A lie. He did. He prepared us all for this exact scenario. I was just eighteen when he had me kidnapped by hired mercs. The lesson was simple: get yourself out of the situation or don’t return home.
Honestly, I didn’t give a fuck about anything to do with my father. His wealth, his name, his mansion. He could have kept the fucking lot of it as far as I cared.
But my brothers… I gave a fuck about them. It was for them that I fought. For them, I escaped. It was for them that I carried out work for The Firm.
Well, that and because it was fun. Really fucking fun. What other career paths would’ve enabled me to…experiment the way I have?
None. Not without landing me in federal prison, anyway.
“You can’t shower,” Ansel says. He sets his jaw, determined, but it’s kinda ruined by the fact that he still won’t look at me. “It’s unnecessary.”
“Be that way then,” I drawl, stretching myself the best I can. “You’re the one who has to sleep with me. I’m not going to complain if you want me all sweaty. You should get used to it for when we’re going to fuck.”
Ansel groans. “That’s never going to happen. Ever.”
I nudge him with my foot, finally getting his eyes on me. They drift down my body slowly. When they reach my tattoo, his pupils dilate. A tiny reveal, but I catch it. Makes me want to cover every inch of my skin in ink just to keep his eyes on me.
“If you say so, butterfly. Like I said, you’re the one who has to curl up next to me tonight, maybe snuggle on the pecs you can’t stop admiring. If you want me all smelly and sweaty, then I won’t judge you for it.”
“Fine.” Ansel slams his phone down on the bed. “You can have a fucking shower. But no funny business.”
“I promise.”
“I mean it, Brad.”
I frown internally. Fuck, I wish he’d call me by my real name…but that’d mean confessing that he kidnapped the wrong man. What would happen then? Would he set me free?
I definitely don’t want that. I’d have to force him to kidnap me again, and he said he didn’t want a second round, so that may be near impossible.
“I’ll be good,” I say before considering it again. “Well, as good as I can be.”
Ansel sighs. “That’ll have to do, I guess.”
He stands to untie me before pausing and giving me a pointed look. “Do I actually need to do this, or can you get yourself free?”
I smirk. “Which answer is going to make you feel better?”
He rakes a hand over his face. “You’re aging me, I swear.”
“Meh, it’s fine. You’re practically a baby.”
“I’m twenty-five!”
His indignation is adorable. “With terrible taste in music.”
Ansel’s mouth falls open. “You can’t be fucking serious. Have you listened to the shit you like?”
“Yes. Along with many millions of other people.”
“Other people who are living in the past.”
Working fast, I get my hands free of the knots. Levering myself up, I stand to tower over Ansel. I let my gaze rove over him hungrily. There’s barely anything of him on display, but my imagination fills in the gaps. “I’m not living in the past. I’m right here in the present, with you, wondering what it’ll be like when you finally let me in.”
Ansel’s face flushes, and his breathing comes out a little rougher. “That’s not going to happen. You’re not in charge here. I am.”
He stomps away toward the bathroom before I can retort. I follow after him slowly. He’snotin charge. Even if I were the typical whimpering victim, Ansel isn’t the one calling the shots.
But who is? What do they want with me—or rather, Brad? How did my butterfly get tangled up with them? And why?
