A. Zavarelli - Stutter (Bleeding Hearts Book 2)

  Stutter

  A Bleeding Hearts Novel

  by

  A. Zavarelli

  Stutter © 2015 A. Zavarelli

  Cover Design by Melgraphics

  Cover Photograph © 2015 Deposit Photos/ shmeljov

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  My heart is a compass, and it always leads me back to you.

  Chapter One

  Ryland

  Obsession was a fickle beast.

  One minute, it was bloodlust, and the next it was sunshine wrapped in silk. I’d never been one for poetics or waxing philosophical, but I could write a bible about Brighton fucking Valentine. The red-headed bombshell came into my life and tipped the whole world on its axis.

  Obsession.

  It clawed at me and burrowed deep into my skin, eating at the layers of self-entitlement I’d constructed over the years.

  I was entitled to my rage. My hatred. I was entitled to purge the world of the very life essence I despised with the fire of a thousand suns. And, finally, I was entitled to her.

  But in the end, she had been right. I couldn’t have them both.

  Cue the cruel and mocking laughter from the puppet master of this fucked up sideshow.

  My plans had been derailed and replaced with something else. For purposes of description, I’d call it an unexpected hiccup. But not weakness. Never weakness.

  I fucking despised weakness. Weakness was my father, Michael Lockhart. Weakness was the man I’d been six years ago, unable to save Sophia. Weakness had no place in my heart or my mind, and that was the conundrum. In this case, x plus y did not equal z. There was no simple solution. There were no trivial plot points in Brighton and I’s story. No insignificant drivel to drive a wedge between us. Only the hard shit. The impossible choices.

  To be horrifically frank, there was only one solution that gave me what I wanted in this scenario. It involved sacrifice. And if you were familiar with my shenanigans and had a lick of sense about you, you’ve surely surmised that I was a selfish bastard by now. You’d be right. A man like me didn’t make sacrifices. Not anymore. Men like me took. And the world bent over and gave it up without a fight, because, well, we were just that goddamn charming, right?

  I was raised in a good family. Practically came out of the womb with a silver spoon in my over-privileged mouth. Michael groomed me to be an esteemed businessman like him, all the while my mother doted on me and told me how handsome and sweet I was. I had it made.

  But it was an illusion, you see. They had it all wrong. I wasn’t sweet. And I would never do business like my father.

  When they were dead and buried in the ground, I’d embraced a new motto in life. Fuck anyone who gets in your way before they can fuck you first. Ruthless. Those were my business practices. I ruled with an iron fist in my personal and professional life. I was accustomed to getting my way by now and I wasn’t at all ashamed of it. Why should I be? After all, everybody secretly wants things to go their way. Spare me the self-righteous bullshit and just acknowledge it’s a cold, hard truth.

  I’d always had a dark side. Dark fantasies. When my grief was so thick I could practically choke on it, I used it as an excuse to indulge. A nip here, a belt mark there, a little rough spanking every now and again. It was all child’s play until Brighton came into my life.

  She made the beast rear its ugly head. Stirred fantasies in my mind I would have never otherwise entertained. Owning her wasn’t enough. Controlling her didn’t douse the inferno blazing inside me. No, I needed more from her. I needed everything. Body, mind, soul.

  Cruel?

  You’d be the judge on that. Was it cruel if someone asked for it? Begged for it, even? She always begged. Even now, I could hear her whimpering for me. Christ, those noises she made. A one-way ticket to heaven.

  If we were going with cheesy metaphors, Brighton was undoubtedly an angel. That milky skin, those rosy cheeks… the way her lips parted just so when I touched her in all the right places. And where did that leave me for wanting to corrupt something so pure? Surely, that would be the devil.

  I’d tainted her. Debased and degraded her. And I’d enjoyed every moment of it. I wouldn’t lie about that. My moral compass was broken, sure. But there was something still intact. Something that I’d sort of wished would disappear. Most people would call it a conscience. To me, it was nothing more than a hindrance.

  But that was neither here nor there.

  Truth be told, none of it made a lick of difference anymore. Good, bad, right, wrong. It all faded and blended together into one giant hole of blackness since she’d gone.

  I had a theory about Lucifer. About his true intentions. But as I mentioned before, I wasn’t one for waxing philosophical. So instead, I’d like to skip ahead to the most important question. Could the fallen ever really be redeemed?

  The last five years had been a series of carefully orchestrated events. Every move, every strategy had been poured over in painstaking detail before it was set into motion.

  Pieces on a chess board.

  A collision of fate and circumstance. I’d planned for every hitch. Every contingency. Except the one that blindsided me like a vat of acid to the face.

  I fell in love with her.

  Had it been anyone else spouting such out of character nonsense, you probably wouldn’t have batted an eye. But for a man who already had such obsessive tendencies, it was a recipe for disaster. It was, in fact, the reason why I was sitting in this upscale boutique on a Wednesday afternoon when I should have been working.

  The woman across the desk had been sporting fuck-me eyes for the last twenty minutes while I stared off into the empty abyss. She’d informed me that the menagerie of glittering jewels laid out before me were all precious gems. I’d concluded she didn’t know the meaning of the word.

  Don’t get me wrong. The jewels were nice. Exquisite even. They reeked of sophistication and money. And therefore, they were completely worthless. Anything this pretentious would smother the very life right out of Brighton’s innocent soul. She wouldn’t wear any of it, and this had been a wasted trip.

  How did I ever think this was a good idea? I shook my head in disgust and pushed the velvet display case back to the attendant seated across from me. She wasn’t pleased by this.

  “Perhaps if you told me what you were looking for, Mr. Bennett.”

  I closed my eyes, and all I could see was Brighton crushed into that pocket of metal. Blood. So much fucking blood. Hollow breaths. Smoke and water. Her tears and my dread, so thick it suffocated me. These images haunted me day and night.

  Did I deserve them? You’d probably say yes, and again you’d be right. I knew that now. But did it matter?

  Little too fucking late.

  I needed a drink. Maybe a priest. Something to numb my blackened soul and vanquish this nightmare.

  “What does one get for the woman they almost killed?” I asked.

  The attendant’s head rattled with nervous laughter, her eyes darting about. She thought I was joking.

  I wasn’t.

  “What says, I’m really fucking sorry and I need you to believe me?”

  The insufferable giggling persisted, only to be followed up by a fluttering of lashes. She didn
’t get it-I was really asking her. Desperation had a strangle hold on me.

  She finally got a grip of herself and pointed to the gaudiest ring on the display case. “I like to say bigger is better in this case.”

  I frowned at her salacious tone and actually shuddered. For all of my faults, there was one thing that remained steadfast in my intentions. I only wanted one woman, and it wasn’t the one sitting across from me.

  “I’ll think it over.”

  I pushed back my chair, and the attendant scurried to her feet. “Just let me know if there’s anything special you’d like. I can find it, I’m sure of it.”

  “Of course.” I gave her a thin smile. What I needed wasn’t in this store though. Redemption couldn’t be bought here.

  I stepped outside and met Ted at the curb. He endeavored idle chit chat while driving me back to work, but I wasn’t in the mood. I hadn’t been in the mood for anything but wallowing in my own self-loathing for the last month.

  I dialed Mick, and he answered on the first ring. For the tidy sum I padded his bank account with, I’d expect nothing less.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  I got straight to the point. “How’s my girl today?”

  “All’s quiet on the home front,” he replied. “Don’t think she’s even left the apartment.”

  I should’ve been content with that. I wasn’t. Like the greedy fiend I was, I’d grown more demanding of the photos I required to see me through the day. It was the only connection I had to her and yes that’s what’d it come to. I wasn’t proud. I was in love. And love’s a bitch.

  “I want an update every hour,” I said. “Even if there’s nothing to report.”

  Mick was silent for a moment before mumbling his agreement. He had his own opinions on this whole situation. Opinions I had no inclination to hear or give a fuck about.

  “You got it, boss.”

  I moved to hang up before I thought of something else. “Did she get my flowers today?”

  “She sent them back, sir,” he said quietly.

  As I expected. It was the same every other day.

  Chapter Two

  Brighton

  Staring down at the sonogram in my hand, I fought away tears for the fifth time that day. I still couldn’t believe Ryland and I had made this. It was only a little squiggle, but it was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  The moment was bittersweet. Ryland should have been here with me, staring at what we created in awe. We should be experiencing all of these things together. But he still didn’t know, and I didn’t know when or if I could tell him.

  I was scared. For so many different reasons. I didn’t know what he was going to think. But even worse, I was scared that he would never let go of his need for revenge. And I couldn’t bring my baby into that mess. I wouldn’t.

  Even still, I missed him so much it hurt to breathe. Most days, I could barely get out of bed. A month had passed since I’d seen him. A month of unending pain. I knew it wasn’t good for me or the baby to be so stressed, but I couldn’t help it. I hated him. I loved him. It felt like my heart was split in two. After everything, I still wanted him. But I doubted I’d ever be able to trust him again.

  I picked up the photo I’d had framed of us. It was the only one I had. The night we were photographed by the paparazzi. The night he’d showed the world I was his. But he’d had an ulterior motive for doing so. Even that moment was tainted by darkness. There wasn’t a single part of our relationship I could recall that wasn’t. That was the way it always went with him. Pleasure and pain.

  But not anymore.

  I needed to put Ryland out of my mind. I needed to do what was best for me.

  It was time to move on.

  ***

  The landlord arched a brow at me expectantly while I took another look around the apartment. “Well?”

  I clutched my purse a little tighter and gave him a stiff nod.

  “I’ll take it.”

  Nicole wrinkled her nose and squeezed my arm as if I’d lost my mind. “Brighton, are you sure about this?”

  I gave her a weak smile and shrugged. Sure the place wasn’t the best. The walls had some cracks. And the paint was probably lead based. It kind of smelled like old socks. But it was in my budget, which was really the only determining factor at this point.

  For the last month, Nicole and I had both been crashing at Matt’s cousin’s house. It was very generous of her to offer, but I knew I couldn’t stay there indefinitely. I had enough in my savings to live off of for six months if I was careful. And that meant settling for a less than stellar apartment.

  “Nicole, I can’t stay at Misha’s. I need to get established somewhere of my own before the baby comes.”

  “Yeah, I know,” she whispered. “But I’m pretty sure this neighborhood has like the highest murder rate in San Francisco.”

  The landlord snorted and scratched his balls. “Are you gonna’ take it or what? I have other shit to do.”

  “Yes,” I said again, a little more resolutely this time.

  Nicole sighed and turned to the landlord, gesturing between us. “She means we’ll take it. As in both of us.”

  “Nicole…”

  “Nope.” She raised her hand and gave me a stern expression. “I’m coming with you. No way in hell am I letting you live in this neighborhood alone. And you’re right. I’m not working at the Bennett Corporation any more, I need to start thinking more realistically in terms of money.”

  I reached over and hugged her before the landlord slapped down a lease. I knew Nicole was only doing this as a favor to me, but I was grateful nonetheless. She’d left her apartment and her job when she found out what happened, and she hadn’t spoken to Ryland since.

  I didn’t know how I felt about that, but Nicole insisted it had been a long time in the making. She assured me she would have quit regardless of the car accident, and she didn’t want an apartment that wasn’t rightfully hers.

  The landlord cleared his throat, and we both laughed. He was already getting annoyed with us. I picked up the pen, and with a shaky hand, hovered over the dotted line. The irony wasn’t lost on me that the lease was for six months. I had to swallow down my nerves as I pushed the pen to paper. The last time I’d agreed to a contract for that length of time, all hell had broken loose.

  Chapter Three

  Ryland

  Three am.

  Sleep eluded me.

  The quiet whir of the ceiling fan overhead mingled with the shallow breaths dragging from my lungs. The faintest hint of her still lingered on the bedsheets, taunting and teasing me. I hadn’t washed them since she’d gone.

  Mementos of her littered my apartment. Her clothes, her jewelry, her sticky notes with reminders scrawled on them in childlike loops and swirls. I couldn’t let these things go. I figured if she hadn’t come back to collect yet, hope still breathed.

  It was fading though. As was my control on this situation.

  Every night I lingered on the edge of reality and insanity. Imagining her face brought me peace, if only for a moment. Then it always blurred into something else. Blood. Smoke. Water. Pain.

  Gone.

  I groped around the bed for her nightgown and brought it to my face. It still smelled like her. Strawberries and sunshine. Christ.

  Smoothing the silk material through my fingers, I recalled fondly the way it slid against the decadent curves of her body. Reminisced on the pleasant sound of threads giving way as I freed her creamy flesh from its gilded cage. The bite of leather against her skin and the way she came alive for me. Marking her with arrogant ownership. She was too lenient with me sometimes, and oh what a heady fucking feeling that was. I believed her when she said she loved me. And I also believed I could still have her once I’d gotten my way.

  What a fucking prig.

  Self-deprecation was not an attractive quality, but that’s what it’d come to. For a small while, I held an angel in the palm of my hand. Like one of those little d
ancers in the musical jewelry boxes. All I had to do was wind her up and watch her shine for me. Nobody else could do that. It was all for me. And now only the memories remained.

  I slid the nightgown down and wrapped it around my cock, fisting myself through the silk.

  Was that judgment I heard in your thoughts? Did you forget that I was a man? This is how we deal. We could be deep in the clutches of grief and still get a fucking hard on. Blame it on biology.

  It didn’t mean I didn’t feel things. I felt plenty. I had Brighton to thank for that. She walked into my life and blew everything to smithereens. Talk about the best laid plans…

  I envisioned her spread out over my desk, her ginger spiced locks spilling over her shoulders like a flaming halo. I curled and twisted those silky threads in my hands, tugging until two bright hazel orbs stared back at me. Often, I had trouble deciphering the exact color of her eyes. They changed so frequently depending on her moods. Sometimes they were liquid amber, warm and inviting. Other times, I’d find them tinged with blue or gray. There’d been times they shut me out, but she’d never gone cold. Brighton was never, ever cold.

  Right now, they were burnished caramel. Hot and sweet and filled with naughty promises. Her lids were heavy like I’d drugged her into narcosis. She was high on me-I knew-because the same drug ravaged my own veins. Thick and potent it burned as I dragged my fingers down her spine and groped her heart shaped ass.

  Pure perfection. My cock itched with the need to purge this agony from my system. It was too soon. Always too soon. I smacked Brighton’s pretty little ass cheek in reproof, enchanted by the tiny noise that tore from her throat. It was her fault I was in such distress. If she wasn’t so goddamn exquisite, I could make it last forever.

  Rough hands slid around her front, her tits filling my palms with each stuttered breath she drew. My cock dragged in and out in a measured tempo so as not to plunge from the ledge just yet. Her snug pink pussy sucked me deeper in an invitation I could not refuse. Christ she had such a pretty little pussy. If you didn’t agree that pussies could be pretty, it’s because you’d never seen hers. Brighton’s was the prettiest.