Twenty Nine
R I V E R
EIGHT WEEKS LATER
THE KNIFE IN MY HAND trembles. I’m not okay in this moment. My eyes bore into the tomato I was chopping, the red juices dripping off the serrated edge. I was fine and then the red juice slowly turned into blood.
A hand slides across my body. My mind spirals. I feel Billy’s hand. Ryan’s. All of the men that took from me all morphing into one. The hand grips my hip and turns me around. Instinctively, my hand whips up—the one holding the butcher knife—and snaps to his neck.
He stills. Green eyes penetrate, the familiarity swirling in the darkness that has invaded my mind. Clarity comes rushing back and the world comes into focus once more. Mako is staring at me intensely, his face arranged carefully into a blank slate. A trickle of blood leaks from the point of the knife digging into his skin.
“Oh my God,” I rush out, the knife slipping from my grasp. He catches it before it falls and gets stabbed on the way down. My hands fly over my face, and embarrassment floods my pores. “I am so.
Fucking. Sorry, Mako.” My voice is muffled by my hands, but I know he heard me just fine.
I’m absolutely horrified. I almost killed him. I actually almost killed him.
I hear the knife clatter on the countertop behind me. And then it sounds like the cutting board is being slid down the counter, away from us. One hard tug and my hands away fly from my face. The suddenness of it forces a gasp from my throat, and my hands fall easily.
His hands grip both my hips, and in one swoop, he lifts me up and sets me on the countertop. He arranges me so my body is sitting on the catty-corner, where the two counters meet.
“Mako! Careful!” I admonish, wary of his gunshot wound. He’s mostly healed, but he’s still not one hundred percent yet. He’s not allowed to lift heavy things, and I’m pretty sure the doctor would categorize me has a heavy object.
He still hasn’t spoken a single word. Oh, God. He’s probably going to kick me out now. I almost just sliced his neck open. And what’s worse, is I’m actually capable of it.
“What triggered you?” he asks finally, cupping a finger under my chin and jerking my chin up.
My tear-filled eyes meet his steady greens.
“The knife,” I admit reluctantly.
“Why?”
I try to look away, but he jerks my chin back to him again. “Because the last time I used one, I hurt someone with it. It feels like I’m holding a weapon in my hands now, not something to cut tomatoes with.”
“Would it help if the knife became something different than a weapon?”
My brows pucker with confusion. “What do you mean? I thought that’s what I was doing by cutting tomatoes…” My voice trails off when he grabs the knife with one hand, pulls out the collar of
my shirt with the other, and begins cutting the fabric down the middle.
“Mako,” I gasp, stunned. The tip of the knife grazes my skin. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave a dull sting. When I glance up at him, his eyes are concentrating hard on the knife.
He’s grazing me on purpose.
My heart rate escalates, accelerating my breath along with it. My shirt falls of my shoulders and down my arms. He cuts my bra next—I liked that bra—and then my shorts and panties. By the time he’s done, my naked body is adorned in scraps of fabric.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, the tip of my tongue darting out to wet my dry lips. He ignores me and grabs my ankles and spreads them, setting each foot on either counter. Next, he bundles up all the scraps and throws them behind him. Distractedly, I watch them all flutter to the ground.
“Reclaiming what a knife means for you.”
My eyes snap back to his. He steps into my space. Electric shivers run down my spine when the rough texture of his jeans rubs across my bare pussy, eliciting a sharp gasp from my throat.
“Mako…” He deliberately rotates his hips, making sure the zipper skates across my clit. His breath warms my neck as his body presses further into mine, heating me up from the inside out. His lips glide up my neck and to my ear, tickling the tiny hairs on my ear.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his ocean deep voice low and husky.
No, because in this moment, I’m the closest I’ve ever been to heaven, and I’m not ready to die yet.
“Yes,” I whisper. Only because I’m more scared of him stopping.
My nerves intensify when I see his hand grip the knife. Not by the handle, but by the blade. I’m tempted to open my mouth and tell him to not cut himself, but something tells me he wouldn’t mind so much. I keep my mouth firmly shut, even when he lifts the knife and glides the handle lightly across my stomach. My stomach clenches in response, equally terrified and anxious to see what he’s going to do.
The handle trails further down my stomach until he reaches my pussy. The minute Mako started undressing me, my core flooded with juices. But now that he's dangerously close to my most sensitive area with a knife… god, I'm soaked.
My breathing escalates when he circles my tight bud with the handle. I’m not proud of the squeak that escapes my mouth, nor the way my legs tremble. His wicked, satisfied smirk slides across his face, and if I wasn’t so distracted, I’d do something about it.
Involuntarily, my eyes drift shut as I get lost in the sensation. Just the right amount of pressure.
The coil in my stomach is already dangerously tight. The pressure lifts from my clit and reappears right at my opening.
My eyes snap open. “Mako,” I warn, my tone filled with trepidation. He lifts his eyes from his task, ensnaring mine in a heated dance.
“You said you trusted me,” he reminds me, the wickedness still present on his face.
I gasp when the tip of the handle slides past my lips and enters inside me. He doesn't push any further, waiting for me to protest or tell him not to stop, I don’t know what he wants. Too many thoughts and emotions are swirling through my body like a cyclone.
I couldn’t tell you my left hand from my right in this moment.
Licking my lips nervously, I give a subtle nod. I’m not capable of anything more than that. In one swoop, he pushes the handle all the way to the hilt, careful to keep the sharp metal away from my skin. My mouth falls open, no sounds escaping when my throat has completely closed.
A moan breaks through when he draws the knife out, and then back in again. “Mako,” I groan loudly, no longer embarrassed by the wonton noises spilling from my tongue.
“That’s it, baby,” he urges when my hips begin to rotate. He keeps the same, steady pace. It becomes agonizing, and soon, desperate mewls are following the moans. My hips rotate more insistently, my body begging for more.
“What do you need?” he questions, refusing to quicken his pace.
“More,” I whine, jerking my hips forward.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, still not giving into my body’s pleas.
“Lick me,” I whisper urgently. I nearly scream from frustration when I feel his tongue dart out, licking my neck. Normally, I wouldn’t complain, but not when I need his tongue on my pussy instead.
“Mako!” I bark, knowing damn well he knew exactly what I meant.
“Yes?” he asks innocently.
“Lick. My. Pussy,” I growl, my hand sliding into his hair roughly and tugging hard. I feel the smile against my neck.
“Good girl,” he praises. He kisses my neck softly before he trails those kisses down my chest.
Stopping at my breast, he wraps his hot mouth around my nipple. My head falls back, and my hips start rotating once more as he continues to plunge the knife inside me.
He pulls another gasp from me when his teeth replace his tongue, and he bites down on my nipple. Hot pinpricks sluice through my nerves, nearly making me scream from the intensifying pain.
But more potent than the sharp pain is the waves of pleasure rolling through my body. They blend together until I can’t tell the pain from the pleasure.
With a pop, he releases my nipple. Placing on the sensitive area first, he continues his path past my breasts, to my stomach, and finally, down to my drenched pussy.
He kneels before me, the knife firmly inside of me. When he looks up at me, his eyes darkened to a moss green, I nearly come right then and there. Seeing Mako kneel before me like a knight would a princess, I question why I never wanted him to save me.
Keeping eye contact, he slowly leans forward and darts his tongue out to swipe at my clit. The small amount of contact sends my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Before they can find Mako's eyes again, he's growling and shoving his mouth on my core. I can’t stop the loud moan that bursts from my lips and echoes in the kitchen. Not when his tongue is so hot and sharp against my bud.
He groans against me, sending delicious vibrations throughout my pussy. The only thing I can think to do is shove my hand through his soft hair and ride his mouth, careful of the knife still plunging inside me. The coil in my stomach tightens further and further. My stomach clenched as the orgasm crests. My body stills, making the fall over the edge that much sharper.
The coil snaps and I let loose. Pure euphoria overcomes my body. It feels as if my soul lifts from my physical body. The screams coming from my mouth sound so far away, like I’m drifting above them as the waves of ecstasy wash over me.
Distractedly, I feel the knife slip out of me and Mako pull away. My half-lidded eyes barely register Mako standing and slipping down his own jeans. The only that pulls me back down to earth is the feel of Mako's cock jutting out against my core.
The sight has my eyes widening once more. I don’t think I'll ever get used to the sight of him.
Incredibly thick, with a length that's surely not natural. Mako's cock is intimidating and mouth- watering, and right now, looks very angry.
He wraps his arms underneath my legs and pulls me forward. My hands grip either side of the counter, steadying my body as he lines himself up. My brow wrinkles when I feel something wet against my thigh.
I look over and notice an ample amount of blood coasting down my thigh, trailing from Mako's
hand.
“Oh my god,” I say. He lifts said hand and jerks my face towards his, not giving a damn that he's covering me in his blood.
“Does it bother you?” he asks, his voice and face cast in a serious tone.
It takes me a second to respond. Does his blood bother me? Not in the sense he thinks. I don’t like the thought of him hurt. But am I appalled by it? Turned off? No, none of those things.
Furthermore, I get a feeling that Mako deliberately made himself bleed. I eye the tiny trail of dried blood on his neck. He didn’t even flinch when I did that. My eyes travel back to his. They’re fiery pits of lava spitting their need at me. The last thing Mako is feeling is hurt.
I bite my lip and shake my head no.
He doesn’t need to hear anything else. Tugging his plump lip between his own teeth, he lines himself up and plunges his cock deep into my pussy in one thrust.
“Oh my—fuck, Mako!” My head thumps against the cabinet. I feel so impossibly full.
Much like his ministrations with the knife, he glides out slowly before filling me all at once again. Intense pleasure shoots up my spine, causing my body to arch.
He leans forward, pressing his body into mine and thrusting his hips in sharp little jabs. His lips find my ear, giving it a sharp nip.
“Say it again.” The growled words radiate through my ear, down my spine and straight to where we’re connected.
“Mako,” I grit hoarsely, the name punctuated by a sharp gasp when his cock slides deep inside me. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to come but just as desperate for the moment to never end.
His hands slide down my thighs, one hand leaving a trail of blood. The sight sends a spike of pleasure to my core. Something about the wrongness of it turns me on that much more. Gripping my hips, he forces my body towards him as he begins to drive into me fast and hard.
His grunts join my loud screams, the pitch of our voices and the joining of our bodies becoming a loud crescendo. The familiar tightening in my stomach warns me of the orgasm that’s surely going to devastate me.
“Fuck, River, I need to fill you up. Come on my cock now,” he demands harshly. Just as simple as stroking a key on a piano, his demand has immediate results. The coil snaps and I fall over the edge once more.
I can't breathe. My eyes roll and body convulses around him. Mako’s loud grunt is my only warning before he slams inside me a few more times and then stills. Hot spurts of cum fill me up, so much of it that it leaks past his dick.
“Fuuuuck, River,” he groans, long and hard.
Our breathing is heavy and choppy. It feels like all the bones from my body have been extracted, making me feel like a melting skin bag.
“I think that worked. Knives are my new favorite thing.”
“THE GHOST KILLER’S MOST recent victim, River McAllister, rebuilding her life after tragic kidnapping.”
Red bleeds into my vision. Victim. That’s what I’m known for. Not someone who survived. Just someone who was victimized. I crumple the paper in my fist and throw the stupid newspaper across the living room. Mako’s eyes turn to me, a brow raised in question.
“Who even reads the goddamn newspaper anymore?” I mutter, my cheeks flushing red with
lingering anger and embarrassment.
“Apparently you,” he states bluntly.
I sniff. “Well, not anymore.”
“You’re still reading those articles?”
“They’re everywhere!” I explode, tossing my hands in the air with frustration. “The Ghost Killer’s victim does this, the victim does that. When are they going to stop referring to me as a victim and not a goddamn survivor?”
Mako opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Matter of fact, when are they just going to leave me the fuck alone? Whether I’m a victim or a survivor, reminding me of my trauma isn’t healing for me!”
The investigation was closed fairly quickly after Billy’s death. With Amar and Mako’s statement supporting mine, they deemed it case closed. The Ghost Killer was officially off the streets, that’s all they really cared about anyway.
I decided it was best to get myself into therapy. It’d be awfully hypocritical of me to become a therapist but refuse the service for myself. It’s been helping, but I’ll never be able to talk about the real truth. What I did to Ryan and Billy, and how I killed them so callously. Only a few people know the truth, but Mako is the only one that truly knows the details of what happened on both those days.
It’s something that’s deepened our connection tremendously.
Some nights, we stay up until dawn, talking through my feelings and thoughts on the matter while he just listens. I’ve already concluded I’m not entirely sane due to the years of abuse and trauma.
Certain things are triggering for me, even something as small as Mako raising his hands towards my face.
I’ve also concluded Mako isn’t sane, either. Purely because he’s okay with staying with a lunatic like me. He loves my crazy, and accepts every single part of me, including the dark, murderous side.
Even now, I haven’t fully accepted that yet. There’s a small part of me that’s waiting for Mako to turn on me and become a familiar monster. But every day, he proves he’s the furthest thing from a monster, and more like the knight in shining armor I never wanted him to be.
Mako sets down his phone and scoots across the couch until he’s huddled around me.
“I can’t tell you why they choose to see you as a victim and not a survivor, and I can’t tell you why they choose to see you as a story and not a person, but what I can tell you is the people who matter do see you as those things. You’re right that it’s not healing for you, so maybe its best you just
stop reading the articles.”
I sigh, my shoulders drooping.
“I just want the rest of the world to move on like I’m trying to do. I don’t want to be known as Ryan Fitzgerald’s late girlfriend anymore. Or the Ghost Killer’s victim. I just want to be me and the rest of world goes back to not knowing who I am.”
He turns my body and scoops me up under my butt and settles me onto his lap. My legs circle
around his waist. Calmness washes over me with his presence enveloping me. As much as my inner badass hates to admit it, this is where I feel safest. In Mako’s arms.
My life was so bleak before he came into my life. I was constantly surrounded by the evil of the world that sucked all the good things out of life from me and left me with nothing but the will to die.
Now, I have all those things back. All the good things. Hope. Love. Safety. A real future. And the will to live. Mako handed those things back to me like he was picking them out of the Lost and Found bin and handing them back to their rightful owner.
“It’s impossible for people to forget about you, baby. All you can do is show them who you are.
What they take from it is no concern to you. Other people’s thoughts and opinions won’t change you.”
I lean in and place a soft kiss on his lips.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For reminding me of who I am.”
I’m worthy. I’m strong. I’m independent. And I’m a survivor.
