Complicated: A Tainted Love Novella (8 page)

Wait…what?

“Marshall, what do you mean by that?” I ask tentatively, my voice shaking nervously.

“Go to sleep, Rachel,” he bids me softly, closing his eyes. What does he mean by sleep? After a comment like
that
?

“Marshall…”

“Rachel,” he commands, causing excitement to furl deep in my belly. “Go to sleep.” And fuck if I don’t do as he says…like a comatose patient.

Marshall

I
am awakened by Rachel’s whimpers as she struggles in her sleep. I pull away from her body and she cries out, tears leaking down the sides of her face. She grabs her stomach and she lets out a broken sob, my gut twisting with dread.

“Marshall, I’m sorry,” she mumbles. Then, she rubs her stomach, almost as a mother would, before whispering, “I’m sorry, too.” Repeatedly, her hand glides across her belly as she echoes over and over, “I’m so sorry.”

Her chest rises on a deep inhalation and as soon as she exhales, her body relaxes, as if whatever nightmare she was having, came to an abrupt end. It’s scary and heartbreaking all at once to witness. Delilah never told me that Rachel had nightmares. Were they recurrent? How long have they been going on? Was I always in them? And what was with her rubbing her belly? And why was she sorry?

So many questions flicker through my mind as I watch Rachel now sleeping silently, unperturbed. She looked so troubled, distressed and shattered in the throes of her nightmare. Whatever she was dreaming about, I wish I could have gone through it with her. It pains me down to my very soul to know that she is battling demons that would be better fought together. I wish she would talk to me, but she’s not obligated to even be fucking me right now, much less divulging secrets. Knowing she wouldn’t tell me about her nightmares anyway, I roll out of bed and drag on my discarded pair of boxers, dangling precariously on the window sill.

The window sill?
Damn.
I guess things got pretty insane last night.

The sex was more than either of us imagined it would be. It was deliberate on my part, however. She wanted me to fuck her, to get lost in a passionate battle of sexual wills, but I purposefully made love to her. I imprinted my heart on her own and connected with her on a level that far surpassed the physical. Our encounter was divine, taking us both to heights that we’ve never attained, not even while we had dated. I never imagined that it could get better with her, but it did, and now I am even more hooked on her than I’d ever been.

Fuck.

She succeeded in her actions, though. She wanted us to forget, for a moment, that Delilah was kidnapped, that her special brand of effervescence was absent from all our lives. Today is a new day, though, and the house is disturbingly quiet. In the silence of the morning, one ought to feel at peace, but all I feel is worry and unease. My sister is out there somewhere being violated at the hands of two sick fucks who I’d like nothing more than to get my own hands on. Especially that Ryan fuck. He tricked Rachel and helped that sociopath, Rick, get to my sister. I’d pay big money to fuck him up. My martial arts training would definitely come in handy there.

I open the cupboards in the kitchen and smile when I see three containers of French Vanilla creamer. They always loved French Vanilla coffee. Smiling even wider at all the memories flooding me of Delilah and Rachel, I take down a bottle and the bag of coffee beans and then flip the percolator on before scooping coffee into the filter. When it’s finished, I make myself a steaming cup of French Vanilla coffee, inhaling the aroma deeply before taking a tentative sip.

A yawn startles me and I turn to see a sexily disheveled Rachel stretching at the door of Delilah’s room. Her silk cami rides up on her stomach and the sight has my dick pulsing to life. I wished she had stayed naked, but this is a good look, too. It’s how I envision all our mornings would have been like if we had stayed together. A wistful smile touches my lips as she pads into the living room and over to me.

She is so fucking beautiful to me right now with her hair messy and her face free of makeup. My marks are all over her body, both from two nights ago and the ones from last night. That feeling of ownership that I’d always felt when we dated, rises inside me and I feel like pounding my chest with pride at seeing her body marked by me.

Rachel comes closer and I hand over my cup of coffee, knowing she would have taken it anyway. She inhales it then takes a gratifying sip. She scrunches her nose at the taste and goes over to the kitchen counter and dumps more creamer and sugar into the cup before mixing. Bringing the cup up to her kiss-bruised lips, she takes a fortifying taste and closes her eyes as she relishes its deliciousness. A few more sips and color seeps back into her cheeks, rendering her human one more.

Rachel finally faces me and she looks down into her coffee, not wanting to address the elephant in the room. We made love and she needs to acknowledge what happened between us. I know I’m not alone in this. She feels this all-encompassing love that I feel. Why she’s afraid of taking the plunge is beyond me, but I’m ready for some answers.

“Rachel–”

“This can’t happen again, Marshall,” she interrupts, still not looking at me. This is fear talking, not her heart. “You promised you’d stay away.”

This takes me aback. “When did I ever promise to stay away from you, Rae?” I step closer to her now.

“But…you…but,” she stutters, whether from my proximity or the question, I’m not sure; but I’d like to think it’s the former.

“Even if I did promise, Princess,” I continue, “who says I’d ever keep that promise?”

Rachel nibbles on her bottom lip, a sign that she’s nervous, and I take the small victory. Closing the space between us, I take the mug of coffee from her hands, ready to lay down the law of how things will be from now on. I’m done dicking around with her. She’s mine, always was and always will be.

“You keep inferring that there’s nothing between us,” I recall, “that
we
won’t happen again…but it will.”

“And what makes you so sure?” She’s nervous, but I give her props for not showing it. I admire her fight, it shows how passionate she can get and I’m all for passion.

I’m stepping closer to her but she pulls up against the wall as if trying to disappear through it. Her breathing quickens and she gnaws at her bottom lip once again. Without looking in the direction of her chest – because if I do, I’d probably kiss her senseless and then fuck her – I know her nipples are peaked in response to my nearness.

“So, if I touched your pussy right now, it won’t be wet? If I check your pulse, it won’t be racing? If I touch you, you won’t melt into me?” A tiny moan sounds in the back of her throat and my cock rages wanting to bury itself inside the warmth of her depths. “If I die tomorrow, you won’t cry yourself to sleep every night?”

She gasps and a look of deep sadness cuts through her nervousness. “Why would you say something like that?” she demands, fury and worry lacing her tone. “Don’t say stuff like that, Marshall! I have enough to worry about with Delilah.”

It didn’t matter last night when it was just us – our bodies and hearts
, but I stifle that retort. I want to shake her, wake her up out of her denial and open her eyes from her blindness. How can I see it,
feel
that we belong together and she can’t?

She starts pounding my chest, pushing me away in her anger. “You apologize right now! Right now!”

Gripping her wrists and giving her a tender look, I bring my lips up to her ear and whisper, “I thought so,” before releasing her and walking away. It was the hardest thing to do, but I had to, so she can stew on everything that just happened. Fight all she wants, that girl loves me and I’m breaking down her walls.

Her cell rings and she blows out a breath, glad to have the interruption in the atmospheric intensity. What she doesn’t know is that it won’t deter me. We’re going to explore this. We’re going to air out our differences. What she told me last night felt like a sucker punch, but I understood. It doesn’t mean it’s an acceptable excuse now.

She quickly swipes up her phone and answers, “Hey, Ben.”

I hear his elation through the phone and I stop in my tracks, my heart rate spiking as hope weakens my knees. Could it be?

“Oh, my God!” Rachel cries and I spin and head in her direction. “Thank God! Oh God!”

Rachel reaches out for me and I take her into my arms as she unravels, crying tears of joy and relief.

“He found her,” she cries. “She’s alive, Marshall!”

My own eyes brim and like a dam overflowing, tears slip down my face. Rachel grips me tight, as if trying to fuse her body with my own.

My sister is found. She’s alive.

And Rachel is clinging to me like I am her anchor. This day can’t get any better.

The hospital is utter chaos when we get there. It feels as if every doctor, nurse and orderly is tending to Delilah, no doubt because of moneybags Ben Hayes. The guy loves my sister, though, that much is obvious.

Hearing Ben relay the events of how he rescued her has my stomach in knots. I feel so utterly helpless. When he mentions drugs, Rachel squeezes my hand as if she wants to rip it out of the socket. This can’t be good. Delilah had been clean for years, and now it’s been dashed in order to satisfy a sick bastard’s perverted pleasure. I wish Ben would have killed him and his friend.

The police question Rachel and I again on the information we have on Rick, and when they leave, they leave with what they believe is a solid case against Rick and Ryan. I hope they rot in prison for what they did to Delilah. Maybe I can call in a favor and have them murdered in prison…or raped. Tit for tat, sow what you reap and all that.

A nurse, kind face, beautiful smile, rounded figure and a slight Southern drawl comes up to us and introduces herself as Nurse Raylene Green. After warning us that Delilah’s pretty banged up but sleeping, she allows us to go in and see her. She’s in a room all to herself, courtesy of Ben. This guy has done so much in the little time I’ve known him. I owe him my life for saving my sister’s own.

The air is sucked out of the room when I see my beautiful sister with her eyes closed, lost in sleep, one eye swollen, her face sporting a purplish discoloration on one side, her arms darkened with bruises, her mouth brownish where a swelling must have been, and her hair a mess. My fists clench and I squeeze my mouth shut in order not to howl in anger. They broke her. Those fucking motherfuckers broke her.

A sob snaps my attention to Rachel, whose hand is at her mouth trying not to make too much noise. But as she slowly, cautiously makes her way further into the room and closer to Delilah’s bed, she falls apart. Ben isn’t hesitant like we are. His sad, but determined steps carry him over to her bed, but he comes to a stop as he stares down at her. I realize that she’s asleep, but more so, that she’s scowling. She must be having a bad dream, not yet a nightmare but possibly getting there.

Ben does nothing but takes a step closer, leans down then kisses her forehead. Just like that, her features smooth out and a serene smile takes the place of the scowl that was on her face a few seconds before. My eyes tear up at the loving, cherishing display and I pull Rachel into me, putting my arm around her and kissing the top of her head. She sinks into my touch and holds on to me as if she knows what I’m thinking: he loves her.

He begins to say things that, I won’t lie, break my own heart. He blames himself for everything that has happened to her, but he doesn’t know that nothing he could have done could have prevented this. I should have been more vigilant. I should have known that Rick was only biding his time. I never should have underestimated him.

I stow my guilt for the time being as I see the man that loves my sister, get choked up with regret. His eyes water and overflow, his despairing tears falling onto her hand, bandaged and stuck with an I.V. Rachel walks out of my arms and over to him where she rests a hand on his shoulder, getting his attention.