Cruel Water by Dee Palmer (The Dirty Heroes Collection Book 11)
English | 2020 | Romance | ePUB | 2.7 MB
I’m not a sadist by choice,
I’m a sadist by design,
Cursed to inflict pain on others
And yet I find no pleasure in it,
Only a moment of release from my eternal torment.
And yet, it’s not enough
I’m not a sadist,
I’m a monster.
One night changed all that,
One night she dragged me from the oceans dark depths
Cresting the cruel waters she came to my rescue, like an angel.
And now I’m going crazy and don’t know what to believe.
Was she real?
Did she truly soothe my demons and take away my pain?
How am I even alive?
So many questions taunt me.
So many answer evade my grasp.
What is true? What is real? What to believe?
All I know for sure is I have to find her again,
I have to know,
Can she really save me from myself?
“Lost. In pain. Alone. Take your pick.” She pours some more whiskey. The uncharacteristic draw of her bottom lip into her mouth is evidence she is weighing how far she wants to take this conversation. I like her. She is probably the closest thing I have to a ‘friend’; however, I don’t do touchy feely bullshit. I keep my dark close and my demons closer. “You need to let someone in, Eric.” I narrow my eyes, and she braces, her mouth tight and her shoulders straight.
“I need the release. That’s all I need. That is the beginning, the middle, and the end of it. The difference between you and I is I don’t want to be like this. It’s not a choice for me, and seeing them look at me like they can save me… Trust me, I’m doing her a favor.” I clarify absently. Rolling the tumbler around so the golden liquid coats the sides, the clear shine of the sugars clings to the glass before once more being swept into the swirling contents.
“She gave you the look, hmm?” Stephanie’s insightful deduction is accurate as always. Reaching for my forearm, she squeezes.
I nod. “Yes. How can anyone look at me like that? With awe, longing, with love.” The taste of that word in my mouth makes me want to retch. “They look at me like I’m some sort of god.”
“Well, not to state the bloody obvious, but have you seen you recently? Six foot seven, muscles like Apollo, golden brown eyes that would set most panties on fire. And you do yourself no favors with the smoldering tortured soul routine. And cut your damn hair!” she tuts playfully; however, with my darkening mood, her attempt at humor is lost on me.
“I don’t believe that.”
“No, you’re right. It’s not just that. Looks will only get you so far in this game. But in here, you take them to a place few can understand, let alone appreciate. You say they are not true masochists. Well, you’re wrong; they are. But even a good masochist can’t exist in a vacuum. You have to give them something of yourself. They don’t need rings and roses, just some acknowledgment that you see them, want them…need them. You are the Dominant, yes, but you are nothing without them.”
“I know.” Placing the glass down, I drop my head in my hands, feeling every bit of the weight of my darkness on my shoulders.
“You are the sorriest sadist I’ve ever met; that’s for sure.” She ruffles my hair and gives it a sharp tug so I am now looking at her earnest and somewhat troubled face.