself get wet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck .

“Who’s in control here?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Manson’s voice rumbles over me in a delicious growl. I hate that I like it. I hate that it feels good when he’s gentle. It reminds me of Papa. I want to run from it like I have my whole life.

“Rachel,” his tone is warning.

I grit my teeth. I know Manson wants me to cower—to submit to him despite all the things they’ve done to me. But I am not just a toy. This isn’t right. An angry curl of emotion fills me. I look up and meet his gaze. “Fuck off, Manson.”

His eyes bounce between mine, then his chest shakes as he chuckles, running his hand up to trace my neck. It makes goosebumps skitter across my skin. “You’re just like her.”

I hold his gaze until it makes me uncomfortable. An evil grin crawls across his face, then he grips my shorts and rips them down. In a flash, I’m bare, and his own pants are down. I feel his dick pressing against me. He leans into my body, his breath hot on my ear. “I told her I wouldn’t hurt you, little intrigue.” He rocks against me, all muscle and power. Despite myself, I feel the electric shock of his friction in my clit. “So I’m going to make you come, over and over, all over the person you claim to hate.”

He adjusts, and I feel the tip nudging at my entrance. I try to get away, but there’s nowhere for me to go.

“Good girl. Fight me.” He pushes slowly into me. The stretch immediately fills me, and I scramble up on my toes.

Manson groans, pushing farther in. The fullness and pressure don’t let up, and I’m on my toes as far as I can go.

“Yes, Rachel. Let me hear how much you don’t want it.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss.

“You are.” Finally, he seats himself fully and just stops, his heavy breathing in my ear. He sounds like he’s holding himself back, and a shiver runs across his body. It makes my clit tingle.

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for him to pound into me, but he just waits there. He traces his free hand down my body and wedges it between us, moving down to my clit. His fingers brush it, and I jump.

Manson chuckles. He brushes his fingers across it again, and it’s everything I can do not to react.

“Mmm,” he says into my ear. “You like that?”

“No.” I grit my teeth. The gentle touches remind me of something else, and it brings back a wash of shameful memories.

“Really? Cause you’re soaking my dick.”

I squirm. “Get off me!”

“No, no.” He continues playing with my clit, pressing down in circles. My muscles tighten as a pleasurable sensation washes through me. His voice is warm in my ear. “You feel so good.”

“No.” I shudder, trying to put myself anywhere else but here as shame washes over me. I think about home, about my collection, and the little mouse head I found the night of the corn maze that’s sitting on my nightstand.

A bolt of pain shoots through my clit, and I gasp, stiffening.

“No, Rachel. You stay here with me. Don’t you dare think about anything else while it’s my hand getting you off and my dick you’re going to coat in your cum.” He starts in on my clit harder, and involuntarily, I clench.

“Fuck, you,” I pant.

“As I said.” Manson leans in to nibble up my neck. “You already are.”

I buck against him. I want him to fuck me. To pump into me until he gets himself off. To do anything other than focus on me.

He bites my earlobe, continuing to work me. His fingers are skilled. He circles my clit over and over with steady pressure, and I hate how good it feels. I hate it, I hate him, and I hate myself. I feel an orgasm coming, and still, he’s just seated in me.

“Hmm,” he groans. “You’re so wet. How embarrassing to come all over the man who wants to kill you.”

“No.” I grit my teeth, my body tense.

“Well, that’s funny ‘cause you have no choice.” He presses his body harder into me, overwhelming me with his scent. I can feel the muscles rippling up his body. “Come for me, sweet little intrigue.”

I try to escape his fingers, but they follow the little shifts I make with my body. Moving doesn’t help; in fact, it shoots more pleasure through my muscles. I feel my pussy clench, and his dick pulses once. The sound he makes in my ear is a low grunt, and that’s all it takes. Pleasure shoots through my body, and everything tightens. My orgasm explodes over me, ripping through me against my will. I clench down hard on his dick, my pussy gripping him in waves of pleasure.

Manson shudders. “Good girl. Good girl, come on my dick like a sweet little thing.”

I groan, trying to stop, but I can’t. My body reacts with or without my consent. When the pulses slow, Manson chuckles in my ear. “That was a good start.”

He starts in on me again, relentlessly chasing my pleasure. My clit is sensitive from the first orgasm, and quickly, another one chases it. Faster than before, I come again, clenching on him. This time, Manson lets out a soft grunt and shoves into me once, then again stills.

As soon as I come off that high, he starts again.

“Manson, please.” I shift to get away, but he keeps me pinned solidly against the wall.

“Hmm?” He continues rubbing me. I’m sensitive and swollen, and the touch is overstimulating. His body all over me is overstimulating, and I just want a chance to breathe.

“Stop.” I try to yank my hands down.

His dick pulses. “Say it again.”

“Fuck you.” I try to catch my breath.

“Yes,” he moans, relentlessly rolling my clit in his fingers. It hurts while feeling good, and I don’t think I can come again.

But I do. And again, and again, and again with each gentle touch. With each time, my breathing becomes more jagged. My body is filled with both pain and shame. I don’t know which one to focus on, and it makes my head foggy.

At some point, Manson lets go of my hands. They fall to his chest, numb. I drop my head into them. The overwhelming sensation makes me want to cry, and I don’t know why.

“Are you crying, sweet little thing?” Manson’s voice is soothing.

I clench my eyes shut, my cheeks burning. I don’t want him to see that.

I feel Manson pulse inside me. He pulls his dick back, then pushes it deeper. “That’s it. Cry for me.”

The humiliation rushes through me, making my skin hot. Manson starts pumping into me, and I can feel every stroke in my sensitive pussy. He drags against my G-spot, making me shudder. Manson must mistake it for crying ‘cause he shushes me, increasing his pace.

“I’m going to pump you full of my come, Rachel.”

“Wait,” he doesn’t have a condom on.

“And you’re going to remember just who owns this pretty little body and just who made you cry.” Manson’s pace is brutal, but his dick drags against that spot in me with every thrust. Against what I thought possible, I clench up again, pleasure shooting through me.

Manson groans and slams his dick into me, pinning me against the wall. His dick twitches, and I feel his hot cum filling me.

“No,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he grits, still locked in pleasure.

We stand there for a minute, both panting. Manson just fucked me. He just fucked me and made me come over and over, just like he said he would. Sweetly, without hurting me.

I hate him more than I ever did.

In the silence, Manson’s voice asks softly, “How do I get Riley to love me?”

I catch my breath. He’s going to give me a chance.

Manson drops his head against the basement wall. “Do I have to buy her flowers? Sing to her a few times?”

“I…it’s not that simple. Love isn’t a formula.”

Manson pulls out of me.

I stiffen.

He glares at me. “Tell me what it is then.”

“It’s…I don’t know. It means different things to different people. I need to know Riley so I can tell you what she wants. I need to find out what she’s mad about too.”

Manson shakes his head, pulling up his pants. I scramble to get mine up. He isn’t going to believe me. He’ll have no use for me. Manson turns and stalks to the stairs.

I stand there, dripping his cum, and never feeling more alone.

At the bottom, Manson turns. “Let’s go, lovebird.” He looks me up and down. “If you tell Riley about this, I’ll kill you. Fuck what she thinks.” Then he turns and walks up the stairs.