"I'm not drinking anything else you give me."
"Yes, you are." Matter-of-fact, like stating weather conditions. "Because beneath all that borrowed defiance, you're still my good girl who follows instructions."
I wanted to throw the glass at his head. Instead, I found myself taking small sips, body obeying even as mind rebelled. The conditioning ran too deep, associations between his voice and compliance carved into my bones.
"Good." He took the empty glass, setting it aside. "Now. Let's discuss your savior, shall we? Nathan Cross. Age thirty-four. Former FBI, yes, but discharged under... interesting circumstances. Would you like to know why?"
"Stop."
"Excessive force. Pattern of escalation. Particularly skilled at breaking assets during interrogation." Gabriel's voice stayed conversational, but his eyes watched my every reaction. "The government found his methods distasteful. The private sector, however, found them quite valuable."
My stomach clenched. Nathan, gentle Nathan who held me through nightmares and never pushed too hard, breaking people? The image wouldn't reconcile. I was always the one to torture when we hunted, not him.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" He produced a tablet, swiping through files. "Here's his discharge paperwork. Redacted, of course, but the patterns are clear. And here—private contracts. Security work, they called it. But look at the clients."
Names scrolled past. Some I recognized from news headlines—trafficking busts, criminal enterprises, the kind of people who traded in human misery. My hands shook.
"Falsified. You could make those say anything."
"True." He set the tablet down. "So let's discuss things harder to falsify. How did Nathan know exactly where to find you? You completely disappear after the handler he sold you to died. How did he know your name? Stuff from your past? The bar you worked at?"
Questions I'd asked myself in quiet moments. Questions I'd buried under gratitude and growing feeling and the simple relief of being saved.
"He had intelligence. Connections."
"Yes. He did." Gabriel leaned forward, intent now. "Do you know where those connections came from? Who his intelligence network actually served?"
"Stop." But the word came out pleading rather than commanding.
"He never told you about the family business, did he? The Mire empire. Oldest trafficking network in the western hemisphere. Our father built it, refined it, turned moving human assets into an art form." His voice dropped lower. "Nathan inherited the crown. I tried to leave, to build something different. They put me at the Institute as punishment. Until you."
The words hit like physical blows. Trafficking. Human assets. The clinical terms for horrors I couldn't process. But pieces were clicking—Nathan's resources, his knowledge of facilities, the way he'd understood exactly how to handle a traumatized asset. How he always knew what to anticipate despite me never seeing him do the research and leg work I was.
"No." Denial, desperate and thin. "He saved me. He helped me."
"He retrieved you." Correction gentle but implacable. "Standard protocol for high-value assets who slip containment. Establish trust, create dependency, ensure voluntary compliance for transport. Much easier than force. He's never had an asset kill a buyer, handler, and whoever the other blow-job was. Until you."
"That's not—he wouldn't—"
"Wouldn't he?" Gabriel touched my face, turning me to meet his eyes. "Tell me, Bunny. In all your time together, did he ever suggest a plan beyond kill me and start a life together? Take out all the bad guys you could. Destroy the rings, and then find the head of the snake, and then have a happy little life."
The question shattered something. Because he was right. Nathan's plan had always been reactive—run, hide, survive another day. Never building toward freedom. Never finding a way to truly disappear. Just... managing. Containing.
"You're his brother." The words escaped without thought, pulled from some deep recognition. The way they moved alike.The way their hands knew exactly where to touch. Family business.
Gabriel went very still.
"Clever girl." Soft, almost proud. "Though that particular truth won't help you much. We chose very different paths, Nathan and I. He embraced the legacy. I tried to build something cleaner. The Institute was meant to be different—willing assets, trained for purpose rather than broken for sale."
"But I wasn't willing."
"No." Simple admission. "You were my exception. My fascination. The asset who could have been so much more than commodity." His hand curved around my throat, possessive but not threatening. "I spent three years watching you, trying to help anyway I could. I wanted to turn you into something even more extraordinary than you already were. He spent three months preparing you for auction."
"You're lying." But my voice cracked, certainty crumbling.
"The buyer's already been selected. Highest bidder for an asset with your particular psychological profile. Someone who appreciates conditioning as art form." His thumb stroked along my pulse. "Nathan was just ensuring you arrived in optimal condition. Trauma bonded but not broken. Attached but not destroyed. Premium product commands premium prices."
