Redeeming Rhys (8 page)

That changed a month ago when Sergeant Constantine Ambrosia walked into the women’s shelter to gather another statement from one of the women seeking silence. He was tall, hard, and Wren should have been intimidated. Fuck, she never even paid attention to men before him. She hadn’t been intimate with one since Rhys and couldn’t imagine it. It was a sin, one that you were supposed to do only if you were married and wanted a baby. She wasn’t any of those things. She was lost and no one cared to find her, so she continued to muddle through life helping those she could.

But Constantine had other plans. His black eyes and tough demeanor gave Wren no choice but to obey and respond, meeting his gaze. Their looks locked, and for the first time since Wren was little, she felt the tiny little flips in her belly fluttering around happily as her heart sped up in her chest. Her thighs flooded with heat, and she tried desperately to talk herself out of it, but she couldn’t. Constantine’s full lips turned up into a small smile, reassuring her. Wren awkwardly smiled back, flipping her curly, black hair over her shoulders, which was a nervous habit she had embraced since she was little. Constantine ran his large hands through his mussed, chocolate hair, taming the wild strands with his strong fingers. Wren sighed, and she knew that she was at the mercy of another, but he wasn’t a bad man. She could tell he was trying to help people just as she was.

Later, after he had gotten the statement from the victim about her attack, he walked over to Wren. She studied his strides, so confident and fluid, his long legs looked like they belonged to a Greek god. His olive skin was flawless and his hard jawline was the epitome of perfection. Wren couldn’t understand in that moment why he was walking over to her, but she was vanished in the twinkling, watching a man that she could only dream of. For so long, her dreams were filled with icy blue eyes, blood-matted blonde hair, and whispers of threats. She would always belong to Rhys.

But she decided she would try to pretend.

Constantine made small talk with her, and at first Wren’s brain resisted a return because she was mute and denied the possibility of decency. An unfamiliar sound echoed in her eyes. She heard herself laughing at something he had said. She knew she had to try. Later, Constantine asked her for coffee, and she accepted.

A month later, she sat at her desk, knowing that it was just a matter of time before she could decline his advances. After all, how would he understand? She was holding onto a past that would never make sense to him. A past so evil and disgusting, that every time she thought about it, she could feel herself wanting to vomit.

Wren decided that after dinner at his place, she would make herself submit to his kiss. She knew that her desires were real. What could be so bad about willing herself to them? Her legs begged to open for him. Her closed lips wanted to become undefended to his hungry tongue, but they didn’t. She always looked into his eyes, shaking her head no and telling him that she couldn’t. His eyes softened and he always said that he understood, but Wren knew it was a matter of time before he didn’t. She was twenty-four, he was thirty-six. He had needs, she could feel them through his pants when he brought her in for a hug.

How could she explain what she had been witness to? Would he understand or even want her?

She had come to terms that she would try. Just a little…

She stood from her desk, her cluttered, tiny office at the back end of the shelter. Everyone else had left for the evening and Constantine was going to meet her out in the parking lot and take her to his house to make her a late dinner. Her pulse increased at the thought while she tried to wipe memories from years before away.

Wren walked out into the parking lot, the humid summer air clinging to her body like an unwanted friend. The zooming of cars from Highway 31 outside of Louisville left ringing in her ears as the parking lamp flickered in the night, illuminating the lot. Wren saw him standing next to her car with his arms crossed at his broad chest, so handsome. So perfect. Tonight, she would decide to allow herself to be loved.

SMALL TALK. THAT’S ALL
they ever did, but when you both work with victims of sexual abuse, it isn’t something you want to talk about over dinner. Constantine would often ask her how her day was, and Wren would do the same. She sat across the table from him in his modest one bedroom apartment in St. Matthews. The walls were a light beige and the area was clean and modern. Constantine had a picture of the Rat Pack above his leather sofa in the living room that was adjoining the eating area. They sat at a small two-person bistro table and picked at their kotopoulo me ryzi, a Greek chicken and rice dish. Constantine talked about growing up in a dominant Greek household, his parents moving to the states before he or his sister were born.

He asked once about Wren’s family a week before, but she politely shook her head no, a sign that she wasn’t ready to address the situation yet. She almost wished he would ask her again so she could tell him why she was reserved and fucked up, but he sat there picking at his rice.

“Do you wonder why I don’t speak often, Constantine?” Wren asked, placing her fork next to her plate.

His dark eyes met hers as he furrowed his brows in confusion. He took a sip of his dry red wine, and then opened his mouth to speak, but the once weak little girl put her hand up, a signal for him to stop.

“My father is dead. My mother was a whore. I am a sinner, Constantine. I have spent ten years praying for peace, but it won’t come. I think I believe it was all a lie... Maybe
he
was right. There is no God to save us.”

Wren wouldn’t let herself cry. She stood from the table, gulping hard, trying to remain steadfast.

“Do you believe in goodness, Constantine?” Wren muttered, clasping onto her hands in front of her like a child that was about to be punished.

Constantine stood from the table, standing a decent six inches taller than her. His features were rougher, older, and wiser than hers. Her head rose, meeting his eyes. She wanted to submit to him because he felt safe. He felt right. She wasn’t sure why, she only knew that he wasn’t going to hurt her.

“I know there are a lot of bad people out there, Wren. I’m not one of them. I would never hurt you, okay?” he returned, stepping closer to her and placing his arms around her petite waist.

Wren’s breath caught in her throat; she blinked her eyes at him, wishing for strength to ask the right thing.

“Do you believe in love?” Wren whispered as his hands settled in the perfect place in the lower part of her back.

“I believe in second chances, Wren.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips onto hers. Her tiny chest rose and fell quickly as her hands remained stuck together in front of her. His hands left her back and they met hers, the warmth of his touch nearly overpowering. Wren felt the pulse between her legs and decided that tonight, she would let him take her. She would feel like a lovable, praiseworthy woman tonight.

She cumbersomely opened up her mouth for him, letting his tongue inside to dance along with hers. Wren felt like she knew exactly what to do, the edginess that once overcame her was gone. She put her hands around his neck and kissed him back like her life depended on it. She wanted to feel the goodness before it was taken back.

It would be a matter of time before Rhys revisited her in her dreams, making her understand that even if he were dead, he would never leave her. He had made her part of him for eternity. Nothing would change that.

Wren shook the feelings of self-doubt and kissed him harder, pleading with her movements for more. She was hungry for a love she never felt before. They stumbled down the short hallway until they entered Constantine’s room. He took his hands from her sides and placed them at the edge of his plain, white T-shirt, and removed it; Wren sat there with her eyes stuck on his body as she tried to memorize every contour; she was sure he was the making of heaven itself. Every ab was sculpted to perfection and his olive complexion was flawless. She swallowed hard as his hands made their way to his zipper.

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at her for reassurance.

She nodded her head, that time, telling him yes. The sound of his zipper made wetness pool between her legs into her plain cotton panties. He shed himself free from his pants, standing before her in nothing more than his black boxer-briefs. His large erection pressed hard against the cotton of his underwear, and Wren wondered how in the hell he was going to fit inside of her.

She breathed deeply, keenness weighing over her like a ton of bricks. Constantine padded over to her and tilted his head, eyeing her carefully. Wren had never worried much if she was pretty before, but in that moment, she felt insecure.

He bent down to her ear, whispering to her, “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

He leaned back up to watch the reaction from her. She stood still, for the first time not feeling lost in her life. She felt like she was at home. Was he right? Was this merely a second chance at life; at feeling more than the past?

Constantine bit his bottom lip, offering her a half-smirk, then pushed her sweater off her shoulders. He gripped the bottom of her green camisole, pulling it up gently to expose her taut stomach. The tips of his fingers tickled her flesh and caused a faint moan to escape her mouth. Wren was weightless, drunk on lust…

She was sinning. She was bad
…

No, she had to put that time of her life out of her head. It wasn’t real. Good people don’t judge. She recited her favorite quote from the bible over and over in her head until she could almost believe it.
Luke 6:37 Judge not, and you will not be judged. Condemn not, and you will not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven.

She repeated it over and over again, hoping that she could live by it. She had been coaching herself to trust that the past, along with the things that they told her and with what she had witnessed, was just a sliver of what the world had to offer. Not everything was that evil. She had a rough start. She couldn’t let her past have the upper hand. She was trying to give herself a dozen reasons to dismiss her feelings, but she was more fucked up than those that she tried to help.

Silent tears streaked her face. Constantine stopped, withdrawing his hands from her shirt. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when Wren took her dainty hands and stripped herself free from her camisole.

“I can’t let them ruin this for me, Constantine,” Wren whispered, reaching behind to unhook her bra as whispered tears marked her soft face.

He shook his head no, but she didn’t listen. She was taking a million steps back to the day when she was murdered of her innocence, made to feel like love was something that is stolen.

Her breasts sprung free from the confines of her lacy, white bra. Constantine wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He felt like he was no better than the rest who made her feel that way.

Wren popped the button to her black slacks free, and pushed them to her ankles, stepping out of them. She was battling the years prior, wanting to scream out loud out of hatred. Finally, something noble had come her way and
they
had to come back screaming, clawing their way into her frayed mind. They would always win. She spent her days giving advice and help to those who needed it, when the fact of the matter is a woman who is affected like her will never change. The ghosts from before will always haunt her. They can never be the person they were before.

“No, Wren,” Constantine stated boldly, flaring his nostrils and clenching his jaw.

She ignored his statement, peeling her white cotton panties from her body. She turned away from him to lay on the bed to allow him to take her like she knew he wanted. Constantine gasped out loud as he stared at her naked back, adorned with ink from the top of her shoulder blades down to the bottom of her back. She had two intricate angel wings on both sides of her back. His heart stopped in his chest as he watched her float over to the bed. Her milky, white skin was so beautiful, he was sure he hadn’t seen anything more incredible in his life. The black artwork stood out like a priceless piece, her body the canvas to a horrendous story that he couldn’t look away from. It was then that he, Constantine Ambrosia, a man so strong that could never be swayed by anyone, was being manipulated by an angel in the flesh. Confusion washed over him, making him winded. He wasn’t sure how he was going about his movements, he only knew he needed her.

But it was wrong.

He was taking from a wounded woman.

Wren laid atop the white down duvet, spreading her legs for him. Constantine took a moment to drink in the sight of her, perfection from head to toe. Her raven hair was splayed on top of the pillow and her white skin looked delicious enough to eat. She was like a black and white photograph, so erotic and still. Her small perky breasts rose and fell in perfect synchrony with her breaths, a clear indication that she needed something, though Constantine was sure it wasn’t him. He knew if he proceeded with her supplications, he would destroy her. She was fragile. She was trying to find pieces of herself that she wouldn’t ever discover. He knew women like her…