Blood Ties - Chapter One

Author's Note: You must be over 18 years of age and an adult in the state or country where you are to continue. There is the possibility of nudity or partial nudity or depictions of adult behavior, possibly relating to sex, marital aids, genitalia, sexual behavior. The author has selected the mature category and the content is not not suitable for viewers under the age of 18 or under legal adult age.

If this type of material might offend you please do not continue.

Chapter One

I can’t breathe.

I awaken to find my body pinned to the plush mattress, my limbs wrapped around steel encased in warm flesh. I am on my back, my face pressed against dewy skin, the bulk of his weight trapping me beneath him. Most of his body covers my own, an evening filled with his night sweats have soaked my plain white t-shirt, fusing us together. His head partially rests on a pillow beside me, his warm even breaths tickling the exposed side of my face.

I test my muscles and flex, stretching my right arm until my fingers bump against the cold steel of a familiar Glock 17 underneath the pillow. I tense for a moment. The hard edge of a firearm is intrusive and has no place in the sanctuary of my bed.

He suddenly shifts his weight, allowing room for air to reenter my body. Let’s me breathe in the smell of us. The combined scents of jasmine and musk invade my senses, making my head spin. His nocturnal shift gives me better access to admire his toned pecs and well-muscled abs. I ignore my gut, going against common sense and my better instincts. I press my lips against his chest, placing a kiss directly above his heart. ”Please forgive me for what I must do,” I whisper against his skin, the damp strawberry blond curls sprinkled across his broad chest tickling my nose.

He believes this is my fault, but he never should have brought me back here. It has been seven days since I’ve made the decision to go back to Her and as many days as he’s allowed himself to fall asleep beside me, much less, wrapping himself around me. He is a proud man. Climbing back into our bed could not have been easy for him. It makes me wonder what level of hell he had to escape from the night before that would compel him to seek refuge in the comfort of my arms.

I look up at him as his body begins to waken, moody cobalt eyes, blurred with sleep, glaring through me, rather than at me. He stares at me as though I’m some six-headed alien. Some foreign entity that snuck into his bed in the dead of night rather than the woman he promised to love and cherish and protect.

My heart tramples my mind and common sense leaves my body as Liam’s fingers wrap around my throat. My “flight” instinct long gone, I immediately acquiesce to him. My limbs go lax. With partially opened eyes I watch him, his pupils so black and wide only a small ring of blue remains. Sweat drips from his temple, leaving a salty trail down the side of his face that some sick part of me is desperate to lick away. The grip on my neck tightens, completely obstructing my airflow. My vision begins to darken. The sudden loss of air is both familiar and frightening.

And then he stops.

I never know what it is that halts him. How he always knows, even while still trapped in that space between wakefulness and a nightmare, not to step over that ledge and push it too far. One of these days, he’s going to lose control and snap my neck.

Thankfully, today is not that day.

Panting erratically, Liam slowly loosens his grip, removing his grip on my throat. His breaths are as uneven as mine as he untangles himself from me and rolls onto his back, tugging me roughly against him.

A shaky sigh escapes my lips as he gently massages my scalp, his fingers lightly tugging the unruly, tangled curls. I rest my head directly above his heart, the rapid cadence alarming, yet familiar. “What did you say?” he asks gruffly, his hands disappearing into the wild curls on top of my head, tugging at the strands until I look up at him.

Nothing is said about his nightmare or his attack on me. I have long learned to let it go and not question his actions. It doesn’t matter, anyway. In these few quiet moments, Liam looks at me the way he used to. With reverence and adulation and need. I long for the days when this man used to need me.

He used to look, love and touch me like was a starving man and only I could satiate his hunger. He would lick, bite and nibble at me like my flesh was ambrosia, nourishment sent directly down to him as a gift from the gods.

Now I am the person he attacks in his nightmares.

I am the cause of his nocturnal pain.

“What did you say?” he asks again, his tone more dominate and demanding, but still heavy with sleep.

I bite my lip, daring to demand what I want and need even though we both know I don’t deserve it. I take a deep breath and change my tactic. I swallow my pride, risking what’s left of my heart. “Love me again.”

Liam pulls me astride him, my thighs straddling his broad hips. I look down at him, my waist-length mane engulfing us in an intimate curtain of chestnut and golden brown curls. He tucks a loose stray behind my ear and then runs a calloused thumb across the bottom of my lip.

My mind screams what my mouth won’t. Kiss me.

I close my eyes as he gathers me in his arms, his lips pressed against my temple. “Love isn’t the problem.” He pulls back, lifting my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. “I will never stop loving you, Niko. No matter how hard I try.”

His words have the desired effect. They sting. As I pull away from him, he presses a kiss directly against my forehead and rolls from underneath me. He slides out of bed, his morning erection straining against the snug fit of his boxer-briefs. He yawns and stretches, every muscle rippling, calling out to me, begging to be caressed.

In spite of his cutting words, my mind screams, Let me touch you.

“Are you really going to do this?” he asks as he rifles through the top dresser drawer for a fresh pair socks and underwear.

With a sigh, I sit up in bed, resting the balls of my feet on my bare bottom. I feign ignorance, already tired from a fight that’s yet to begin. “Am I going to do what, dear?

He slams the drawer shut, glaring at me. “Don’t be cute, Niko.”

I shake my head and look away from him, forcing myself to focus on picking at the skin around my nails. “You should have never brought me back here,” I say quietly, more to myself than him. “You knew what would happen if I came back.”

Liam scoffs. “So this is my fault? I had to go where the work was so I could provide for our family. So you wouldn’t have to work. I’m sorry Detroit didn’t meet all of your uppity ass expectations.”

The only expectation I had was to get out and away from this city. We could have stayed in fucking Detroit. Abject poverty and shelter-living would have been preferable to coming back to this twisted little town. “This isn’t about money and you damn well know it.” A flush of anger surges through me even though I know it’s unjustified. “What did you think was going to happen when we came back here? Did you really think She wouldn’t find out?” A heavy breath escapes my lips. “You knew if we came back here I’d have to go back to Her. Why did you bring me back?”

Liam wraps his hand around a crystal bottle of Dior perfume atop the dresser and hurls it across the room, narrowly missing my head. Normally not so expressive, Liam has temporarily allowed himself to become a cliché, letting his fiery Irish temper get the best of him. The bottle cracks, leaving a sizeable dent in the plaster on the wall. It doesn’t shatter, yet still the room fills with the heady scent of jasmine and roses. Scents that are meant to calm and sooth have the opposite effect. Liam’s body radiates with so much anger, the walls practically vibrate.

“Why did I bring you back?” he parrots. “To provide for this goddamned family!” he shouts, his face reddens with rage, blue veins bulging out of his neck. He takes a menacing step towards me but I don’t back down from my stance. “You don’t have to do anything. You want to go back to Her. Five years ago you were literally on your goddamned hands and knees begging me to get you away from that shit, away from Her. And I failed. I’m. Fucking. Sorry!”

He balls his fists and backs away from me, as if he’s afraid he’ll hurt me, until he back hits the en suite bathroom door. “But my failure as a husband does not justify my wife spreading her legs for other men all over town.”

“Would you rather I only spread my legs for women, then?” It is an inappropriate joke, but this whole conversation is pointless. The decision has already been made. However, the look Liam flashes me is lethal.

If looks could kill.

He runs a weary hand over his bristled chin. “Niko, you know what She is, who She is. God only knows what she’s going to do to you for running away—“

I interject. “I didn’t run. She gave me to you.”

He laughs ruefully and shakes his head in dismay, running his fingers through his short, spiky hair. “Wow. You still think of yourself as property even after all of these years?” He shrugs his shoulders. “So if She ‘gave’ you to me, why are you willingly running back to her?”

I don’t see myself as property, but I will never be able to make him understand my sense of self-worth. “I’m not running. I going back to where I belong. I’m going back to someone that wants and needs me. That's not you anymore.” I sigh. “A part of me believes that you brought me here because you want me to go back to Her.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he says, with absolutely no conviction behind his voice

I press on, pushing his buttons, daring to wave a red flag in front of a raging bull. “Liam, before last night, you hadn’t touched me in nearly a year. We're barely roommates who occasionally share a bed. I don’t know who’s been satisfying your needs—“

“You think I’d cheat on you?”

I shrug my shoulders. “I’d understand. I’m your wife. I know you. I know your appetites. Christ, we met in a fucking bordello, for crying out loud.”

“Bullshit. Be fucking straight with me, Niko. You want this, don’t you? You want to go back to whore for that bitch—“

”Liam”. He can say whatever he wants to say about me, but he is never to disparage Her.

He's not wrong, though.

I do want this. I want to go back to Her. Five years of being stuck in this mundane, pedestrian life has slowly ebbed away at my soul. I need the rush that Liam temporarily fabricated but only She can truly provide. I feel like I’m dying and I know only She can breathe life back into my body.

We stare at one another for a few heartbeats before he breaks eye contact. “I don’t have time for this. I need to get ready for work.”

I don’t know what prompts me to pull the heavy Glock from underneath the pillow and settle it onto my bare lap. The steel is cool against the naked flesh of my thighs. I absently lock and unlock the safety, the soft click the only sound to fill the quiet space. I can feel his eyes on me, studying me.

“Do you trust me, Liam?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “No. Never have. Never will.” He leans against the door, holding his arms out wide, baring his naked chest to me. Making him an easy target. “Are you going to shoot me now, Niko?"

I shake my head, still playing with the safety. “You of all people know that isn’t my style, Liam.” I raise the weapon with my right hand, pointing it straight at the center of his chest. “You say you’ll always love me? No matter what?” My left hand is my dominant hand and the gun is heavier than I remember. My wrist begins to shake underneath the weight of the steel.

Liam is a blur as he flies across the room, his hand gripping my wrist tightly until I’m forced to relinquish the gun. It bounces carelessly onto the mattress and slides onto the carpet. It’s a miracle the weapon doesn’t go off.

He once again wraps his hand around my throat and he shoves me hard on my back, the mattress absorbing the brunt of my weight. He climbs on top of me, straddling me, rotating his hips, grinding his erection between the dampness in the center of my thighs.

He devours my lips, his tongue forceful, demanding entrance into my mouth. Liam’s kiss is brutal and punishing, meant to cause pain. But I open my mouth, welcoming the ruthless assault, missing his touch. He shoves his free hand between us, roughly jamming his middle finger inside of me. I am unprepared for his invasion. It hurts and I cry out against his unrelenting kiss, but instinctively grind against his hand, desperately in need of whatever he will give me.

“Mine,” he growls against my lips, adding a second finger inside of me, matching my rhythm until I’m close to the edge. I groan in frustration as I feel his movements slow and he starts to pull away. Liam is a selfish bastard and won’t let me get there, leaving me aching, throbbing and unfulfilled. Our breaths ragged, chests heaving, Liam rips his lips from mine and withdraws his hand from between my legs. I reach up to touch his face but he angrily smacks my hand away. “I will always love you. Never doubt that, Niko. But if you go back and bring that shit into our home, I will bury you.”

Liam pushes himself off of the bed, the shock of the sudden absence of his flesh leaving goose bumps across my toffee colored skin. I stop him one last time at the bathroom door. “Liam, is this it? Did I break us?” He turns to me, but lately I haven’t been able read him. I don’t know what he’s thinking. “Have I lost you?”

He pauses for a few moments and then asks, “Are you going back?”

I close my eyes, wishing I’d never asked the question when I know I won’t like the answer. “Yes.”

He nods. “Then, yeah. You lost me.” Liam slams the door to the bathroom hard, the lock clicking loudly behind him. Shutting me out and effectively ending the conversation.

As the shower turns on, I climb beneath the duvet, trying to thaw the iciness that’s settled into my bones. I wait for the inevitable freak out that one should feel when they’ve just realized they've lost their family, but it never comes.

Liam exits the bathroom, fully dressed in blue jeans and a black fitted t-shirt. He ignores me as he sits on the edge of the bed and laces his boots. The room is deathly silent as he paces around the room, his heavy steps crushing the carpet as he gathers his wallet, keys and jacket. He looks around the room, patting his hips like he’s forgetting something.

“It’s under the bed,” I say, without him having to ask. Liam drops to his knees and grabs the gun from beneath the bed. He empties the chamber, checks the safety and secures it in his holster.

He leans over and places a perfunctory kiss on my cheek. “Have a nice day,” he mumbles instinctively, before shaking his head, chuckling softly to himself and walking away.

When the door closes behind him this time, I know he’s closing the door not only to this discussion, but to our marriage as well.

For the first time in my life, I finally feel free.

And I have never been more terrified.