That Emerald Vow (The Crimson Creed #2)

9. Chapter Nine

H ONK! A car horn blares as the driver speeds around me. I don’t blame them, I’m driving down the highway at a dangerously slow speed. No amount of honking, Bryce Savage blasting telling me I’m a dark, sadistic badass, or my own positive affirmations are helping the giant anxiety elephant sitting on my chest, making it hard to breathe. With each new trauma it grows and grows, rotting me from the inside. Maybe that’s why I take a sharp turn off the exit to find a bar in a nearby town. I’m slow-crawling my way to hell, and I need some liquid courage, but not the kind that most people may think when I say that.

I left my house with hours to spare, knowing this would happen: I’d drive like a grandma because I don’t want to go meet my makers, and I’d need to make a pit stop. There was nothing I could do to get out of dinner. With my mother, I just say yes or things just get harder on me. There’s no one who fuels my anxiety like my mother.

Thankfully, I did get out of having to stay longer than necessary. I told her I was forced to pick up a shift at work and had to leave as soon as dinner was over. She was not happy about it and she said, “I guess that’s fine that you care more about dying strangers than your own father. At least you’ll be there for dinner.” She clearly had no respect for my chosen profession of wanting to help people. She couldn’t very well say she was proud of me for being empathetic and having a work/life balance. The extra shift is a lie, of course. I just refuse to be there longer than I have to. Being in the same four walls as him and my mother long-term is not something I want to explore. I even made sure I had no shifts the next two days to recover from the emotional fuckery that tonight will bring.

Parking my car in front of the dive bar, I grab my wallet and head to the front door. A smile draws at my lips at the idea of this helping ease my anxiety and feel a bit more in control. Walking into the bar, the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap cleaning products hits my nose. Since it’s still early afternoon, there’s not a soul in sight except the bartender scrubbing the bar with a dirty rag.

“What can I get for a beautiful girl like you?” he asks as I take a seat on a wooden stool in front of him. He must be in his late thirties and is decent looking. His dark hair looks like he just got out of bed and couldn’t be bothered, but it kinda works for him. His smirk tells me he thinks he’s the hottest shit in town. I snort internally. Men are so predictable.

“Do you have Blue Moon?” I ask with a beaming smile, making sure to lean over the sticky bar so he can get a clear shot of my cleavage. I’m wearing a basic, low-cut T-shirt and tight skinny jeans that I picked out to be comfortable on the long drive.

“For you? Of course, darling,” he responds, winking at me with his blue eyes—maybe the only nice thing about him. “Tap or bottle?”

I lick my bottom lip slowly, I say “Surprise me?” knowing I have him hooked when his Adam’s apple bobs as he carefully looks at my lips and back down to my breasts. “What’s your name, sugar?”

He takes a pint glass and starts to pour my drink, only taking his eyes off me to make sure the glass is under the spigot. “Cleetus,” he says as he places the glass in front of me. “Cleetus Beuford.”

I take a sip of the beer, which feels nice and cool. “Well, Cleetus, I can’t lie. I came in here with an ulterior motive,” I say, placing down the glass and stroking the condensation on the side of it slowly—ensuring to maintain eye contact with him. I stick out my lower lip as I continue, “I’ve had a lousy morning, and I need a little pick-me-up.” Choosing to take the dumb blonde route, which works every time. “I got so turned around trying to get back to campus. Thought to myself that it might be a good idea to get a nice cold beer and maybe some . . .” Taking in my lower lip as I giggle, I pretend to look around the room, even though we both know nobody else is here, and whisper, “Release.”

His eyes light up at that last part as he leans forward with a smug expression. “That can definitely be arranged.”

“I’m starting to feel a lot better, babes,” I say, pacing Cleetus’s bathroom floor while on the phone with Lily.

She chuckles on the other end, but I know she’s worried about me. “That’s why we have our files. Just promise you’ll call me to check in after?”

“Yup, that’s why I came prepared. And I promise.” I check my reflection in the mirror. Not a hair out of place. I smooth down the bartender’s shirt, which fits me like a dress. I didn’t want to dirty my own clothes. “Now let me get back to this man. Talk later. Love you.”

“Love you. Give ‘em hell . . .” She sighs. “ All of them.”

I scoff as my heart sinks a bit, knowing I’ll never get justice for the true evil in my life. That is just something I am not ready to face. I’m not even sure I ever will be. “I’ll try . . .”

Checking my reflection again, I walk back down the hall to Cleetus’s bedroom where he’s tied up in nothing but his boxers. It didn’t take a lot of convincing to let me tie him up. Nothing more sexy to men than a kinky little blonde. I smirk at him as I ask, “You ready, sugar?”

He looks like he just won the lottery. Little does he know. “Oh, I’m ready for you, baby.”

I sway my hips in tandem to each step as I prowl towards him. “I don’t think you are.” My heart is slowly increasing pace as I get more and more excited by my coming release. I kneel on top of him with each leg on either side of his hips. He greedily gyrates upwards so his crotch is flush with my center. I hear the strain of the wood as he pulls on the ties, not wanting to wait. “What’s the rush? You want this?” I push down on his cock with my pussy and swipe up. We’re both still in our underwear, but there is no denying how hard he is for me and the anticipatory heat pooling between my legs. Although, the heat is not from the asshole under me, but what I’ll get to do to him soon.

“I want you so bad, baby,” he says as he tries to grind himself on my core again.

I smirk at him, even though all I feel is disgust. “Nuh-uh. You don’t get that yet.” He strains as he pulls on his restraints to no avail, but his smirk tells me he still enjoys the tease.

There’s a distant motorcycle that starts its engine, bringing another man into my forethought. Someone I have no business thinking about.

Damon.

It’s been so long since I’ve had a climax from anything other than my toys that I let myself get lost in my thoughts. I remove myself from Cleetus and go to the edge of the bed, facing away from him. “It’s my turn first,” I say.

He doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing me touch myself. I move the edges of his shirt, pull the black lace aside, and touch my already wet center. Closing my eyes, I let my mind roam free as I move my fingers in a circular motion on my clit—swiping down and sometimes into my folds.

I imagine Damon’s face—the way his dimple shows whenever he smiles or laughs with his whole body. The way his eyes twinkled when he proposed to me. How his hand felt like the perfect mix of gentle and rough on my skin from years of manual labor. Him calling me his little gem. Each memory comes in quick flashes in my mind as I circle, swipe, and finger myself into a frenzy. God, I wish it was Damon here with me right now. He would know exactly what I need. And with that secret thought, I feel the build up in my core explode through every nerve ending as I orgasm, moaning out in ecstasy.

“That was so hot, baby. Is it my turn now?”

I’m quickly pulled out of my stupor, remembering why I’m here. My euphoric smile turns into a scowl as I turn toward him. “I’m sure it was,” I say seriously, hating him for pulling me out of the moment.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion at my sudden change in demeanor. “Ar-are you okay?”

“I am.” I smirk down at him. “It’s your turn, right? Let me just get something to take the edge off first.”

Cleetus’s furrowed eyebrows turn curious. “What do you mean?”

I go to my bag and put on gloves before pulling out a syringe, an elastic band, some heroin, and other things I’ll need. “Oh, honey, don’t think I didn’t notice those little track marks on you.”

“I-I haven’t done that in a long time.” He furiously bites his lower lip. “We can have some fun without th-that.” I look up when I hear him yanking at the ties.

“Uh-uh-uh,” I say as I walk back over to him. “You said it was your turn, right?”

He licks his lips like a true addict ready for it—unable to refuse. “O-okay. Just a little though. Then I can fuck you like the slut you are,” he says, trying to regain control. “Make that pussy come for me again.”

Without untying him, I pull the elastic around his lower bicep, tightening it so his veins are more visible. As I prepare the heroin, I say, “I think you should know that the whole time I was touching myself like that”—I fill the syringe up and place it near his vein. The bed is vibrating with his legs that are also tied, rubbing the comforter in anticipation with the small movements that he can make while bound—“I was thinking of someone else.”

“What the fuck,” he spits out. Before he can move, I plunge every ounce of heroin I prepared into his veins.

He takes a large intake of breath as he chases the rush of the dragon. “You . . . you fucking bitch.” He is struggling between his anger and the high and the death that is awaiting him.

“You said you wanted a release. Well, here I am. Your own personal fury is ready to avenge all the pain you cause. Ready to release you from this world.”

His eyes bulge as he screams. “What?” The bed starts shaking as the drug makes its way through his system. “What did you give me?”

“Oh, my own personal concoction.” I giggle. “You’ll be dead in minutes,” I say, getting up to clean up.

“HELP! HELP!” he screams as loud as he can. “Why are you doing this?”

I turn back as anger feels hot in my core, rushing back towards him. “I am doing this for all the women who yelled ‘help’ or ‘stop’ and you didn’t listen. No one is here to help you.”

“They’ll know. The police . . . They’ll know,” he says, already becoming sluggish.

“No, they won’t. You have no working cameras because of all the illegal things you do. And you so kindly put up a closed sign on the front door so you could fuck me. No one is going to find you until it’s too fucking late.” I smile at him before continuing to clean up and wipe everything down .

I switch out of his shirt, throwing it into my bag—not wanting to leave evidence—as I change back into my own clothes. “The best part? You’re an addict. No one will look too closely into this, as they’ll assume it was an accidental overdose.”

As I gather my things, I look back at him, his eyes are trying to stay open as his mouth starts to expel foam and he convulses slightly. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t have made this more painful. But I’m strapped for time.”

I wait a few moments until he’s unconscious—the last remnants of life leaving his body. Walking back over, I grab all the restraints and leave evidence of the overdose. Thankfully, the restraints didn’t leave any marks on his skin.

I make my way to my car, feeling a lot better and a bit more prepared to take on my family. About halfway through the ride, I get a phone call from my mother.

“Hello, Mother,” I barely say before she’s talking over me.

“Where are you?”

Rolling my eyes at her micromanaging, I say, “I’m about forty-five minutes away.”

“Okay. Good. Demetri had a last-minute business meeting out of town, so he isn’t coming.”

I still as the information hits me, feeling instantly relieved.

“Charlie?” she says, annoyed. “Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Mother.” A smile forms on my lips.

“It’s fine. He’ll be here for our anniversary weekend at least,” she says. I don’t allow that to ruin my current mood. That will be a problem for a later date—one I hope never comes. For now, I will take this small win. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.” She hangs up before I can say anything else.

Still feeling euphoric after my orgasm and ridding the world of another rapist, I roll my windows down, taking in the afternoon breeze as I turn up the volume and sing along to my playlist.