“No.” I cradle my injured arm, and the memory card under my breast digs into my skin. “I’m thirty-six, Wyatt. The girls age out of the brothels at twenty-five or so—if they don’t die first. I was only…his…for three years. He had other plans for me.”
“You are not his.” His growl sends goosebumps racing down my spine. I didn’t know men like him—men who simply exude protectiveness—existed outside of romance novels, but here he is, standing less than ten feet away from me.
“I was,” I whisper. “What else would you call it? I couldn’t leave the compound. I didn’t have a phone. A computer with internet access. A car. Money. Even a driver’s license. He kept me prisoner. Just because he didn’t sell me doesn’t mean I wasn’t his.”
Wyatt stares at me, a muscle in his jaw ticking and anger vibrating off him in waves. I don’t know what to do—how to make him understand. So I start talking.
“I met him in Vegas three and a half years ago while I was on vacation. He was charming. I was living in Los Angeles, and he actually courted me. Like flowers and candy delivered to my apartment, dates—he’d fly from Salt Lake City to L.A. on a private jet and whisk me away for a long weekend in Cancun or Vancouver…”
Now I actively regret not taking Wyatt up on the offer of bourbon. Though with how little I’ve eaten—for years as Simon kept me rail-thin—it would have gone right to my head.
“But every time we went somewhere, he’d disappear for hours on end. Business to take care of. And he was so sincere, so apologetic when he’d come back, that I believed him.”
“What kind of business?” Wyatt braces his hands on the counter behind him. Still tense, but listening.
“Importing and exporting fine art. At least that’s what he said. I should have questioned him. He never took me to a single gallery.” With a sigh, I lift my gaze. “Will you sit down? Please?”
“Will you eat more?” he challenges.
I shoot him a look, but he’s completely serious, and I roll my eyes. “I’ll try.”
Righting the chair, he perches on the edge of it, then slides my plate directly in front of me.
A deal’s a deal, so I try a bite of potatoes. “You’re not a terrible cook, you know.” A slight flush darkens his cheeks. He’s clearly not used to anyone flattering him. “These are really good.”
“Use enough butter, anything can be tasty.”
I don’t know how I can laugh when I’m reliving my worst nightmares, but I do, and pain snakes around my torso. Wyatt reaches for my arm, but stops with his fingers hovering an inch away. “Fuck, Hope. I want to touch you, but—”
“It’s all right,” I say softly. I need him to anchor me to the present. He drapes his hand over my wrist, his fingers warm and strong. He starts to trace a pattern on my skin with his thumb. It’s so calming, I melt against the back of the chair. “I know you’re not him, Wyatt. He was never…tender. Hell, once he knew he owned me, he didn’t speak to me at all unless he needed something.” Too many memories battle for space in my head. Tension grabs the back of my neck. I’m still ravenously hungry, but the idea of more food turns my stomach.
Just get it out. All of it. Then maybe…you’ll feel better.
“We dated for six months, and then out of the blue, the First Bank of Salt Lake City called me and offered me a job. It was more money than I’d ever made before, and when I told Simon, he was convinced it was kismet.”
Wyatt snorts. “I take it he arranged for the job?”
I nod, my eyes burning. “Three weeks after I moved, they fired me. I’d rented an apartment, but my landlord was at my door the next day. No job, no lease. And Simon was right there. Offering me a place to stay, telling me he loved me and he’d been about to ask me to move in with him anyway. I was all alone. He’d already cut me off from my friends—insisting they were all talking behind my back. My mom is still in California, but we haven’t spoken since I was a kid. She cheated on my dad when I was eight and left. Didn’t even get in touch when I sent word that he died. I never forgave her for that.”
The weight of how very alone I am hits me square in the chest. “Simon moved me into his house—his compound—but he sent almost all of my things to storage. Everything but my clothes. He said it would be easier for me to start fresh. I was so upset over losing my job that I believed him. God. I was so stupid.”
“No. You weren’t stupid, darlin’. You didn’t do anything wrong. This Simon Arrens is a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve to keep breathing.”
Arguing won’t get me anywhere. It doesn’t matter that he’s wrong. That it was my fault. That I didn’t see the signs until it was too late. All I care about now is keeping Wyatt safe. But the only way to do that is to leave as soon as the storm lets me.
Wyatt
With every word that spills from her lips, Hope loses a little more of her strength, her spirit. She swipes at a single tear trailing down her cheek. “I let myself be trapped. No friends, no job. And it was okay for a few weeks. He had staff. I didn’t have to lift a finger. His chef cooked all our meals—and I didn’t protest when Simon insisted we both switch to this strict vegetarian diet. I was hungry all the time, but he told me I’d get used to it. And I did. Mostly.”
I’ll cook her bacon and steak every meal. Hell, I’ll learn to bake. Cakes, cookies, pie. Anything she wants. Except, she’s going to leave in a day—maybe two—and then she’ll be alone again.
“Eat more, darlin’. Please.” I nudge the plate closer, and she picks up her fork and pushes the mashed potatoes around in a circle before taking a single bite.
“I used to sneak veggies from the fridge,” she admits. “Until he caught me. ‘So that’s why you’re still so plump,’ he said. ‘I’m so disappointed in you, Hope. I thought you loved me.’” Her tone bleeds anger, but it’s not all for the asshole who abused her. She’s mad at herself too. I’m going to rip his balls off and feed them to him for how he stripped her down to nothing.
“The first time he hit me, it was close to midnight.” She shudders, her gaze unfocused as she stares out the kitchen window into the darkness. “He’d taken my cell phone. To upgrade it. But it had been two days, and he hadn’t given me a new one. So I went into his office and got online to order one for myself. When he found me, he was livid. He dragged me up to the bedroom, shoved me against the wall, and told me I was never to touch his things without permission again.”
I clench my fists under the table. Murphy whines next to me and rests his head on my thigh.
