“Couldn’t let me go? You practically drop-kicked me out of there,” I yell.
“Because I’m not good enough for you. I’m sure as fuck not good enough to be a father. Why do you think I can’t have kids? The man upstairs knew what a fuck-up I was and took that away from me.”
“You don’t believe that.” I lower my voice because the look on his face eviscerates me. He’s not lying. He truly thinks he’s worthless. “But you’re Midas. Everything you touch turns to gold. Everything you put your hand to becomes a success. Your brothers respect you. Women fawn over you?—”
“And none of it means anything. You can polish a turd to make it shine on the outside, Legs, but it’s still full of shit on the inside.”
I fight the urge to reach for him. I hate seeing him hurt, even now after everything. The only thing that holds me back is that my trust in this man is shattered, and I can’t be one hundred percent sure that this isn’t all a ploy to get me exactly where he wants me.
“I’m not trying to belittle what you’re feeling in any way here, but it sounds like you had a lifetime of people treating you shitty, and somehow you found yourself in a place where that stopped. You’re surrounded by people who care about you, but you don’t know how to deal with any of that, so you started treating yourself shitty instead.”
He frowns at me, like a looming dark angel ready to smite me. “I don’t treat myself shitty.”
“Don’t you? Do you seek out people for advice and actually listen to them, knowing they have your best interests at heart?Or do you just hit the self-destruct button? Do you do things that make you happy, that make you feel alive? I mean, you own this whole building, run a successful company, and you fucking hate it all.”
He jolts at that.
“The others might not have figured it out, but I know you, Midas. I see you.”
He slides his hand into my hair and kisses me hard, pouring all his regret into it. I relax into him, my soul reaching out to his. Before I lose my damn mind, I pull back.
“No. That’s not what this is. I’m just trying to be your friend here, Midas.”
“We were never friends, Legs. We never could be. Do your other friends know how you kiss, how you feel when you come, how you taste?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Isn’t that what got me kicked off the island in the first place? I was a club whore, Midas, and you pretending otherwise will get us nowhere.”
By the time I’m done, both our chests are heaving. Neither of us has anything to say to that. We stand there in a stalemate, waiting for the other to give up, even though I know he won’t bend and I refuse to break.
“I need to get home, Midas. This was a lot, and I need time to process. You’re right. We were never friends, but maybe one day we could be. I just need space.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Your words say the opposite of your actions, so excuse me if I have a hard time believing it.”
“No, not for that. I’m sorry for this.”
Before I can ask what the hell he’s talking about, he sweeps me off my feet and carries me into the bedroom before gently tossing me on the bed. I bounce, my stomach pitching at the movement. Before I can get my bearings, my arm is lifted, andI hear the click of metal snapping into place. I look up and see a handcuff around my wrist, attached to the metal bed frame. I blink, for a second convinced I’m imagining it. But when I yank my arm and the metal of the cuffs clangs the frame, every ounce of sympathy I felt for this man bleeds out of me, only to be replaced with molten hot rage.
“You let me go right now, Midas, or I’ll scream my fucking head off.”
“Scream all you want, baby. There’s nobody around to hear you. Besides, I had the place soundproofed when I decorated it.”
“Almost like you planned this?” I seethe.
He doesn’t deny it. He moves to sit on the end of the bed, but I kick out at him.
“Stop it. You’ll only hurt yourself or the baby, and that’s the last thing we want.”
“There is nowein this, you fucking psycho. You let me go right this second and I won’t have you arrested on kidnapping charges.”
He leans over me, his face so close to mine that his breath skates across my lips. “I don’t give a fuck what happens to me. What I do give a fuck about is what happens to you. I should have spoken about this first, but I didn’t. Now anything I say, you’ll think it’s all a trick to get you to stay when the threat is very fucking real.”
His words attempt to penetrate the fog, but it’s as if my anger has become a barrier, refusing to absorb anything he says. “I need you to stay here so I can keep you safe.”
“Yeah, and who’s gonna keep me safe from you?”
“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”
