"We're leaving," I say, steering Blair toward the exit.
"You sure you don’t want a round two?" Xander calls after us. "There’s a whole altar here for you to desecrate. And I won’t even record it."
The door slams on his cackle as we step out into the night. Our breath puffs out in clouds in front of us, but neither of us says anything until we’re in the car and already on our way home.
"I can’t believe that guy’s a priest. I mean, what the fuck,” she says, her voice high.
"That was Xander," I say, merging onto the main road. "He’s... one of the Savage Six."
"He was listening to us have sex."
"I’d bet a million dollars he’s done worse than that today." Alotworse.
"I don’t think I want to know," she mutters, leaning her head back against the seat.
"You're starting to understand," I say.
My hand reaches over to take hers. She interlaces her fingers with mine. Her palm is warm.
The drive back across the mountain to our home on Crescent lake happens in silence, but not the heavy silence of before. The air’s lighter now.
She confessed her sins.
Instead of absolving them, I took them. I’ll carry them for her. Be her judge, her moral compass, her everything.
Because Blair’s not just in my bed anymore.
Now she’s in my blood.
My bones.
My soul.
I don’t knowwhat it is about being comfortable that feels suspiciously like a trap.
Things can’t really be this good, can they?
Sitting on the velvet chaise in Gabriel’s obnoxiously huge library, wrapped in a cashmere throw worth a month of rent in my old life, safety should be the overwhelming emotion. Fire crackles in the fireplace, warding off the December chill rolling off the mountains. The Christmas tree we decorated twinkles in the corner of the living room, visible through the open archway.
But safety makes my skin itch.
Two weeks have passed since Gabriel moved me in. Two weeks of waking up in his bed, eating his food, fucking him every chance we get, and letting his security team track every move. Two weeks of being… kept.
The word leaves a bitter coating on my tongue.
My mom loved being kept. She treated men like life rafts, clinging to them until they deflated, then swimming desperately to the next one. She’d mold herself into whatever shape they wanted—the doting housewife, the party girl, the silent shadow. She disappeared into them until nothing was left of her but a reflection of their ego.
When they left—because they always left—she shattered.
Over and over and over again.
Now she’s missing more than a few pieces.
I pull the throw tighter around my shoulders as snow falls outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I promised myself I’d never be her. My life was built on the foundation of never needing anyone. College was a struggle but I did it. My PR firm was built from scratch, and paying my own bills was a badge of honor.
Now, Ryder has burned that business to the ground, and Gabriel pays the bills.
