Hansel 1-4: The Complete Series (17 page)

CHAPTER ONE

Lucas
 

The look on her face makes me feel sick.

I shouldn’t have said it.

I’m glad I said it.

Maybe now she’ll go.

We’re standing in my living room, between the couch and the granite countertop that divides the kitchen from the den. I’ve got my jeans on, but my chest is bare. I slide my shirt over my head to get away from her wide eyes.

When I look at her again, she is absolutely still. Her eyes, stretched wide a few moments ago, are honed on me. Her mouth is neither twisted nor open. Her expression is defined by…lack of. It’s like someone pressed pause on Leah. She doesn’t even seem to be breathing.

Her mouth opens in slow motion, and words rise up and out her throat. “Is Mother…alive?” That last word sounds like glass about to crack.

I stand there for a second, weighted with tension, while I calculate the pros and cons of lying to her. Mother is dead. I cracked her neck. Leah knows she’s dead—the whole damn country knows—but Leah fears her. And when fear is involved, the lines of reality get blurry.

If I tell Leah Mother is alive, she might get the hell away from her. From me.

I work to catch my breath. My chest feels so tight, I’m worried I’ll pass out. In the midst of my struggle, clarity comes to me. I can’t lie to Leah. Not about Mother. I need her to go, but I can’t stand the thought of Leah scared. And she would definitely be scared if she thought Mother was alive and I was going to see her.

I suck another breath back. “No.”

She shakes her head, like she’s confused. Her arms are folded under her breasts. Her brows are drawn together. “But you’re going to her—to that house?”

I look away from her accusing eyes and wonder how I should spin this. How I can make her think—how I can let her know—how fucked up I am. How I can make her want to get the fuck away from me without scaring her too badly in the process. I walk over to a coat closet behind the couch. I can feel her eyes burn through me as I pull my boots out. Then I sit down on the couch to put them on. I’m not looking at her, but I can feel her shadowing me. There are so many things I could tell her—things that might make her go—but I can’t commit to any of them, so I give her a pared-down version of the truth.

“It’s my house now. I own it.”

“You bought that place?” She sounds astonished. Worried.

Good.

“It was an auction,” I say flatly. Silence yawns around us. I finish tying the laces of the first boot.

“Why would you want it?”

I slide the second boot on my boot and lift my gaze up to meet hers. “I like to go there sometimes.”

Her eyes are wide; her face is tightened by concern. “What do you do there?”

Again, I contemplate lying. I could tell her I fuck women there, in Mother’s bed. I could tell her I go there to fast and pray. I could tell her I go there to sleep inside her bedroom. She’s seen my place here—how it looks like Mother’s house. Leah must already think I’m a few coins short of a dollar. This could be the tipping point for her.

Tying the laces of the second boot, I scowl up at her. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Do I?” Her mouth is slightly agape, her head bent as she stares down at me.

I finish tying and rise up to my full height. I’m surprised to find that I’m about a foot taller than she is. I didn’t know that. I can count the hours I’ve spent in Leah’s presence, face-to-face, on my fingers.

Staring at her face makes my pulse pound. Her lips…I want to trail a finger over them. “That house belongs to me.” After all, I was there longer than any of the others. Two full years longer than the next captive, a girl Mother named Snow White. “You don’t know who I am, do you Leah? I mean who I really am. Did the media ever find out? Did you ever put the pieces together?”

She didn’t. I know she didn’t. If she had, we would be having a much different conversation. She wouldn’t be signing up to fuck me, that’s for sure.

But I want to taunt her with this. I want to emphasize how little Leah really knows me. Make her feel foolish. Maybe even make her feel a little scared.

She shakes her head. I watch as interest hones her face. “You said in there your name is Lucas.”

That was a mistake. She doesn’t need to know who I am. There’s no point. But there is a bomb that I can drop. One to nudge her just a little bit off kilter. “I was there for five years. Just me and Mother for the first two years. So in my mind, the place is mine.”

I watch her jaw drop open. “You were...you were there for how long?”

“Five years.”

Havoc steals over her face. “Five years?” Her voice squeaks.

I nod slowly.

“But you told me—”

“No I didn’t.” She’s going to say I told her two or three years prior to her arrival, but that isn’t true. I was always vague, and Leah didn’t dare imagine I had been there so long. I was fourteen when mother brought me from the hospital, and a few months shy of eighteen when I met Leah.

“But…”

“You think you know me?” I ask softly. My hand rises to her cheek and cups her smooth, warm skin. “Leah,” I step closer to her, “Hansel was a made up boy. You think I’m Hansel now? You think I’m…your friend?”

She locks her jaw, and warmth spreads through me.

I nod toward the bathroom, out ahead of me, the door of it situated between a potted plant and the entertainment center. This is the place where my subs usually change clothes. Where they’re encouraged to leave their own attire while they act out a role for me. While they are Leah.

I pull in a deep breath and fix my eyes on hers. “Go get dressed, Leah. It’s time for you to go.”

She opens her mouth. I can tell from the softness of her features that she’s going to protest. She’s confused. She’s not ready to go yet. She doesn’t have closure. I don’t know what she’ll say next, and I don’t want to find out. 

“It’s just like Monday, Leah. Lauren.” I say it with a sneer. “You don’t follow directions, and I like
submissives
. You think I enjoyed your ridiculous attempts to dominate me? You think I want more of that?”

Her face is on lockdown, but I see the ripple of my words in the tightening of her brow, in the deepening of the lines around her mouth. She can’t hold the poker face for long. Her lips twist downward and her eyes gleam.

Relief sweeps through me. Now she’ll go. I’ll be spared the…shame of this.

The echo of that moment in the bedroom burns through me.

I turn away from her, then step over to the kitchen counter for my keys and wallet. I’m listening for her footsteps, ready to hear her headed toward the bathroom. She’ll get dressed and go, and I will drive to Mother’s house.

I want it tonight. Maybe I even need it.

I slide my wallet into my back pocket, and I hear Leah coming up behind me. She walks around me and stops directly in front of me. I keep my eyes trained on the counter for a second longer than I need to, bracing myself.

When my gaze skitters over her, I’m surprised to find her eyes blazing.

“You’re lying. What’s your name?” she snaps.

“I go by Edgar now,” I tell her sharply.

“Edgar. Okay, Edgar. You’re a liar.” Her face—it’s…gorgeous. Every feature in motion, she glows with energy and emotion. I fucking love her animated like this. For all those months, I never saw her whole face.

“Leah…” Reverence.

I rush to turn my tone around. Tug in air while I fight to come up with a plan for getting her out of here. For making her not give a shit if I enjoyed the things we did together. 

“Leah,” I say, hard now, “who’s your boyfriend?”

“What?”

“Your boyfriend? Tell me, what’s his name?”

She shakes her head a little. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend
now
. I can believe that. You’ve been fucking me. But there must have been someone before. Who was the last?” I cross my arms, mirroring her stance. “Who was the last?”

She drops her arms down by her sides, and I can see her cracking. “Why does it matter?” She takes a small step back, and heat sings through my chest.
I’m right about her
. It’s sick that I should care, but care I do.

“Have you ever had anyone? Anyone you loved? Have you ever been engaged, Leah? Ever been married?”

Her eyes betray her. The way she hugs herself and looks defeated. Shamed, like me. Pain flares up inside me—pain for her—but I douse it with intention. “I can see it on your face, the answer:
no
. Why did you come here, Leah—after the show? You thought Edgar was me, but you came in a mask. How come?”

She rubs her lips together. Shifts her gaze away. “I was curious,” she says quietly.

“Why the mask?”

“I heard you were hard to get in touch with,” she says, looking up at me with cautious eyes. “I thought if you didn’t want to see me…”

“But you didn’t even try. You didn’t try to come to me as Leah.” My voice lifts. “I asked Raymond, and you never called or left a message.” I step closer to her, watching her shrink into herself. She’s threatened now. Embarrassed. “You came in a mask because you wanted to fuck me. Not just for sex’s sake,” I tell her softly. I step a little closer, still. “You don’t fuck for fucking’s sake, like I do, do you? No. You said it’s been a long time. Why?”

Her mouth opens. I close the space between us and slide my hand under her hair, cupping her head. “You don’t have to tell me,” I murmur, looking down into her eyes. “Leah, I can read you like a book. You’re hung up at Mother’s house. That time I fucked you on the day I killed her. Stuck. You’re stuck there with me. No boyfriend,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “You’ve never had a lover, have you? No one serious…”

I can’t breathe as I watch her face for confirmation.

Her features twist as she wobbles back, wrenching away from me. “What’s the point of this?”

I inhale deeply. Let it out. “I’m telling you to get lost, Leah. I didn’t ask for you like this. I wanted Lauren,” I taunt. I nod at the bathroom, glad to break my gaze away from hers. “I’m not like you, Leah. I might want to fuck you, but I don’t…want you. I’m not waiting for you. Can’t you tell?”

Her lip is caught between her teeth. Her eyes are bright enough to be electric. They sear mine for a long second before she whirls and flies into the bathroom.

The second she slams the door, my chest starts aching. I step toward the door, my arm outstretched; that’s how badly I want to open it and snatch her out.

Instead, I turn around and leave my own apartment.

CHAPTER TWO

Leah
 

He’s full of shit.

He thinks he can fool me? He thinks I don’t know him? He’s lying to himself.

I’m not sure if I’m more upset or more sad—sad for him.

Everything he said about me being hung up on what happened at Mother’s house, alone and unable to find love as an adult, is almost laughably hypocritical. Does he think he’s any different? I don’t see him married with two point five kids and a minivan. Maybe it
has
been a long time since I’ve had sex; maybe I can’t bear to be intimate with anyone because my first experience was him, and as soon as it was over, he just…left. Maybe that makes me pathetic, but taunting me about it is horrible. So horrible, it makes his motives completely obvious.

After what happened in his bedroom—after how upset he got—he doesn’t want me here. He can’t even stand to look at me. He knows I won’t leave, so he’s making it out like he doesn’t want me around. Like he isn’t attracted to me.

I stab my legs into my red jeans. I’m trembling with excess energy.

Does he not remember all the things he said to me last night? How, today, when he walked into the room, he said he was going to call me Leah like he does with all his subs?

As I jerk my lacy pink bra on, my heart starts hammering. There’s no way I interpreted things wrong, is there? Am I thinking irrationally?

No. The way he acted is completely obvious.

The man’s got issues, Leah. He’s pushing you away.

“Right.”

At that moment, a memory pops into my mind, vivid as a picture: Hansel on the stage, holding a whip, and two blonde women on the mattress in the room that looked like mine.

But maybe he only wants me for sex.

Right, because I’m so skilled at sex.

I pull my shirt over my head and try to talk some confidence into myself. He calls the subs ‘Leah’ because he cares about me. Clearly. And why wouldn’t he? For more than a year, he was my only confidant. We got to know each other in a way that’s usually impossible, because most times, people put up walls. But our wall was a literal thing, so with each other, we erased all the lines. I told him things I’ve never told anyone before. I’d like to think the inverse is true, too.

My insecurity rears its head again, and I question why he would still hang onto that so many years later. But the answer is obvious: for all the reasons I do.

I wonder, as I look into my own eyes in the mirror, if he woke up this morning and remembered last night. If he remembered seeing me. Or was he so smashed, he had no idea until the bed a few minutes ago, when he asked me why I was calling him ‘Hansel.’ Earlier this morning, when his driver came to get me, was he really calling ‘Lauren’ back, because he liked what we did Monday?

I suck a deep breath into my lungs and step out of the bathroom, ready to confront him. I look around the living room.

“Han— Edgar?” The word hangs there in the air, and my eyes fly around the room. The ceiling fan is motionless; the room is empty. Something in the refrigerator across the room makes a clicking sound, and I jump a little, but it’s only ice. I walk a little farther out into the living area.

“Edgar?”

Into the kitchen, and the counter looks barer than it was a few minutes ago, when I came in here to confront him.

Another second swells around me. I can feel his absence.

“Are you here?” I call behind me.

When he doesn’t answer, I dash over to the door and swing it open, then step out into the hall. I look all the way down the dark space, crisscrossed with dancing shadows from a few torches. Their smoke drifts up toward the high ceilings.

“Edgar?” I cry.

His apartment is at the end of the private hall. There are only one or two other doors along it. I freeze for a moment, listening for the swishing of his jeans and the low clomp of his boots.

Then—“shit!”

I fly off like a rocket, pumping my arms as I stretch my legs in front of me.

What the hell is wrong with him?

Where did he go? Was he going to come back?

It wouldn’t make sense for him to leave me there indefinitely, but maybe he figured I would go once he did.

My stomach tightens as I dash past one of the flickering torches.

I run all the way down the hall, and when I don’t see him, I pull open the cut-through door that leads to one of the public halls.

Torches flicker in front of me as far as I can see.

“Damn.”

I think I’m moving toward the back of the building, but I’m not sure. I remember, when I drove up to the building last night, seeing signs that the employee lot was in the back. I don’t know he’s leaving—in fact, he’s probably not—but I want to cover all my bases. If by chance he is, I have to catch him.

I look around, searching for some clue that I don’t find, then I take off down the hall, unabashedly running, bare-footed, in a direction I’m not even completely sure of.

I picture him striding across the parking lot toward his black Land Rover, and imagine myself running up behind him, knocking him over like a girl bullet.

When I reach the double-doors at the end of the hall, I’m relieved to find they’re made of steel, with vertical rectangles of thick glass punched into them. Over them is a neon red EXIT sign, and on the wall beside the door on the right is a small, black plaque with cursive letters:
Employee Parking
.

As I push through the doors, my stomach lurches. When I sweep my eyes over the parking lot, I see no one—only quiet rows of cars, not even any headlights. Then I hear the knocking of his boots against the asphalt.

Thwak, thwak, thwak.

So he is leaving!

I rush down the cement stairs and start to look for him. Left and right, and back to the left. And that’s when I see a moving shadow. That’s Hansel, tall and dark and weaving quickly in between parked cars. I fly after him, sprinting with my arms outstretched. I reach him as his fingertips skate gently over the dark hood of the Land Rover.

He turns his hips and shoulders flush with the car’s side and presses a button on his key fob, and the car’s lights flash. He’s so deep in thought he doesn’t even see me right behind him.

“You’re leaving?”

He jumps a little, then turns his head slowly to look at me. “Leah.” His eyes roll down my body, moving languidly over all my parts and resting on my bare feet. “Where are your shoes?” he asks softly.

“Where are you going?” I ask him.

His face tightens, then goes tired and slack, as if he was maybe going to explain himself to me, but suddenly decided he just didn’t care enough. He rubs a hand over his head and starts to pull the car door open.

“Are you running away from me?”

He slides behind the half-open door, and now his face is taut again. He looks angry with me when his eyes meet mine. Perturbed. “I already told you where I’m going, Leah. You are not coming with me.”

I shove my hands into my pockets and step over a little, so if he decides to hop in the car and blast on off, he’d nick me with the hood. “You’re running from me. It’s…ridiculous.”

His mouth pulls tighter, and that asshole actually starts to shut his car door. I catch the handle and grab it further open; then I dart inside it, so I’m standing right between the driver’s seat and the door. I grab his forearm, not because I need to for the sake of balance, but because I want to touch him. I want to make him feel me. Now that I’ve finally found him, I’m not letting him go without a fight.

I shift a little, so my gaze intercepts his downturned one. “I’m going with you.”

“No. You’re not.” He shakes my hand off his arm and reaches around me to push his door open. “Go, Leah. This is over.”

“Fine.” I fold my arms, leaving my bare feet planted firmly on the asphalt. “Then I’ll go there by myself.”

“You’ll be charged with trespassing,” he says firmly.

I stare into his eyes, but I see nothing there. No sympathy. No affection. “So…you’re done with me?”

“You can’t tell?” He sneers at me, and reaches for the gearshift. I’m suddenly upset—finally feeling the surprise and dismay he’s been going for—so I almost turn and go. But there’s a rock stuck between two of my toes, and suddenly all I can think of is him hitting the gas and me not being fast enough to avoid getting caught in his damn door.

The car’s wheels roll a little as he shifts to “reverse,” and I talon-latch onto his shoulder. His eyes connect with mine, and they’re so wide, so warm, so…affected by my hand on him, I feel a rush of power. Headiness so fierce the world around me spins.

He still wants me.

Hansel wants me…

In the punch of one heartbeat, I realize it’s obsession—this warm lump of emotion I’ve been fostering and feeding—and the realization empowers me to hang on. Literally.

I wind my arms around his neck and toss my leg over his hips, settling on his lap as his eyes pop and his shoulders press against the leather seat. I lean so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath.

“Shit,” he whispers.

I slide one palm down his chest and let the other one wander down his side. I clutch his thigh, and I feel something harden underneath me.

My gaze dips down, and glee sweeps through me as my hand slides over his hip and down…until my trembling fingers are cradling his erection. He hardens still more as I watch, until every line of him is straining through the denim of his pants.

I press my fingers against him and rock my palm against his length. I lean in close as I start stroking, tickling my lips over his throat.

“So I don’t turn you on?” I whisper.

His eyes squeeze shut. His jaw tightens. I watch him clench his fist.

“You’re not looking for anything I’ve got…right?”

I press the base of my palm against the underside of his plump head. His face tenses as I wrap my fingers around it.

“I see,” I whisper, stroking him. “You’re just not attracted to me, are you?”

Looking down again, I can see his jeans are loose enough that I can grasp him through them. I curl my fingers all the way around him and give a little tug. He groans.

“Leah…” His eyelids slowly lift, revealing lust-hazed eyes. “Get out.”

“I don’t think so, Edgar.” I reach behind me to put the car in “park” again, and all the while I’m stroking him, more pleased with myself than I know I should be, considering I pretty much accosted him.

He’s so hard for my hand, and as I play with him, his eyes are looking warmer and warmer, as if the inside of him is melting.

“I like to touch you, and I know you like it, too,” I murmur, pulling his erection up and out and wrapping my hand around his head. “You tried to lie to me. That hurts.”

I say it lightly, whispered, even though it’s true. I press his dick between my legs and rock against the head of him, feeling desperate. He moans, pushing himself against me.

He grits his teeth, and while I watch his mouth for words that will alleviate the sharp pain in my chest, his hands close around my waist and lift me off his lap. He sets me in the passenger’s seat and throws the car back into “reverse.” Without a word, he backs out, shifts roughly into “drive,” and shoots across the parking lot.

“Where are you taking me? To the MGM Grand? You couldn’t take it, could you? You can’t take me.”

My cheeks burn so hot, I worry my head will explode as he pulls onto The Strip. Before this, I was feeling sorry for him, but not now.

“You think about me every time you fuck another woman, don’t you?” My words, and the volume of them, shock me, but I’m pulsing everywhere. In between my legs, inside my chest. He’s got me so worked up, I feel like I might cry. He’s taking me back to the casino. He’s just going to drop me off like garbage.

“Is that how you handle things? Someone is a problem for you, send them away. Someone fucks you their way and not
yours
, well, find a new submissive! Someone wants more of you than you can give without exposing your damn self and that’s the end! See ya later! Change your name.”

My shoulders heave as I drag in a big breath.

All around us, lights blink, buildings glimmer, cars purr in long, congested lines. I feel as if we should be moving fast, but we’re almost at a standstill.

The Range Rover must have thick windows, because the silence in the car is palpable, as is the anguish on his face.

“
Dammit
, Leah.” He slams his fist against the wheel and looks out his window. His profile looks imposing. Dangerous. “You shouldn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Oh yeah, and why is that?” I hold my breath, waiting for an answer that will explain how he’s been acting. That will explain how the guy who was so kind to me in hell is now the owner of a sex club, whipping not just one woman but two at a time.

His lips twist, like he’s tasting something bitter. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m not who…you remember.”

“So what?” I pull some air into my lungs because I’m feeling breathless. I angle myself toward him, trying to catch his eye even though I know he’s aiming his gaze everywhere but me. “Do you think you have to be a certain person for me? News flash, Hansel-Edgar-whoever you are. I’m not the same girl I used to be, either.”