Her voice comes soft, but there’s a splinter in it now. A crack beneath the quiet.
“I’m not.”
I smile. “No?”
“I’m not fucking grateful,” she says, louder now. “You didn’t save me. You took me from one shitty situation and put me in another.”
There it is. That flicker of resistance. That little ember she keepsthinking might grow wings. That dangerous lie she keeps telling herself—that she had a choice.
“Oh, I see.” I tilt my head. Mocking. “You think the rockstar would do better? You think he’d still play white knight when he finds out what you really are? A pawn in a very fucking dangerous game?”
She snaps.
“I’m not a pawn!” she shouts. “If you wanted to help him, you could’ve—without taking me! I hate you… I always have… and God help me, I always will.”
I lose it. One breath—just one—and I’m across the kitchen. My hand slams against the wall beside her head. The plaster groans, fracturing. The sound echoes like a gunshot.
She flinches.
I cage her against the wall with the full weight of me. Heat. Muscle. Fury. She trembles.
But she doesn’t look away. And that—that’s what twists the blade.
“You think I wanted this?” I growl, low and lethal. “Think I planned for my life to revolve around protecting you?”
Her jaw clenches. Unmoving. Defiant.
I reach up and brush my knuckles along her face. Soft. Possessive. A velvet noose.
“I took you because I had to,” I whisper, voice coiled and quiet. “Because every time I saw you walking around town like a lamb with her throat bared—I knew someone was going to take you. And I wasn’t gonna let it be them.”
Her throat bobs. I see it—the fight behind her eyes—but her body stays still.
My eyes drag to her mouth. Those lips—soft, full, begging for trouble. I wonder what she’d do if I kissed her, if I took that bottom lip between my teeth and sucked until she squealed.
She’s looking at my mouth, too. Her breathing quick and shallow. She knows what I’m thinking, and she’s waiting to see if I’ll act on it.
“You don’t get to shame me for keeping you safe,” I snarl, voicerougher now. “You don’t get to grind against another man and come home expecting kindness.”
She stares up to meet my gaze. Wide eyes glassy, but not afraid. Not enough. I lean in. My lips almost brush her temple, close enough to taste the defiance clinging to her skin.
“Next time you want to act like a whore,” I murmur, every syllable sliding like a blade, “remember who owns you.”
She flinches, shoulders twitching. I step back. Leave her trembling, breath catching like a stalled engine. Because punishment’s coming.
She rushes past me, darting for the stairs.
I could chase her. I could claim her right now. I could bury myself so deep into her that she doesn’t know where I end and she begins. But I’ll let her be scared. Let her sleep with one eye open.
Let the pain come from inside her own head.
I sit in the old leather chair, bourbon in one hand, the weight of rage festering in the other. The bottle’s nearly empty. I don’t remember drinking most of it. All I remember is him. That smug grin. That fucking lazy drawl.
I could gut him, burn the flesh off his bones, and still not feel clean. The glass creaks in my grip as I stare down at the amber swirl, pretending it’s his blood. Warm. Thick. Pooling between my knuckles while he screams.
The fire crackles low, casting shadows like demons on the floorboards. It doesn’t drown out the noise in my head. It’s her voice I hear. Not his. That tremblingplease.That patheticJacob, stopthat I’ve heard all too often. She thinks I hurt her because I want to. Little does she know, I’m trying to protect her. Trying to teach her.
She doesn’t know what power is. She thinks I’m cruel? She hasn’t seen the side of me I’ve buried for her sake. The one I’ve muzzled with promises.
