While She Sleeps: The Dirty Heroes Collection Page 2

  SB: I didn’t ask for more. Did I?

  She’s right. She didn’t, and I’m assuming she’d ever want to see who I am. The moment her gaze landed on my face, she’d know why I’m hidden in the middle of nowhere. Why I’m living in a small town in the corner of the world where nobody will find me. Where nobody can recognize me.

  I consider my next response. Do I tell her more? Can I tell her more? Of course, I can. But I’m still afraid. Being shunned for something I have no control over has put fear inside me, and every time I have a glimmer of hope that sparks within me, it’s extinguished before I have time to really and truly feel it.

  Logan: Then why don’t we get to know each other? Tell me about your favorite role.

  I wait.

  Five minutes pass and nothing, yet her green light still shows she’s online. So, I haven’t scared her off just yet. That’s a good thing. But waiting for a response is like being hanged by the fucking balls—painful, excruciating.

  SB: I’d like to feel like I’ve lost all control. Like I’m nothing more than a rag doll. Lying on a surface of your choosing. I want to have a video recorder on me, to show me what you’ve done to me after. I want to feel the ache of you inside me when I wake up. I want you to hold me down, keep me there until you’ve had your fill of me. And when you’re done, I want to wake up with the scent of you on my skin.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  I have no response to that. My cock is throbbing so hard I can’t think straight. All I can envision is her, lying on that pretty pink bed while I enjoy her body just like she wants. While she sleeps, I can devour every inch of her and make her mine.

  And in the morning, when I’m gone, she’ll awake to nothing but the phantom feeling of me inside her. Beside her. Touching and stroking her smooth skin.

  I shake my head and tap out my last message before shutting the lid of my laptop. I can’t do this. Can I? No. It’s wrong. The more I fall down this rabbit hole, the more I’ll get lost in the fantasy. And when I do that, it becomes more than just some fun chat online—it becomes an obsession.

  With my contacts, I can find anyone, and she won’t understand how I can track her down, steal her from her life, and make her mine. Can a more perfect woman exist? She’s taunting the beast that lives within me. I’ve hidden him away for so long that just reading her words, it feels as if he’s about to breakthrough, and I’ll be dragged into the depths again.

  No.

  She can’t be my focus.

  Because if she becomes my obsession, it will only put her in danger.

  I can’t do that again.

  2

  Vera

  The gray button glares at me. His final words to me hit me right in the chest. I was enjoying the banter, the back and forth, but it seems I’ve scared him away. I allow my eyes to take in his last message once more and try to figure out what it means.

  BP: I’m no good. Not at all. I don’t want to hurt you.

  It doesn’t make sense. His screen name—Broken Prince—screams to me, begging me to hang on. To give him time, but I don’t think he’s going to come back online tonight, or perhaps ever.

  Sighing, I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. The light of the computer goes out when I close my laptop, and I’m left in the soft glow of the full moon, which peeks through my window like a voyeur. It watches me every night, waiting, biding its time, just like the darkness I seem to have awoken inside me.

  I didn’t lie to him. I do want those things. I read about them, fantasize about them daily. It’s a scary thought needing such depravity to find pleasure. Guilt weighs on me, dragging me into the darkness I can never relent from because it’s part of me.

  I have classes in the morning. Since I’m studying correspondence, I’m allowed to do it from home, or a coffee shop, or anywhere really, and I enjoy not being around crowds of people. When I was forced to leave the city, to find somewhere less conspicuous, I did my research and packed my bags.

  I wonder where he lives. The broken prince. It’s heartbreaking to think he’s alone in the darkness, perhaps even staring up at the moon like I am right now. I didn’t ask him if he’s in the States, or if he’s internationally based, but I guess it doesn’t matter.

  Maybe if I knew he was closer, it would make this more real.

  It’s best I don’t.

  I roll over, facing the window, allowing my eyes to flutter closed. Weariness hits me hard, and yet, the ache between my legs is still there. Ever present. Tears burn the backs of my eyelids as I try to focus on the sky, stars, and moon. It’s been like this for so long it’s become a part of who I am.

  My hand finds the apex between my thighs, and I touch my center. Immediately, the need burns like fire racing through my veins. My blood heats, and I close my eyes, picturing him in my mind, even though I have no clue what he looks like.

  I roll onto my stomach, shoving my pillow between my legs, and I roll my hips. I whimper and moan, the sounds soft, yet they bounce off the walls in the darkness, and I feel that familiar lust that drives me to imagine a more dangerous scenario.

  Would he pin me down?

  Would he hiss in my ear?

  Would he choke me until I pass out?

  My body shudders, and pleasure shoots through me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I tremble as I come down from the high and feel my panties now soaked through.

  The scent of sex, of desire, hangs in the air, and I open my laptop before I have time to rethink it.

  Vera: You can’t just tell me that and then leave. I thought . . . I figured you had needs like I do. Can we start over? Would you listen to me while I talk to you over a voice chat? Can we go back to the beginning before I told you my fantasies?

  SB

  Then I shut my computer and roll over, allowing my sated body to fall asleep with dreams of a prince who can take me away and offer me the forever I’ve been waiting for.

  * * *

  My alarm wakes me at seven, forcing me to roll over and slap my hand over the iPhone screen to shut the damn thing up. I’m still tired when I think about what happened last night, and then it hits me—I messaged him back.

  Shit.

  Pushing my comforter down, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and pull my laptop up before opening it. I log in, and the browser refreshes. Sadly, there’s no response, and the ache in my chest is a reminder of my stupidity. Why did I think he’d want what I do? I don’t know why I feel so sad about it. I don’t even know him, but when you find a soul that speaks to yours, you make haste to grab at it.

  But I think I did it too quickly, and I lost sight of taking it slow. Perhaps it shows my immaturity. Instead of wallowing in my thoughts, I head to the kitchen and grab a mug from the cabinet before setting it under the Keurig. I push the button, leaving it to do its thing.

  In the bathroom, I open the tap, washing my hands before grabbing my face wash and squirting a dollop in my left palm. I lather it up before running my hands over my face. Refreshing and cool, the cucumber scent is fragranced over my hands, and I inhale slowly, hoping it will calm my erratic thoughts.

  Once I’m freshened up, I grab my now-full mug and settle on the sofa with my laptop and notebook. I have one assignment to finish today before I can go out for a run. It’s one of the only activities I enjoy because it allows me to forget the world and focus on my breathing.

  The click of the keys is calming as I work. Time passes, and when my stomach grumbles, I glance at the clock, noting it’s nearly midday. Sighing, I set my computer on the table and stand, stretching my arms above my head. Perhaps it’s time for that run now.

  I quickly change in the bedroom and grab my phone and keys, along with my air pods, which I push into my ears and find the playlist I usually run to.

  I hit the street. There’s a lunch rush, and I duck down the road and toward the park where there’s a thick crop of trees. The path is clear. The music captures my attention, and I allow my mind to drift away.
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  As I wind through the thick trunks of the oaks, I smile at the smell of fresh rain now slowly trickling from the clouds hanging overhead. Even though I grew up in a bustling city, I love living in Pine Lake. There’s nothing like the fresh country air and the softness of the land compared to the concrete jungle I grew up in.

  When I moved out here, I didn’t expect to love it so much. But as time passed, I found myself falling more in love with the town than ever before. Now I can’t see myself living anywhere else. I take a left and suddenly stop. My body stills, and I pause the music to listen. My ears prick, and a cold shiver races down my spine.

  It’s strange, but it feels as if someone is watching me. I spin around, my eyes raking along the path between each of the tree trunks, but I don’t see anyone. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I shiver even though I’m sweating.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been running, but it doesn’t feel long at all. When the feeling passes, I flick the music back on and decide to head home. It could be nothing. It could just be my mind playing tricks on me.

  Being on the run for so long, I’ve learned to be wary, walking on the main street, especially when I’m on my own. But this felt like more than that. I really am convinced I felt someone behind me.

  Shaking my head, I make my way out of the other end of the small wood and come out onto the main street, which leads to the apartment block I live in. Pine Lake has a population of a few thousand people. With two hotels and a few bars and restaurants, it’s not the tourist trap that most small towns can be when they’re famous for something in particular.

  Thankfully, it’s not that small where everyone knows your name and your business. And even though I may recognize some of the residents I see every day, they’re all focused on their own lives rather than that of their neighbors.

  When I reach my apartment door, I see a small package sitting on the welcome mat. Once again, a cold shiver trickles down my back, but I put it off as just the sweat from my run. When I pick up the small box, I notice the card on top. There’s an unfamiliar scrawl of two letters in black that steals my breath.

  S.B.

  I spin around again, even though I know there’s nobody behind me. My neighbors’ door is closed, and their dog isn’t barking like he normally does when I’m on the landing, so I presume they’ve taken him for a walk.

  I unlock the door and go inside before kicking it shut behind me. Dropping my keys in the bowl on the table at the entrance of my apartment, I pick at the ribbon on the box and lift the lid.

  Inside, on a silky cushion, sits a gold bracelet with a rose pendant. What the hell? The card doesn’t have anything more than the initials on the front. This doesn’t make sense. If it was him, it would be weird, because how would he know where I live?

  Setting the gift on the coffee table, I grab my laptop and open the lid. While I wait for it to boot, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and flop onto the sofa. Once I’m logged in, I open the browser and the website where I was chatting to the stranger last night.

  There’s still no response from him, but I decide to make it known that I’m freaked the hell out.

  Vera: Listen, I don’t know what’s going on, but leaving gifts on my front mat is a sure way to scare the living shit out of me. If it was you, just tell me. I wouldn’t be mad if you tracked me down. I just need to know.

  After I hit send, I pick up the bracelet again. I must admit it’s beautiful. The golden chain is delicate and lovely, and the rose is so realistic. I can’t help but smile, even as fear twists in my gut.

  I’m always careful when I log onto the web. I make sure I use a VPN and never give out information about who I am, or even my real name. I’ve seen far too many reality shows where girls are kidnapped, stolen from their homes because they gave out far too much personal information to a stranger online.

  That’s not me.

  I’m not stupid. I know the risks I took by signing up on that site. Anonymous Meet-Ups was nothing more than me quelling the need for company. And I’ve never even had the courage to meet anyone from there.

  As my gut churns with nerves, I wait for the ding to come through. But he doesn’t respond. I make coffee. I can’t eat lunch because my nerves have gotten hold of me, twisting in my gut, and all the while, nothing. While I attempt to work on my assignment, the bracelet lies on the table, glaring at me with accusations I feel right down to my core.

  Can it really be him?

  Or am I losing my mind?

  3

  Logan

  She’s so beautiful. More so than I ever thought possible. When she runs, she’s exquisite, like a gazelle, appealing to my beast that’s beating down the caged door I’ve kept him in for so long. A temptation. I didn’t think I would come here. When my contact gave me the details after he searched for her, I stared at them for so long. Realizing I lived merely five hours away shocked me. We were so close, practically neighbors and I didn’t know.

  I waited two long years to finally see her again. But today, I couldn’t stifle my need for her anymore. I got in the car and drove all night until I stopped at the small coffee shop in town.

  I waited. I watched. And then she appeared.

  Amongst the trees, she reminds me of a princess lost in the woods, seeking the wolf. Would she be afraid if she knew I was right here? I haven’t checked the website today, but now that I’m in my hotel room, I open my laptop and log into the Wi-Fi before opening the browser.

  The message alerts come through the moment I’m on. Two from her. I read both, twice, then a third time to make sure I’ve read them correctly. She got my gift, but she also told me she wanted to start over. I’m not sure why she would feel the need to say that.

  I wonder how to proceed. Do I tell her I’m here? That I’m watching her? No. That’s creepy like she said in her message. But she doesn’t understand how much I needed to know her. Even if it’s from afar.

  I can live with that. Perhaps I should leave. But even as I think it, I know I won’t. I can’t. Not yet. Sighing, I hover my fingers over the keyboard and smile when I type out my response.

  Logan: I must apologize for scaring you. I didn’t mean to. My . . . work . . . allows me certain perks, and finding people is one of them. Like I found you. I’m not going to make contact with you again until you ask me to. But I needed you to have the rose, just like Sleeping Beauty did in the story as she slept. I’m not right as I told you, and the conventional ways of doing things don’t really appeal to me. So, I have my own way. I hope I haven’t truly scared you off. If I have, I wish you well. My Beauty.

  I hit send and shut the laptop before I can go back and send her more messages. I shouldn’t have come here. My mind is a mess of thoughts that seem to all dance together, making life more difficult and painful to deal with.

  My phone vibrates, and I know it’s my mother checking up on me again. I haven’t responded to her in two weeks; surely, she’s gotten the hint by now. I can’t go home, and I can’t communicate with her. My father would be watching all messages, emails, and calls that come through. And I can’t put her in any danger.

  Shutting my phone off, I grab my keys and wallet and head downstairs. On the street, I turn left instead of right, because I know if I do, I’ll end up outside her door. As much as I’d love to see her in person, face-to-face, and allow her to look at me, to see me, I can’t.

  Not yet.

  Not until she’s replies and tells me to come to her.

  The town is pretty enough, with shops, cafés, and even a small bookstore, where I duck in and get out of the cool breeze and rain that’s suddenly started pelting down. The lady behind the desk smiles, and I offer her a nod. Most people in such a small, far-off town won’t recognize me, and I’m thankful that my beauty doesn’t live in a city where my father’s influence can be felt for miles.

  Being the son of an influential family in this country had its perks, but I walked out of that life. I don’t ever want to go b
ack. Since the moment I stepped foot out of the mansion, my father’s blood money built; I’m no longer considered his son.

  Herbert Phillip Oakridge—otherwise known as King of Chicago by running his own import and export business and playing the stock market; he’s built an empire. Years have gone by, and my father has embezzled millions, yet the police turn a blind eye.

  Thankfully, Daddy’s influence has allowed me perks and being able to seek out this beautiful stranger, this princess, has been one of the more positive things I’ve done using his contacts.

  My father may share my name, or I share his, but deep down, he would pull the trigger himself if he knew I was doing this shit again. He’s allowed me certain freedoms, but I have a feeling if he were to find me, I wouldn’t survive walking away from him. Which means I need to be more secretive about my actions.

  I close my eyes and think back to only a few hours ago, reminded of her beauty. Even though it’s not visible in her profile photo on the website, I can now recall her lithe, slightly curvy figure as she ran through the woods. It’s been a long while since I’ve felt this connection. And I know I can’t let it pass.

  I will make her mine.

  One way or another.

  I’ll ensure she’s in my arms, in my bed, and I won’t let her go. I pick up a book from the shelf and scan the back of it, but my mind is not focused when the bell above the door chimes.

  It’s been a long while since I’ve been around so many people at once. My cabin is quiet. And I enjoy the silence, more so than the ramblings of strangers.

  “Hi, how are you?” The soft, melodic voice stills me. My heart hammers against my rib cage, and I hold my breath, waiting for more of her voice. I know it’s her. Somehow, I can feel her.