Keep Me
Page 30
The chill running over my skin transforms into full-on goosebumps. This side of Julian terrifies me, and I clasp my hands together under the table to prevent them from shaking. “You told me you saw a therapist after your parents’ death. Because you wanted to kill more.”
“Yes, my pet.” There is a savage gleam in his blue eyes. “I killed the cartel leaders and their families, and when it was all over, I thirsted for more blood . . . more death. The craving inside me only intensified during the years that I’d been away; leading a so-called ‘normal’ life made it worse, not better.” He pauses, and I shudder at the black shadows I see in his gaze. “Seeing a therapist was a last-ditch attempt to fight against my nature, and it didn’t take me long to realize that it was futile—that the only way to move forward was to embrace it and accept my fate.”
“And you did that by going into arms dealing.” I try to keep my voice steady. “By becoming a criminal.”
At that moment, Ana comes into the dining room and begins to clear the dishes off the table. Watching her, I slowly rub my arms, trying to dispel the coldness within me. In a way, it makes it worse, the fact that Julian had a choice and that he consciously chose to embrace the darkest part of himself. It tells me there is no hope for redemption, no chance of making him see the error of his ways. It’s not that he never knew there was an alternative to a life of crime; on the contrary, he had experienced such an alternative and decided to reject it.
“Would you like anything else?” Ana asks us, and I shake my head mutely, too disturbed to think about dessert. Julian, however, asks for a cup of hot chocolate, sounding as unruffled as ever.
When Ana exits the room, Julian smiles at me, as though sensing the direction of my thoughts. “I was always a criminal, Nora,” he says softly. “I killed for the first time when I was eight, and I knew then that there would be no going back. I tried to bury that knowledge for a while, but it was always there, waiting for me to come to my senses.” He leans back in his seat, his posture indolent, yet predatory, like the lazy sprawl of a jungle cat. “The truth of the matter is I need this kind of life, my pet. The danger, the violence—and the power that comes with it all—they suit me in a way that a boring corporate job could never have.” He pauses, then adds, his eyes glittering, “They make me feel alive.”
* * *
When we get to the bedroom that evening, I go to take a quick shower while Julian responds to a couple of urgent work emails on his iPad. By the time I come out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my damp body, he’s put the tablet away and is beginning to undress. As he pulls off his shirt, I sense an unusual excitement within him, a pent-up energy in his movements that hadn’t been there before.
“What happened?” I ask warily, our earlier conversation fresh in my mind. Things that excite Julian are, more often than not, something that would make me shudder. Pausing by the bed, I adjust the towel, strangely reluctant to bare myself to his gaze quite yet.
He gives me a brilliant smile as he sits down on the bed to take off his socks. “Do you remember when I told you we had some intelligence on two Al-Quadar cells?” When I nod, he says, “Well, we succeeded in destroying them and even captured three terrorists in the process. Lucas is having them brought here for questioning, so they’ll be arriving in the morning.”
“Oh.” I stare at him, my stomach churning with an unsettling mix of emotions. I understand what ‘questioning’ implies in Julian’s world. I should be horrified and disgusted by the idea that my husband will most likely torture those men—and I am—but deep inside, I also feel a kind of sick, vengeful joy. It’s an emotion that disturbs me a lot more than the thought of Julian interrogating them tomorrow. I know these men are not the same ones who murdered Beth, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about them. There is a part of me that wants them to pay for Beth’s death . . . to suffer for what Majid did.
Apparently misinterpreting my reaction, Julian rises to his feet and says softly, “Don’t worry, my pet. They won’t hurt you—I’ll make sure of that.” And before I can respond, he pushes down his jeans to reveal a growing erection.
At the sight of his naked body, a wave of desire washes over me, heating me from the inside out despite my mental turmoil. Over the past couple of weeks, Julian has regained some of the muscle he lost during his coma, and he’s even more stunning than before, his shoulders impossibly broad and his skin darkly tanned from the hot sun. Raising my eyes to his face, I wonder for the hundredth time how someone so beautiful can carry such evil inside—and whether some of that evil is beginning to rub off on me.
“I know they won’t hurt me here,” I say quietly as he reaches for me. “I’m not afraid of them.”
A sardonic half-smile appears on his lips as he tugs the towel off my body, dropping it carelessly on the floor. “Are you afraid of me?” he murmurs, stepping closer to me. Lifting his hands, he cups my breasts in his large palms and squeezes them, his thumbs playing with my nipples. As he gazes down at me, I notice an amused, yet slightly cruel glint in his blue eyes.
“Should I be?” My heartbeat picks up, my core clenching at the feel of his hard cock brushing against my stomach. His hands are hot and rough on the sensitive skin of my bare breasts, and I inhale sharply as my nipples tighten under his touch. “Are you going to hurt me tonight?”
“Yes, my pet.” There is a savage gleam in his blue eyes. “I killed the cartel leaders and their families, and when it was all over, I thirsted for more blood . . . more death. The craving inside me only intensified during the years that I’d been away; leading a so-called ‘normal’ life made it worse, not better.” He pauses, and I shudder at the black shadows I see in his gaze. “Seeing a therapist was a last-ditch attempt to fight against my nature, and it didn’t take me long to realize that it was futile—that the only way to move forward was to embrace it and accept my fate.”
“And you did that by going into arms dealing.” I try to keep my voice steady. “By becoming a criminal.”
At that moment, Ana comes into the dining room and begins to clear the dishes off the table. Watching her, I slowly rub my arms, trying to dispel the coldness within me. In a way, it makes it worse, the fact that Julian had a choice and that he consciously chose to embrace the darkest part of himself. It tells me there is no hope for redemption, no chance of making him see the error of his ways. It’s not that he never knew there was an alternative to a life of crime; on the contrary, he had experienced such an alternative and decided to reject it.
“Would you like anything else?” Ana asks us, and I shake my head mutely, too disturbed to think about dessert. Julian, however, asks for a cup of hot chocolate, sounding as unruffled as ever.
When Ana exits the room, Julian smiles at me, as though sensing the direction of my thoughts. “I was always a criminal, Nora,” he says softly. “I killed for the first time when I was eight, and I knew then that there would be no going back. I tried to bury that knowledge for a while, but it was always there, waiting for me to come to my senses.” He leans back in his seat, his posture indolent, yet predatory, like the lazy sprawl of a jungle cat. “The truth of the matter is I need this kind of life, my pet. The danger, the violence—and the power that comes with it all—they suit me in a way that a boring corporate job could never have.” He pauses, then adds, his eyes glittering, “They make me feel alive.”
* * *
When we get to the bedroom that evening, I go to take a quick shower while Julian responds to a couple of urgent work emails on his iPad. By the time I come out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around my damp body, he’s put the tablet away and is beginning to undress. As he pulls off his shirt, I sense an unusual excitement within him, a pent-up energy in his movements that hadn’t been there before.
“What happened?” I ask warily, our earlier conversation fresh in my mind. Things that excite Julian are, more often than not, something that would make me shudder. Pausing by the bed, I adjust the towel, strangely reluctant to bare myself to his gaze quite yet.
He gives me a brilliant smile as he sits down on the bed to take off his socks. “Do you remember when I told you we had some intelligence on two Al-Quadar cells?” When I nod, he says, “Well, we succeeded in destroying them and even captured three terrorists in the process. Lucas is having them brought here for questioning, so they’ll be arriving in the morning.”
“Oh.” I stare at him, my stomach churning with an unsettling mix of emotions. I understand what ‘questioning’ implies in Julian’s world. I should be horrified and disgusted by the idea that my husband will most likely torture those men—and I am—but deep inside, I also feel a kind of sick, vengeful joy. It’s an emotion that disturbs me a lot more than the thought of Julian interrogating them tomorrow. I know these men are not the same ones who murdered Beth, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about them. There is a part of me that wants them to pay for Beth’s death . . . to suffer for what Majid did.
Apparently misinterpreting my reaction, Julian rises to his feet and says softly, “Don’t worry, my pet. They won’t hurt you—I’ll make sure of that.” And before I can respond, he pushes down his jeans to reveal a growing erection.
At the sight of his naked body, a wave of desire washes over me, heating me from the inside out despite my mental turmoil. Over the past couple of weeks, Julian has regained some of the muscle he lost during his coma, and he’s even more stunning than before, his shoulders impossibly broad and his skin darkly tanned from the hot sun. Raising my eyes to his face, I wonder for the hundredth time how someone so beautiful can carry such evil inside—and whether some of that evil is beginning to rub off on me.
“I know they won’t hurt me here,” I say quietly as he reaches for me. “I’m not afraid of them.”
A sardonic half-smile appears on his lips as he tugs the towel off my body, dropping it carelessly on the floor. “Are you afraid of me?” he murmurs, stepping closer to me. Lifting his hands, he cups my breasts in his large palms and squeezes them, his thumbs playing with my nipples. As he gazes down at me, I notice an amused, yet slightly cruel glint in his blue eyes.
“Should I be?” My heartbeat picks up, my core clenching at the feel of his hard cock brushing against my stomach. His hands are hot and rough on the sensitive skin of my bare breasts, and I inhale sharply as my nipples tighten under his touch. “Are you going to hurt me tonight?”
