Madeline Sheehan - Undeniable

I bit my lip and shook my head.  “I want it slow, baby.”

His eyes went soft.  “Fuck,” He murmured.  “I just wanna look at you babe.  I just wanna stand here and look at you until I can convince myself you’re really fuckin’ here and you’re not goin’ nowhere and you really want me.”

I closed my eyes letting his words sink inside of me.

"Get the fuck off her, mother fucker, before I blow a hole through your fuckin' skull."

My eyes flew open.  I knew that voice.

Frankie appeared from behind Deuce and moved to his side, pressing the barrel of a gun into Deuce's temple.  He was a mess.  Filthy.  His hair was greasy, his beard was long and unkempt, and his clothing was full of holes and covered in stains.

"Horseman!” Frankie bellowed.  “I said back the fuck up!"

Nostrils flaring, his expression murderous, Deuce zipped up his jeans and backed slowly away.  I hurriedly pushed myself into a sitting position and pulled my dress up.

"Don't fuckin' move cunt," Frankie hissed at me.  Turning, he tossed a pair of handcuffs at Deuce who caught them one handed.

"Cuff yourself to the radiator," He demanded.

Deuce stared at him.  "No fuckin’ way," He growled.

“No?” Frankie grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me across the bed.  The barrel of his gun felt cool against my neck.  “You want her to die?”

Shaking with fury, Deuce bent down beside the radiator under our bedroom window, clasped a cuff around one of the steel bars and the other around his right wrist.

Frankie turned back to me, grinning.

"Been watchin' you baby," He said.  "Been watchin' you a long fuckin' time now."  He leaned over the bed and got up in my face.

"BEEN WATCHIN' YOU FUCK THIS ASSHOLE!"

Trembling, I stared into Frankie's dark eyes.  "You killed Chase.  You butchered him."

"Yeah," He sneered, standing up straight.  He shook his head and laughed.  "Fucker screamed like a girl, too."

I felt the acidic burn of bile rise in the back of my throat.

"You didn't think I knew, did ya?  But I did.  Every time he'd come to fuckin' talk to me I saw it in his eyes.  Him thinkin' he was pullin' one over on me.  Thinkin' he could get away with fuckin' my wife."

"I did it for you," I whispered.

Still gripping my hair, Frankie yanked me to my knees and slapped me across the face.  “You fuckin’ the Horseman for me, too?”

Holding my cheek, I stared up at him.

“Frankie,” I whispered.  “Please don’t do this.”

"Get on your fuckin' stomach bitch," Frankie snarled, releasing my hair and shoving me down.  "Gonna show you and this fuckin' asshole who really fuckin' owns ya."

Deuce made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and my eyes shot to him.  He was six foot four inches and two hundred and fifty pounds of murderous rage.  He was pulling on the handcuffs so hard his hand was bleeding.  His body was strung bowstring tight, his veins were bulging out of his arms and neck, his eyes bugging out of skull.  He was vibrating, literally vibrating, with hate.

Trembling, trying to blink back the tears burning in my eyes for Deuce’s sake, I shifted onto my stomach and turned my head to the side, keeping my gaze on Deuce.

"Been gettin' sloppy fuckin' seconds from this fuckin' asshole for too fuckin' long," Frankie muttered as he shoved my dress up and spread my legs apart.  "That's gonna fuckin' stop today."

I heard his belt buckle open, the slide of his zipper, then I felt his weight and he began pushing inside of me.  I bit my lip to keep from crying and kept my eyes on Deuce.

His eyes never once left mine, he kept me with him, held me tight inside his eyes, where it was safe and warm and no one could hurt me.

☼☼☼

He had been beaten within an inch of his life.

He had been strangled, stabbed and shot.

He had shot, stabbed, strangled, beaten and killed.

He'd been hurt, scared, mad, angry as fuck and homicidally inclined.

Fuck, he had been so fucking pissed off he'd had his old man killed.  His own flesh and blood.

But never, NEVER, had he felt like this.

There wasn’t a name powerful enough to describe what he was feeling, to convey what was happening inside of him.  It was beyond words, surpassed all emotions.

It was living death.

He was living through mother fucking 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 fucking give her and it wasn't even close to enough.  This should have never 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 this woman, knew what she liked, what would make her come, kissing her bared skin, stroking her relentlessly, 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 fucking enjoy it even 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, every harsh intake of breath and whimper from Eva…was killing him.

Frankie had said he’d been watching them.  He’d known just how much he loved Eva.  And he’d known that this would kill him.  Slowly, day after day, week after week, year after fucking 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, 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 fucking waterfall.

Six thirty eight 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 fucking big.  So now, he was cuffed to a radiator with a skinless broken hand.

"Gotta get Freebird," He said.  "He's the only one who can pick cuffs quickly."

He 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.

☼☼☼

Eleven eleven 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 fuckin' Chase broke me and then you start fuckin' the horsemen bastard AGAIN, you have his fuckin' baby and I swear to you I almost killed you a million times.  Comin' out of his fuckin' club, playin' with his fuckin' kids in the yard, ridin' on the back of his fuckin' bike.  I stood in a line behind you at the bank holding a knife to the base of your fuckin' spine ready to kill you and your bastard baby.  But I couldn't fuckin' 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 fuck cares 'bout the cops?"

Suddenly his eyes bugged out.  "You liked fuckin' 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.

☼☼☼

Nine oh three A.M.

Deuce stared at his fucked up hand.  The doctor's at the ER couldn’t give him a cast because of the lack of skin.  They’d had to set each bone and individually splint his fingers, then they treated and wrapped his skinless hand and put the whole fucking mess in a sling.

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