Falling For The Bad Guy.

Chapter Fourteen

I'm scared. But I know I have to be here. It's necessary to the process. I'm at James' house. Why? Because danger unravels damage and damage unravels the truth. Peter and I came up with a plan. I was going to spend a night with James, whatever that meant. At first, Peter was reluctant and didn't want me to do it. However, I won that argument, as I always will. James's clear English accent is still thriving, along with his drinking habit. Right now, I'm sitting on his couch, with his arm wrapped around me. He hasn't answered any of my 'wondrous' questions. I want to know where his sudden personality switch has come from. It's when he puts his beer down and gets up that I become  nervous. "Care to join me?" He asks, nudging to the bedroom. Fuck. I don't want to do this. I tell him I have to go to the bathroom, and locking the door behind me, I text Peter, "He wants me to sleep with him." "Becca, don't do it." "I have to get close to him, I don't know what else to do." I send. "Do whatever is best. But don't do him, please." Leaving him on read, I go back out. He's naked, on the bed, with his hand wrapped around his length, waiting for me. This is a dangerous situation, but he's so tempting. He gets up and walks over, "This needs to come off." He says, tugging at my shirt. I push him back, and onto the bed. If this is how tonight is going to go, I'm in control. He falls onto the bed and grins, licking his lips. I take off my shirt and pounce onto him. He cups my breast and I moan. With his help, I slip out of my pants and move onto his face. I spread my thighs over his face and he sticks his tongue out. Softly licking me, I'm eager. I press myself harder onto his lips, and he dives deeper as his tongue moves rapidly. Right now, I don't care about the fact that this man may be the literal death of me. It's wrong, but this feeling, this orgasmic feeling is so right. Ten minutes later and he's pounding into me, while I'm holding onto the sheets, so I don't lose control. But eventually, we both do. As I writhe onto the bed, I'm disappointed. Yes, the feeling was pleasurable. But the action of lust shouldn't have taken place here. I came here to see if James could be involved in a possible cult, oh my god, I came here to see if he could be part of the brutal murders I witnessed. What's wrong with me? Hurrying up, I rush to put on my clothes. James is confused as he watches me, but I don't care. I have to get out of here. Tonight, all of it, was a mistake. My impulses and hormones got the best of me. I feel regretful, walking out of James's apartment. I call Pete, hysterical and in my car. "I slept with him. I'm sorry." I sob. "Don't be sorry." He says. "I'm not apologizing to you. I'm sorry to myself." "Why? Did he hurt you?" He becomes frustrated. "No, I hurt myself with the mistake I just made. What if he did all of this? What if he was involved in the killing of the closest people to me?" I cry. "Nothing is for sure yet. Breathe Becca. He might not be involved in the cult." Taking a deep breath, I realize I have to collect myself as I start the car. "The 21 new missing people, is there anything alike in all of them?" I ask. "Yes. I've come to a bitter conclusion." "What is it?" I ask. "They all look like you Rebecca." It's when I hear those exact words that I come to a brutal realization. It's James. He has to be part of this in some way.

It all happened so fast. At such accurate timing. The screech, the loud crashing noise, bad, strong memories running through my head, Peter screaming out my name. That was the last thing I remembered as I got knocked unconscious. Waking up in the hospital bed, I see the most unlikely thing to be around. My mother.