"You are innocent in this," he murmurs. "You were walking down the street, going about your life, and my organization took that from you. You did nothing wrong."
His fingers trace patterns on my skin, soothing and gentle. I want to believe him. Want to accept the absolution he's offering. But there's something in his words that doesn't quite fit, something that's nagging at the edges of my consciousness.
"The men who grabbed you," he continues, "they were supposed to take someone else. A different woman. They fucked up and took you instead." He shakes his head. "That mistake is theirs. Not yours. You understand?"
It’s meant to reassure me. I know it is—that this is his way of trying to be gentle, soothing, something that I have a suspicion he might never have attempted before in his life. But all it does is hit me like a bucket of ice water, driving away the lingering pleasure and the dazedness from the sex we just had as I’m reminded of the truth of the situation.
They were supposed to take someone else. A different woman.
My entire body goes rigid against him. He notices immediately, his hand stilling on my face and his brow furrowing in confusion.
"Liesl?"
I swallow hard, my throat tight. I can’t speak. Suddenly, all I want is for him to stop touching me.
I’m reminded of the fact that Andrei deliberately ordered someone else's kidnapping. An innocent woman. Someone who was just going about her life, just like I was, completely unaware that she'd been targeted by a criminal organization. Someone who didn’t deserve this, either.
Someone who would have ended up exactly where I am now if his men hadn't made a mistake.
Maybe even in his bed. Would he have fucked her, too? Is this just his way of keeping his captive quiet and malleable? Giving her the best orgasm of her life so she’s confused?
The horror of it steals my breath.
He kidnaps women. Not as a crime of passion or desperation or even revenge. As a calculated business decision. Asstrategy. He orders his men to grab innocent people off the street and use them as leverage, as bargaining chips, as tools in his endless power games.
And I just let him inside my body. I just came apart in his arms, crying his name, begging him for more.
The shame is immediate and suffocating, like a living thing that wraps around my throat and squeezes. My stomach turns over, bile rising in my throat. I pull away from him abruptly, scrambling backward on the bed until my back hits the headboard.
"Liesl?" He sits up, concern flickering across his face. "What's wrong?"
What'swrong? Everything. Everything is wrong.
I've let myself become attracted to a man who kidnaps innocent women. I've been falling for someone who orders violence against people who've done nothing to deserve it. I've been lying in bed with a monster, letting him touch me, wanting him to touch me, and somehow convincing myself that it was okay because he was gentle with me, because he made me feel things I'd never felt before.
But none of that changes what he is.
None of that changes what he does.
I wanted tohelphim. Patch him up, take care of him, like he’s an injured wolf that just needs to be tamed.
And now I’ve been reminded that he bites.
"You ordered them to kidnap someone," I whisper, my voice shaking. "You told your men to grab an innocent woman off the street."
He goes very still, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes. Why does this matter so much to you?"
Just like that. No hesitation. No shame. Just a simple acknowledgment of fact. If anything, he’s more worried about my reaction than what he actually did.
"Why does it matter?" I can feel myself starting to shake, my hands fisted in the sheets. "You were going to do to her exactly what you did to me. You were going to lock her up, terrify her, use her as leverage against someone who cares about her. You were going to?—"
I can't finish the sentence. I can't articulate completely what he was planning because it's too horrifying, too monstrous.
And I wanted him anyway.
It makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. I knew he was violent. I knew he was ruthless. I knew he'd killed people, ordered executions. But somehow I'd managed to compartmentalize that knowledge, to separate the man who touched me gently from the man who ordered violence.
But they're the same person. I just didn't want to see it when he made me feel something I wanted so badly to feel.
