Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(67)

It was living death.

He was living through motherf*cking death.

His eyes never left Eva’s. As long as he held her gaze, she remained impassive, a little lost even, as if she had detached from her body and was taking shelter inside his. It was all he could f*cking give her, and it wasn’t even close to enough. This should never have happened. He’d gotten lax thinking Frankie wasn’t a threat anymore. This was his fault, and Eva was paying for it. He was paying for it.

Frankie wasn’t hurting her, not physically. Emotionally, mentally, yeah—but physically, he was being gentle, touching her with the sure knowledge of a man who knew how to pleasure his woman, knew what she liked, what would make her come, kissing her bared skin, stroking her relentlessly, and making it nearly impossible for her to control her body’s reaction to what he was doing.

Worse, this wasn’t new to her. Frankie had raped her before; he was sure of it. His Eva had become accustomed to forced sex, had taught herself to make the best of it, to f*cking enjoy it because she’d known Frankie wasn’t ever going to let her go.

It was killing him. Every dip of his mattress, every one of Frankie’s grunts, and every harsh intake of breath and whimper from Eva…was killing him.

Frankie said he’d been watching them. He knew just how much he loved Eva. And he knew that this would kill him—slowly—day after day, week after week, year after f*cking year.

Chase had gotten off easy.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Frankie get up on his knees and lift Eva’s hips. His hand snaked around her waist and dipped between her thighs. Eva lost her battle. Her breath caught and her eyes rolled back, even as tears streamed down her face. Her legs quaking, she went face first into the pillow, crying out softly through her orgasm. Frankie followed her down, groaning loudly, his body jerking.

Then Frankie turned to him. And grinned.

Living death.

He cried for the first time in forty-four years. He cried exactly three silent tears. But for him, it was a f*cking waterfall.





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


6:38 p.m.

Deuce blinked up at Cox.

“Prez?” Cox whispered hoarsely, staring at his cuffed hand.

“My girls?” he asked numbly. “Ivy, Danny?”

“With Kami,” Cox whispered. “Where’s Foxy?”

“Gone,” he said brokenly. “Frankie.”

Cox dropped to his knees and tested the cuffs. As if he hadn’t already. As if he wasn’t missing most of the skin on his hand and hadn’t broken all his fingers trying to get out of it. But his hands were too f*cking big. So now he was cuffed to a radiator with a skinless broken hand.

“Gotta get Freebird,” Cox said. “He’s the only one who can pick cuffs quickly.”

Deuce nodded.

Cox paused at the door. “Deuce,” he said quietly, “we’re gonna get her back.”

He didn’t look at him.

“He’s a dead man, Prez.”

No. Frankie wasn’t a dead man. Frankie was a dead man.

? ? ?

11:11 p.m.

Frankie’s entire body twitched violently, something that always happened before he went into a violent rage. I stayed where I was, sitting on the motel bed, watching him closely.

“Can’t take much more, Eva. You f*ckin’ Chase broke me, and then you start f*ckin’ the Horseman bastard AGAIN. You have his f*ckin’ baby, and I swear to you I almost killed you a million times. Comin’ out of his f*ckin’ club, playin’ with his f*ckin’ kids in the yard, ridin’ on the back of his f*ckin’ bike. I stood in a line behind you at the bank, holding a knife to the base of your f*ckin’ spine, ready to kill you and your bastard baby. But I couldn’t f*ckin’ do it! I couldn’t hurt you! AND IT FUCKIN’ BROKE ME, EVA!”

“Baby,” I whispered, trying hard not to think about Frankie killing my daughter. “The cops know you killed Chase. They’re looking for you.”

He gave me a look that suggested I was the crazy one in the room. “Babe. Who the f*ck cares ’bout the cops?”

Suddenly, his eyes bugged out. “You liked f*ckin’ him, didn’t you, bitch? You liked rich boy cock!”

“No,” I whispered, swallowing hard. “It’s what he wanted in return for getting you out.”

Frankie laughed. “Glad I made him eat his own cock. Fuckin’ deserved it.”

Unable to get the imagery of what he had done to Chase out of my head, my stomach lurched, and I began to gag. Frankie sat down beside me and rubbed circles on my back.

“That’s what he did, baby,” Frankie whispered, and I could hear the smile on his face. “Gagged and screamed.”

My stomach emptied.

? ? ?

9:03 a.m.

Deuce stared at his f*cked-up hand. The doctors at the ER couldn’t give him a cast because of the lack of skin. They had to set each bone and individually splint his fingers, then they treated and wrapped his skinless hand, and put the whole f*cking mess in a sling.

Now he was back at the club, drinking a bottle of scotch, watching Danny play peekaboo with Ivy. He and his boys had searched for hours for any sign of Frankie or Eva and had come up empty. They had no choice but to involve the cops, who hadn’t turned up jack shit.