Knox runs a hand through his hair, looking like he has aged a year in the last twenty minutes.
“Lie on the bed. Hands up near the headboard. Feet slightly parted at the footboard.”
I take in a deep, shaky breath, as I walk to the bed and lie down.
“Tesoro, stand outside while I get him restrained.”
Her eyes dart between the two of us, before she silently turns and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“Did you talk to Kill about this?” He asks as he closes the restraint around my left wrist.
Clenching my jaw, I grit out, “No.”
He moves to the other side and restrains my right wrist, and panic rises in my chest. I focus on my breathing and attempt to control myself from screamingchurchbefore Heather is even in the room.
“You didn’t tell him because you know he would’ve put a stop to it.”
He’s not wrong, but I don’t respond.
I ball my hands into fists as Knox fastens my legs to the bed. Once he finishes, he looks up at me with a guilty expression.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes,” I growl—the sound is pained like an animal caged for far too long, begging to be set free.
“Tesoro.”
Heather opens the door slowly, and looks as terrified as I am.
“Come in,” Knox tells her, and she does on shaky legs.
“Get on the bed beside Carter, but don’t touch him until he tells you to. We are going to wait for his consent every time.”
She moves so slowly, I’d think she was torturing me if I didn’t know any better. Every emotion is displayed on her face—she’s as afraid as I am.
Walking over to the bed, she takes a seat beside me, and places her hands behind her back.
“Good girl,” Knox praises her, but she doesn’t respond, instead her eyes stay locked on mine.
“When Carter tells you it’s okay, touch him with one hand. Keep your other one behind you.”
I inhale a shaky breath as I fight to control the trembling in my body.
Inside my head, I’m chanting something about staying present. If I get lost in a flashback, this is over, and I might take both of us on a dangerous ride. One that might destroy us both.
I open my mouth to say words I’ve never spoken before.
Through a broken sob, I say, “Touch me.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
THE HEATHEN
“Carter, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Touch me, Little Heathen,” he says through heavy, tortured breaths as he stares at me through wide eyes. My head is screaming at me not to touch him, but he’s begging me to do the opposite.
Bringing my right hand in front of me, his breathing accelerates as I touch his arm. I’m gentle and slow. He clenches his jaw.
