Unorthodox (Sick Love Book 1) Read online

  “Is it dug?” Max asks the man.

  The man nods.

  “Come back in twenty.”

  Another nod, then the man just…walks off.

  We stare at him for a while, until he disappears into the woods, and my heart is pounding too hard in my chest. It’s almost painful.

  When the man is gone, Max turns to me. But as I meet his gaze, though, I quickly realize he’s looking past me.

  At Dante.

  I hold my breath, afraid to turn and see Dante’s face.

  “You knew this was coming, didn’t you?” Max asks him quietly.

  I don’t hear anything from my back for a long moment until Dante finally says, his voice cracking, “Yes.”

  My stomach flips with that single word.

  Max still doesn’t move. Not for a long moment. Then he just nods, almost as if to himself. He steps around me, and I turn to follow his movements.

  Dante is still sitting slumped against the tree, but as Max approaches him, the guard stands to his feet.

  He looks into his boss’s eyes after a fleeting glance at me.

  “Max,” I say quietly, my heart still pounding overtime in my chest. “What are you—”

  “Stop talking, Addison.” Max doesn’t look away from Dante as he says the words.

  I bite my lip, holding my breath.

  “I didn’t want it to be this way, you know.”

  I glance at Dante and see him swallow, watch him clamp his lips together as he finally looks up, meeting Max’s gaze.

  “I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

  Max stares at him a long moment. Then he reaches into his pocket and I tense, waiting to see what he’s got in his hand when he pulls it out.

  But I feel a small measure of relief that he didn’t go for the gun on his hip.

  Instead, he’s holding three playing cards.

  Two are black, no color differentiating the king of spades from the seven of diamonds. The bottom card is an ace of hearts, and that’s white and red, like a regular card, from a different deck.

  Max fans the three out, holding them out to Dante. “Pick one,” he says, his voice gruff.

  I look between the two men, as I stand to the side of them both, and I see Dante’s jaw is clenched, his nostrils flared, as if he’s trying to calm himself. Drawing deep breaths in and out through his nose.

  My chest seems to cave in on itself, even though I have no idea what the significance of these cards are.

  With trembling fingers, Dante reaches for the ace. He pulls it from the three cards, holds it tightly in his hand, pressing it to his chest, his eyes on Max’s.

  Max pockets the other two cards, then steps closer to Dante.

  Shocking me, he wraps his arms around his guard, pulling him close.

  Dante starts to cry. It’s quiet, almost contained, but I see him shaking in Max’s arms. His own are down by his sides, the playing card clenched tight in one fist.

  Tears start to prick behind my own eyes, my mind spinning as I try to understand what’s happening. Seeing Dante break down, and seeing Max hold him…I rub my thumb over my sternum, and I can’t look away.

  But after a moment, Max pulls back, gripping Dante’s shoulders. “Loyalty worth dying for. That’s all I wanted.”

  Dante closes his eyes tight, and Max drops his hands from his shoulders, walks behind him.

  I see Dante tense, gripping that playing card in his shaking hand as if it’s his lifeline. “Addison. I’m so sorry.” He swallows, and I feel my heart plummet. He doesn’t look at me. He keeps his eyes closed, then says, “Sir, tell him…” he trails off, his voice rough. He takes a shaky breath in. “Tell him it gets better,” he manages to finish.

  Max’s arms are crossed, head bowed as he stands behind his guard, and with Dante’s words, he seems to be having some sort of internal struggle with himself. His jaw is clenched, and I want to say something. I want to scream at him to not do whatever it is he’s about to do.

  But before I can think, Max opens his eyes and draws his gun.

  He presses it against the back of Dante’s head.

  This is my fault. The realization crushes down on me, but I force it off as I scream.

  “No!” I start running, not thinking, adrenaline propelling me forward. “It wasn’t… He wasn’t…” The words are clawing their way up my throat, but I can’t voice them. Instead, I reach my arms out to shove Max away from Dante, but before my hands connect with him, a shot rings out.

  A second later, I collide with Max, and he stumbles a step, but his arm comes around my shoulder, steadying both of us.

  I press my face to his chest, not wanting to see what he just did as a strangled sob tears from my throat.

  I don’t hear Dante.

  I don’t hear anything except a ringing in my ears as I close my eyes, Max’s arm wrapped tight around me.

  For a moment, I stay there in his arms, my thoughts swirling and spinning into chaos. I can’t chase them, can’t follow a single one.

  I don’t understand.

  He shot him.

  Max shot Dante.

  This is my fault.

  My mind seems to settle into that single thought, blaring in my head above all of the others. I always knew Max was a monster, even when he came to comfort me after Ben.

  But I thought, somewhere, he had some kind of code. Some sense of honor to at least the people who worked for him.

  I thought, too, that if I just played this game, if I just did what he wanted, if I went through the motions, subjected myself to his torture, I’d come out of this okay in the end.

  But I’m not going to.

  Dante didn’t, because of what I did. And I won’t come out of this okay, either, no matter what I do.

  Because Max doesn’t know honor. He doesn’t have a code. There is no virtue known to a man like Max Bennett.

  And in this moment, I realize that even if I do as I’m told, even if I follow all of his commands like a good dog, even if I submit to him, Max is unpredictable. I’m not going out of this unscathed, and even if my father miraculously produces the money Max is demanding for me, I don’t think he’ll send me back to that hell.

  I think he wants the worst for me.

  And while my father is a devil, I could escape him if given the chance. Instead, the worst for me lies in someone willing to pay outrageous sums of money for a teenage girl’s body.

  The worst for me lies in staying here, with a man like Max Bennett.

  I push away from him, and he lets me go.

  Stumbling back a step, I still don’t look at where Dante stood just moments ago. Instead, I stare at Max.

  His eyes are on mine, the gun still in his hand, by his side.

  A bird caws somewhere in the distance as I take another step back, away from where I last saw Dante.

  “You’re insane,” I tell Max, balling my hands into fists as I walk backward, putting more distance between us. Because I’m going to run, and I don’t care what he’ll do to me when he catches me. I never really wanted to die before this moment, but I know that death would be better than wherever Max is going to take me.

  He killed his own guard in cold blood.

  He’d do much, much worse to me.

  “You’re insane,” I say again, my voice hoarse. “I’m not…I’m not staying here.” I almost choke on the words, my breathing labored and quick, as if someone is sitting on my chest. “I’m not doing this.” I feel dizzy as I take another step back, like I might faint.

  Max just stares at me blankly, and I don’t even know if he’s listening. I don’t even know if he’s still here, in these woods.

  I don’t care.

  Without another word, I turn, catching a glimpse of Dante’s lifeless body, face down on the forest floor, and I run as fast as I can, deeper into the woods, away from Max’s house of horrors.

  I watch Addison run, looking once over her shoulder as she does. It’s a compulsion for prey to keep their predator
in view, and she can’t resist the impulse.

  Just like I can’t resist the urge to chase her.

  But I give her a head start. Make her think she can get away. Little does she know there’s another fence around these woods, more guards surrounding it at intervals. There’s no escape for her. Not now, not ever.

  She should have learned that lesson from what I did to Dante.

  His final words ring in my head: “Tell him it gets better.”

  I clench my jaw. It doesn’t get better. The fact he’s a fucking dead body in this forest is proof of that.

  But for Ollie…for Ollie, I’d spend my dying breath trying to comfort him, too.

  Regret threatens to seep into my mind, but I fight it back. Dead bodies cannot be brought to life, for any amount of money.

  Besides, I try to reason with myself, my options where Dante was concerned were few. I could have kept him, always wondering when he’d slip again. When he’d betray me. I would forever think about what would have happened if my plane hadn’t landed earlier than anticipated. If I hadn’t walked in on him ruining my merchandise.

  About to ruin my goddamn life. If she had gotten away…

  I can’t risk what it would cost me.

  As it is, now I’m put in the position of lying about her virginity or confessing to the truth and risking Ollie.

  Ollie.

  I close my eyes tight, thinking of what my personal guard did to fuck me.

  I would never trust Dante again if I had let him live, and as the man responsible for looking after my life, that wouldn’t work.

  I could have demoted him, made him a guard along the back fence. But that could have ended up worse. He could let someone into my home, lead them to my most guarded secrets, and I could have had a fate worse than death.

  And those exist.

  I’ve lived them.

  Oliver’s lived them.

  I won’t again. And I won’t let him again.

  The humane choice was to shoot Dante.

  I put the gun back in the holster, turn to glance at his body as Addison keeps running. Blood pools underneath him, and I catch sight of the bloody ace, a few feet from his outstretched hand, as if he tried to hold onto it even as he fell. Ridiculous, because he was already dead before he hit the ground.

  Still, it’s almost fascinating, the way he was reaching for that card.

  I think of my mother’s body.

  Oliver, missing. The only sign of him a single, bloody ace by the front door.

  I didn’t leave that apartment for three days. Three days, after I had run as far as I could looking for him, screaming his name until I lost my voice.

  Three days, my mother’s body stayed in the bathroom and I couldn’t look at it again. I pretended she was still alive. I pretended Oliver was safe.

  I pretended, for three entire days, that my life was fine.

  My father called on the fourth day.

  He booked a flight to Pretoria, and I took it. The prodigal son returned home, having learned his lesson.

  And I did learn. I found out what happened to Ollie before I shot my father. I got the money I was owed as his heir, and I left my childhood home a murderer and a rich boy.

  I buried my mother first.

  Her corpse was bloated, blood-streaked foam leaking from her mouth. Still in the bathroom where I’d left her, because there was no one left to care for us after she was gone.

  I stayed in that apartment for three years, in case Ollie came back. In case he ever returned home, I wanted to be right where he last remembered me. I wanted to be there.

  I took Luca’s small jobs, hoarded away my own wealth.

  Then I left.

  Sometimes, in those early nightmares, I could still see my father smiling at me as I held the gun to his head. He clutched his thigh, blood pooling beneath his hands. But still, he looked me in the eye and smiled. He didn’t say a word—never got the opportunity to, because I shot him in the head a moment after that—but I knew what he was thinking.

  He was thinking I was still the same weak, spineless boy who he ordered his men to rape. I was still the same boy too scared to hit the girls he kept, so I got hit in their steed, and was still forced to hurt them afterward.

  I was still the boy trying to hide my brother in the floorboards, so he didn’t get the same fate. I was still the same boy who got beat with an extension cord until the skin was flayed from my back. I was still the useless little bitch who took too long to get an erection to fuck one of his slaves.

  The same boy who beat against his legs when he attacked my mother or my brother, only to get that beating directed to me. The same piece of shit who couldn’t hit Ollie to save him from my father’s fist, all for having an accident.

  That’s not the worst thing that ever happened to Ollie because of me.

  Not in Pretoria, and not in South Carolina.

  But in that last moment of my father’s life, I was still weak.

  Still spineless.

  Tearing my eyes away from Dante, I find Addison, nearly far enough away now that it’s hard to track her.

  She thinks I’m a monster.

  I wonder if she knows, though, that that’s exactly what I’ve always wanted to be.

  I don’t stop running, even as my chest heaves.

  Even when my lungs feel like they might collapse, and my calves ache and my body can’t quite draw in enough oxygen.

  I don’t stop.

  Gasping for breath, pumping my arms, I keep tearing through the forest. I’m drenched in sweat, and the trees are thinning, the sun beating down on me as I run.

  But I still don’t stop.

  I can see nothing up ahead. Nothing but the same fucking forest, stretching on for what feels like miles.

  Dreading what I might see, I glance over my shoulder, unable to stop myself.

  At first, there’s nothing, and a spark of hope flares in me. But just as I start to turn back, I see him.

  Coming for me.

  I turn away. Run faster.

  I got a head start. For some reason, he didn’t chase after me immediately. He let me go. And I almost believed he might let me go for good. I almost believed I’d come to the other side of this forest, find someone to hitchhike with. Someone to call the police.

  Fuck my father. Fuck Max. I’d throw them both under the bus, and everyone else I could think of, too. All of my father’s friends. His guards. Mamie.

  Fuck all of them.

  I almost thought I’d get out of this.

  But he’s coming.

  I keep going.

  Keep trying to put distance between us even though every step now feels like agony. My side aches, my chest is heaving, and I feel as if I can’t breathe.

  I run three miles a day. Never more than that. And never for my life.

  I should be able to go much further, much longer, if only to save myself, but I don’t know how long I’ve been running now.

  It feels like forever.

  With the sun scorching down on me, the trees giving way to flat grass, it feels like I’ve been running for hours.

  But I keep going, not daring to look back again, scared of what I might see.

  Then, up ahead, when I feel like I might collapse, I spot a fence.

  Not impossibly tall, not lined with barbed wire. Just a regular, chain link fence. Beyond that is more forest, but if I can get over the fence, surely that marks the end of Max’s property? Then maybe I can find someone else. A neighbor or a road. Anything. Something.

  I keep going, pumping my arms faster, churning my legs to the point of pain with each step.

  Just to the fence. If I get to the fence, I’ll find someone.

  Someone won’t come to me here. I was fucking deluding myself before. But I can find someone. I’ll get help.

  This will end.

  I will never be in this life again.

  I keep going.

  The fence can’t be more than fifty feet away.

 
Thirty.

  Twenty.

  Ten.

  As I reach it, I don’t slow. I grab the top, launch myself over it, the chain link digging into my palms, but I barely feel it.

  I land on my feet, hard, and sink down to a crouch to balance myself.

  I fucking did it.

  Even though the landscape is the same, more trees ahead, I feel a sense of accomplishment, having gotten off of Max’s property.

  This nightmare is going to end.

  I stand to my feet, adrenaline giving me a second wind.

  And just as I start to take off again, I hear the fence rattle.

  As if in slow motion, I turn around, dread making my limbs sluggish. I can’t even breathe, although I desperately need air.

  And there he is, dropping down from the other side of the fence, just as I did, in a crouch, one hand on the ground as he looks up at me.

  He stands to his feet, his blue-grey eyes so pale in the light of the sun.

  There’s sweat on his brow, but he doesn’t even look like he’s breathing hard.

  Child’s play. This is child’s play for him.

  I take a step back, forcing my body to move when all it wants to do is rest.

  He takes a step forward, hands by his sides, head cocked as he appraises me.

  I take another step back, dart my eyes around for something I could use as a weapon. Anything.

  He has his gun on his hip, but he hasn’t drawn it. Still, there’s nothing here. Not even a fucking rock in sight.

  I curl my hands into fists.

  I don’t care what he does. I don’t care how he hurts me. I’m not going back to that house. He’ll have to drag me back, unconscious, to get me there.

  I don’t care if he shoots me.

  Better dead than a slave.

  I take one more step back, then I still, knowing that running is useless now. Instead, I straighten my spine, and face him head on.

  “Remember what I told you about bravery, love?” he asks me quietly, stepping closer.

  “Stop talking, Max,” I tell him, throwing his words back to him. I see the gun to the back of Dante’s head. Hear Dante’s last, confusing words. Max opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “Stop fucking talking!” I lift my fists, shielding my face.