The Secrets of a Sin, page 14
“Ladies.” He nods politely at the three of them while gesturing his hand for me to lead the way. I briskly saunter past a bothered Principal Welch, who appears half-tempted to follow us, but instead starts nagging at Annalise and the rest of the girls.
As I approach the picnic table, I can sense Detective Pierce's presence directly behind me, but the second I spin to catch him close at my back, I realize he's already perched down in the seat across from me. “You okay? You seem jumpy?” He evaluates me closely as I brush off whatever strange feeling I have.
“I'm fine.” I grumble. I didn't particularly feel on edge at this very moment, but perhaps it was Phoebe's death that was still haunting me or the new people who recently entered my life. When I first started at St. Catherine's, I was just another girl who roamed the halls, but now it seemed everyone wanted something from me. Arsen, Annalise, Principal Welch, and now Detective Pierce. While they all sought out different things, it was all still the same notion.
He regards me carefully as I take a seat across from him, and I return the favor. With my hands now resting on the chipped wood of the table, our eyes clash in a never-ending stare that has my skin heating up to a detrimental degree. “New friends of yours?” He nods towards the right, where the girls stand, without ever peeling his eyes off mine. As we continue to stare, my attention focuses on the scar that droops down his eyebrow towards his eyelid. Today, it appears more prominent than on the day we met, but maybe it was just the way the sun illuminated it. It wasn't an ugly scar. If anything, it made him more attractive.
“How do you know they're new”" I raise a dark brow by his accusation. Did I not look like a girl who would be friends with them?
Reaching for his hat, he lifts it off his head before swiping the back of his hand across his forehead like he's removing a sheen of sweat off his skin. “Just an observation.” He answers while placing his navy-colored hat back on his head of curls. “Interesting group of girls.” He mumbles, forming his lips into a horizontal line as his eyes gravitate toward where they stand. His eyes were full of intrigue but not in a good way. He was watching them like a cop would, with suspicion and uncertainty, but he swiftly shook it off when he focused back onto me.
“Can we just cut to the chase, Detective." I groan, emphasizing the word ‘detective’. He obviously came here for a reason, and instead of ripping the band-aid off and telling why he's here, he decides to prolong our conversation.
“I told you. Call me Rolland.” He demands, leaning towards me but not enough for it to be considered weird.
Sighing, I ask again. “Why are you here, Rolland?”
Satisfied, he smiles but quickly returns with a stoic face. “Arsen Hale. Do you know him?” The way he says his name is almost like the words burn his tongue on the way out. It was obvious from his tone that Rolland wasn't fond of him. And I could totally understand why. Arsen was as dominant as he was mysterious. A wickedly handsome cunning man, who undoubtedly would have issues with law enforcement. His foul mouth was trouble. He had serious controlling issues and, of course, an insatiable need for vengeance.
“I know of him. Why?” I don't exactly lie, but I don't tell the truth either. I could sense that the conversation would get worse, but his features seem to soften after my answer.
“If he ever tries talking to you, call me, and I'll handle him.” He grunts. “Apparently, he's been making some late-night trips here, but we're not exactly sure what he's doing or what his goal is?”
Swallowing what feels like a large lump in my throat, I nod in response, not knowing exactly how to respond. Keeping a straight face and cool composure in front of a cop wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do, but he seemed to have no inkling that I knew Arsen. “Do you think he's dangerous or something?” I force the question out when I already know he’s dangerous. Was he capable of killing? Probably. Was he capable of destroying all my hard work and getting me to do something I most likely will never regret? Hell yes. I wasn't afraid of what harm his hands would cause with a knife or gun. Killing for revenge was justifiable. But what really terrified me was the torment his hands would cause if they consumed my fragile flesh. He has already done vile things to my body but giving him the satisfaction of having me completely would be far more painful than physical harm.
“At this point, anything is possible when it comes to him. Especially now that his sister is dead, and he thinks someone murdered her.” He shifts in his seat, but keeps his attention focused on me.
“Have you spoken with him?” I ask, feeling odd talking about Arsen like I have no idea who he is.
“A couple of times for questions, but the whole thing was a giant shit show.” He shakes his head. “He's fucking unhinged now, and I don't want him bothering you about his sister, or any other student, for that matter.” His face is flush with anger, and I awkwardly sit there, avoiding his eyes.
“Well, he hasn't tried speaking with me.” I lie. A big fat major lie that sounds believable and he seems to buy it. “Maybe he's just mourning her by coming to the last place where she was?”
Or maybe he was running around the school with me, trying to find evidence that his sister was murdered.
“I don't know.” He rubs at his light bushy brow with the scar. “The whole situation is a cluster fuck.” He sighs in annoyance, and that's when I notice the tension in his gaze. His under eyes are baggy and loose like he hasn't gotten much sleep the past few nights, and his beard looks overgrown and in serious need of some landscaping.
“Care to elaborate?” I question.
“We heard about his little stunt at Phoebe’s memorial. Caused a whole fucking scene there…” He shakes his head with a scoff. “I just get a bad vibe from him.”
I’m positive everyone he meets gets a bad vibe from him, but, of course, I was the fool who didn’t care.
“It’s fine, Rolland.” I try to pacify him by using his name, and his eyebrow lifts in amusement. “If he bugs me, I’ll let you know.”
He studies me closely before reaching into his pocket and placing a small card down in front of me. “Give me a call if you need anything. If he so much as steps foot on this property and you catch him, call me, and I’ll handle him.”
“I will.” I nod, placing my fingertips on the card and dragging it closer to me.
“He’s dangerous, Charlotte. Don’t let him fool you.” He rises from the bench, keeping his eyes glued onto my face. “I’ll see you around.” With a wink, he spins around and leaves me sitting alone at the picnic table.
As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about, now I have Detective Rolland sniffing around the school.
Sniffing around me.
Sniffing around Arsen.
Fuck.
11
CHARLOTTE
Saturday passed by in a blur, with an AWOL Arsen and no surprise interaction from Annalise and the others, the day felt strangely normal. I remained in my room most of the day, trying my damn hardest not to brood over why Arsen was a no-show last night. I waited beside the doors like an idiot with a hopeful stammer to my heart that I was going to see him. While my head was the only sensible thing about me, I continuously fought my body's reaction toward him. He had a certain pull on me, that whenever he was near, all rational thinking flew out the window. For years, I managed to suppress my need, but it only took one wrong step to ruin everything.
And I was still healing from my previous screw-up, so succumbing once more to a man who had hazy intentions would be further destructive to my well-being.
As I lie in bed, flipping page after page of my new book, I hear a faint tapping sound coming from my window. At first, I feel every muscle in my body freeze, but when I hear the soul-stirring voice that's been haunting my dreams materialize, I quickly jump out of bed. Surely enough, standing with one arm pressed up against the wall and the other pinned up against the glass, Arsen meets my eyes and motions his head down towards the latch on the window.
What the hell is he doing here and how the hell did he find my room?
“Open it.” He mouths, but my defiance gets the best of me, and my feet remain rooted to the ground. His faultless jaw ticks as his stare demands me to obey. Crossing my arms, I lift my mouth in a cruel smile knowing I am the one in charge right now. If he wanted me to open the window, he better be ready to beg.
Slowly shaking his head back and forth, I watch as his shoulders roll in a steady circle before leaning his face closer to the window with a deadly expression across his sinfully handsome face. “I don’t have time for your fucking games, Charlotte. Now open the window before I break it.”
Sadly, I believe him, but no matter how intimidating he is, I am not backing down. “Where were you last night?” I ask indifferently, not wanting him to think I was stewing about his absence all day and night.
“Busy.” He grunts with annoyance while I roll my eyes at his one-worded response. I wanted to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone, but the rush I was experiencing was too elevated to shun him. As normal and dull as yesterday was, I missed the way my body ignited under his harsh stare and how my hatred towards him shifted into something volatile. We both shared an unexplainable connection that we were both still trying to figure out. I wasn't sure what I wanted more, to fuck him or smack him?
Either one would be thrilling.
“Well, I'm busy now too.” I shrug, noticing immediately how his stare burns through me with savagery. The pale color of his skin turns a deep shade of crimson while his nostrils flare in a beastly manner. Even with a contorted face and clenched fists ready to shatter the window, I can't help but admire his undoubted beauty.
“Jesus fucking....” Dropping his head, he pounds sternly on the window as if he's trying to intimidate me. Lifting his head of inky black hair that falls almost perfectly over his brow, he looks completely powerless. I know for a fact he's used to being in charge, and right now, all his demands mean nothing if I wasn't going to listen. “Not that it's any of your damn business, but I was preoccupied with work last night.”
Squinting my eyes to take him in closely. I try to find any inkling that he may be lying but when I don't, I raise my chin. “Then what are you doing here now? I thought I made it perfectly clear that I can't be seen with you.”
He grins mischievously as if breaking the rules excites him, especially knowing that I would get punished if caught. And if I knew any better, he was already planning all the ways to discipline me once he made his way into my bedroom. “Let me in, and I'll gladly tell you.”
Contemplating my options, I either open the window and surrender to whatever form of abuse he has brewing inside his head, or I could really test his patience and ignore him. “How do I know you won't hurt me?” I ask, genuinely curious. I wasn't really talking about physical pain, more about pushing my limits with something I knew I wouldn't be able to refuse. He wants me submissive, and I am almost positive he knows how to make me bow.
“Have I hurt you before?” He raises a brow in question.
“I mean no... not how you're asking you haven't.” I stammer, remembering my weakened state from the previous night where I shamelessly came on his tongue. Each encounter was progressively getting worse, and I was letting him get away with more and more. Granted, I haven’t let him fuck me, but I was terrified I might let him soon. Then and only then would my progress here be thrown out the window if it hasn’t already. Oral sex, fingering, and riding his thigh were bad enough, but sex would be ruinous.
“Then no, Charlotte. I won't hurt you. I swear it.” He reassures me in a gruff tone as if it pains him to say it. “No matter how fucking bad I want to wrap my fingers around your delicate little neck until you finally get it in your head that I'm the one in charge here.” He snarls through clenched teeth that make him appear rabid.
Inhaling, I try to hide my gasp and the shivers that jet down my spine. “Well, that was awfully stupid of you to say.” I back away from the window in small steps, only for him to growl in warning.
“I only have so much restraint, Charlotte, and if you take one more god damn step away from this window, I'll paint that ass red with my palm until you can't even sit.” He threatens, but all I feel is a jolt of electricity shoot up my thighs until the all-familiar throb hits, and my legs feel weak. “Imagine walking into the confessional with a welted ass and having to tell Father Henry why you can't sit down.” He mocks with a smile. “Maybe he can advise you that it's in your best interest to comply with those who are above you.”
“Fuck you, Arsen.” I seethe. “You'll never be above or below me.” I add in innuendo that feels like a lie as soon as it passes through my lips. “If anyone's in charge right now, it's me. And if you really need to get into my room as badly as you say, you'll start being nice to me.” I nod towards the glass, catching his eyes shift, as well as his body, into a mixture of loathing and desire.
“You want me to be nice, Charlotte? You want my sweet words?” He taunts with wicked eyes that claw straight through me. “Will that make you feel safe?”
Safe? Around Arsen? Never.
There wasn't a minute during one of our minimal encounters that I ever felt safe with him, but to my surprise, that was the most riveting thing about him. The unknown and the plethora of secrets that he kept buried inside his head. I wanted to crawl deep inside that mass of mystery until I came out just as tainted as he was, if not more.
“It won't make me hate you as much.” I shrug, noticing the way his mouth turns up slightly at my remark. Admiring him was quickly becoming second nature to me. Even if the sight of him caused my blood to boil, I couldn't stop my eyes from hungrily trailing down his basic black tee that looked anything but basic on him.
Turning the latch on the window, I cast my eyes downward as I feel his heavy stare bore through me with high potency. The second it becomes unlocked, I grab onto the bottom and pull up until the smell of him quickly invades my senses. Taking a few large steps away from the window, I watch as his leg arches over the ledge and his arms pull him further into my room until both feet are planted on my carpet. Never straying his eyes from mine, I sense all his cockiness and dominance flooding back as his eyes read vengeance. Immediately regretting my decision, I cover myself with my arms, hoping that it somehow shields me from him. “I let you in. Now tell me why you're here.” I grunt, aggravated at his ploy to terrorize me with his eyes and wide stance. His smell already lingers in the air, causing my senses to go haywire and my libido to kick into overdrive. I was inwardly kicking myself for having these feelings about someone I couldn't stand. And they were definitely re-cooperated as he inhaled me with crazed eyes. “Earth to Arsen?” I shuffle my feet in annoyance and to try to alleviate the anxiety I feel building up inside.
Looming beside my window, his enigmatic presence is almost too much to bear as every inch of my flesh throbs callously. Our eyes are in a war with one another, engaging in an all-out battle of emotions that has my heart pummeling against my chest painfully.
“Come here.” He demands softly as if he already knows my body would buckle under his harsh stare and commanding words. Every muscle, every bone, and inch of my sticky skin becomes ensnared in the narcotic effects he seems to have on my treacherous body and mind. I become disoriented by the mystery that clouds Arsen and the uncanny darkness that veils over him. My hatred for him was strong, but my yearning for him to be something more was more compelling. As my anger and resentment gradually vanish into the back of my head, the raw need for his flesh on mine consumes me to the point I find myself moving towards him in slow, deliberate steps.
A rush of air must have escaped his mouth as his chest expands and a look of disbelief struck his features. I had a hard time believing that having women willingly come to him was a rare occurrence, but by the way his eyes watched me with bewilderment and desire, I can understand wanting to drop everything and be at his beck and call. My bare feet dig into the ugly brown carpet until the tops of my toes hit the seam of his black boots. Not exactly chest to chest, but close enough to detect all five senses that swiftly merge into one violent clash of emotions, we stand motionless, waiting to see who will break first.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice movement coming from his right side, and that's when I realize he's lifting his hand. My steady breathing stalls in a silent gasp as I watch with wide eyes as his large hand leisurely makes its way to the curve of my neck and delicately curls his fingers around my nape. Even though this wasn't his first time clutching my neck, the softness of his hold and slight caress of his digit across my throat has my heart fluttering wildly. He has to notice the burning degree of my skin and the dampness that coats it as he slowly rubs down my windpipe with a tenderness I didn't know existed in him.
How can someone so cruel and cold be caressing me with the same hands I am sure have caused harm and possibly even death? Everything about Arsen was unorthodox, yet I constantly and helplessly find myself drawn to him.
“Now, who’s in charge?” His voice lowers an octave, but his eyes latch onto the nape of my neck. With soft, gentle strokes, he continues to bemuse me with his tenderness. I am not sure what I should be more frightened of? The delicate Arsen or the one who essentially tried to strangle me? As his stare remains locked in on his soft motions, I notice something strange flicker in his eyes.
Something is off.
Something that would explain Arsen’s unusual kindness. His typically intense eyes were now invaded with an unequivocal sadness that even I felt sink into the deepest parts of me.
“What’s going on?” I ask, relishing in the warmth of his fingers, hoping I may be the only thing keeping him together right now. His unmoving stare doesn’t lift. Instead, he responds without making eye contact.
“I need you to come with me.” He answers with calmness, but I can sense the bitterness in his tone. He was fighting with his own emotions, and presenting his usual deflective facade was his coping mechanism to deal with his problems. He may be a destructive volcano about to erupt, but on the outside, you couldn’t tell because he chose to hide his true feelings.
