I’m not sure my partner had this in mind when he chose these furnishings, but it’ll do nicely. Returning to the small room, I take one set of handcuffs off the chair then stop at the bathroom.

  “Time’s up.” I knock hard on the door, and it opens at once.

  She has changed into the sweat pants and long-sleeved tee. My clothes are enormous on her small frame, and the sight of her peaked nipples pressing through the soft cotton floods my memory with our weekend together. Turning away from that fresh slice of pain, I tell myself I don’t care about her body in my clothes.

  “This way.” I nudge her with my bag in the direction of Scar’s bedroom.

  We enter the door, and she looks around, her eyes going from the large king-size bed filling the room to the small, makeshift pallet on the floor.

  Walking to it, she kneels, moving the blankets aside as if she’ll make herself comfortable.

  “Just a minute.” I step forward with the handcuffs.

  Dropping to one knee, I attach one side to the iron base of the nightstand. When I reach for her left wrist, it all goes to shit.

  “Dirk…” Her voice is a choked whisper. “I’m sorry…”

  All the hurt and anger, the humiliation and loss explode like a gas fire in my veins, and my hand shoots out to grab her face. “Don’t speak to me.”

  She blinks rapidly, fighting tears, but her eyes never leave mine. “I need to—”

  Gripping my palm over her lips, I inhale slowly, struggling to calm myself. “If you say another word, I’ll tape your mouth shut.”

  Her eyes slide closed, and she nods, dropping her chin. I remove my hand, wiping the damp stain of her tears off my skin and finish cuffing her to the table. Then I stand, snatch up my bag, and go to the bathroom.

  Slamming the door shut, I switch on the shower and turn to lean on the counter. Every time I close my eyes, I see hers. Every time I try to force hate, I want to fall apart. For six weeks she owned me, and I wanted her with every waking breath.

  The only thing that can kill it is my anger. I won’t be used like that again by her or anyone.

  23

  Rainey

  Lying on my back in the darkness, tears coat my cheeks as the pain collapses my chest. The sides of my cheeks throb from his hand squeezing them so hard. I closed my eyes, bracing for the hit I knew he wanted to deliver, the strike I knew I deserved.

  Against all logic, I believed I could have his love and have what I wanted. I got lost in my own desires, and then I lost control of the narrative. Now I’ve lost him. The truth of it curls me into a ball, loss tearing me apart from within.

  I’ve retraced every mistake I made since the beginning. My assignment wasn’t to sleep with him. I said I wouldn’t sleep with him for a book, and I didn't. I slept with him because he was everything I’d never had. He wanted me, and with him, I wasn’t alone.

  He’s beautiful and smart and funny and possessive and strong and passionate. He healed my wounds and stopped the nightmares. He was the fire burning deep in my soul, feeding me, giving me life.

  Pulling my knees to my chest, dressed in his clothes, I’m surrounded by his scent, and it hurts so much. Still, I bury my face in his shirt, needing him more than air.

  I crave the barbed wires cutting into my heart and making me bleed. I want to atone for what I’ve done, even while I know I never will. I’ll never stop seeing the betrayal in his eyes when he walked through that door.

  If I’d told him before, in his bed this weekend, would I still be here? He would’ve been angry, but he would’ve had control. I turn my cheek against my handcuffed arm extended over my head. My heart drains out through my eyes until I have nothing left.

  I still want him, but he’ll never want me.

  Again, I’m alone. Only this time I have no hope.

  “Get up.” He pushes me with his foot, and I squint against the morning sunlight.

  My hand is uncuffed, and I lower my aching arm. I don’t care if it hurts. I want to feel pain. Anything besides the numbness of my frozen insides.

  He nudges me with the bag into the hall, and I go to the small bathroom to clean up and use the toilet. After five minutes, he’s back, and I emerge to be led to the secret room, where again, I’m cuffed to the chair.

  He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t look at me, but my hungry eyes steal glances at him. His dark hair is messy, and he’s wearing jeans and his green Henley. His lean muscles ripple beneath the fabric as he pulls out the chair and sits in front of a laptop.

  I watch as he types on the keyboard, pulling up the same live feed he showed me in his office in town. He’s watching the hidden cameras at Gibson’s, but no one is in view right now. I don’t know where my phone is, but I’m sure Natasha is blowing it up. I’m sure it won’t take long before this entire situation blows up, and if it does, I’m ready to be collateral. I want to be taken out of this battle.

  A knock on the door out front makes him stand. He looks at me for the first time, and dark circles are under his sexy hazel eyes. I wonder if he slept. I’m surprised I did.

  At the clash of our gaze, he winces, and my stomach twists. His pain increases my pain, and my fingers curl. I want to reach for him. I want to bathe him with my tears and vow to make it up to him. I want to tell him I love him.

  I thought he might speak, but he only leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Leaning forward, my chin falls to my chest.

  “Good morning, big brother!” Hana’s voice comes through the door from what I remember is the kitchen. “I’ve come for my stuff, and Norris sent a smorgasbord.”

  “Hey, thanks, babe.” His affectionate voice is warm honey in my veins. “Get whatever you need. I’m just keeping an eye on things here.”

  “Scar said you’re watching the bad guys. I told him that was so uncool.” Her voice calls from the bedroom where we slept. “You left Hamiltown so you could stop doing all this. And you have a girlfriend now.”

  Drawers open and close in the next room, and I wince at his rough answer. “It’s okay. We broke up.”

  “Oh no!” Her voice is in the hall again, passing as she returns to where he’s waiting. “What happened?”

  “Ah, you know. Same story, new day. Relationships are always fucking drama.”

  “Don’t tell me. She wanted more, and you ran away again.” Her voice turns teasing. “Are you going to play the bachelor forever?”

  “No, actually. It wasn’t like that.” His voice is husky, and through two walls of wood, I can hear his pain. “She wasn’t who I thought she was.”

  Tears sting my eyes. But I was…

  “I’m so sorry.” Hana’s voice is kind, and I imagine her hugging him.

  “I’ll be okay. I’m a big boy. But I have to get back to watching—you good?”

  She exhales a little noise. “I’ll be better in three more weeks, once this little guy is on the outside.”

  “Scar’s bad enough with only you. Add a baby boy, and I can’t even imagine.”

  “It’s going to be wild,” she laughs.

  “Get some rest.”

  “I will. Don’t work too hard. I’ll be back with lunch.”

  With that, she’s gone, and the thump of boots returns up the hall. My breath catches as the door opens, and seeing him is another smack of pain in my face.

  His brow is lowered, and he’s holding a paper plate with two muffins. “Breakfast.”

  He sets the food on the desk before leaving again. When he returns, he’s holding a paper cup of coffee and a TV tray, which he unfolds and places beside me. Then he leans down and uncuffs my right hand.

  The proximity of him leaning over me, his warmth passing by my face, is almost unbearable. I want to rest my forehead against his neck and feel the heat of his skin, but I’ve lost that right.

  He walks to the desk and sits, taking out his phone and checking for texts. I hesitate a moment, but the cramping in my stomach tells me I need to eat.

  Using one hand, I break off little pieces and put them in my mouth. It’s warm cinnamon and smoky walnuts. The coffee is delicious, and I’m revived by the food and drink.

  Dirk is in and out, keeping an eye on the cameras while keeping his eyes off me. His rejection hurts, but ironically, being near him also comforts me. He’s the only man I’ve wanted to be close to since my father’s murder.

  Before noon, he uncuffs my hands and takes my arm. My breath catches when he touches me. It’s the first time since last night when he grabbed my face, and the strength of his anger seems to have eased some.

  Still, I don’t speak as he leads me to the restroom and pushes me inside, closing the door. It’s almost as if he wants the wooden barrier between us, and I wonder if he aches for me as much as I do for him.

  I’m washing my hands when I hear voices in the kitchen again, and I shut off the water. Closing the toilet lid, I sit, wondering if I’m allowed to go out there when visitors are here. Am I a secret?

  Chewing my nail, I wait, listening as Dirk tells them what’s happening. “Scar texted he made contact. He set up a meeting, but they won’t see her until tomorrow.”

  I wonder if Scar told Natasha he’s holding me prisoner. He had to have told her about the book. It’s the only way Natasha would’ve agreed to see him. She’s afraid of his strength, and her only muscle is Rick and possibly Marco, although I doubt he’ll fight for her.

  The visitors, who I assume are Blake and Hana, leave, and he returns to the door, tapping shortly before opening it.

  “Come and eat lunch.”

  For a moment, I hesitate. Is he not going to handcuff me to the chair again? Opening the door slowly, I step into the hall and walk to the kitchen. I thought too soon, because as soon as I arrive, he slaps the cuff around my left wrist and attaches it to the arm of a heavy barstool.

  “Okay,” I whisper, jumping at the sound that slipped out of my lips.

  My eyes fly to his, but he walks around the bar, taking out sandwiches and soft drinks. He gives me another bottle of water, and I pick up what looks like a chicken salad sandwich.

  Taking a bite, I have the flashback of a memory from when I was a teenager. Blake would make these sandwiches for us when we visited her condo in New York. It almost makes me want to cry, which I don’t understand.

  He takes his food and leaves me, returning to the small office. My appetite disappears with his departure, and I pick at the bread. After several minutes, he returns, taking my paper plate and studying it for a moment. He glances at me without smiling, and I shrug. I haven’t been given permission to speak, and I’m not sure if it would be worse to try and talk to him or to remain silent.

  Turning he carries the plate to the refrigerator and places it inside. Again, without a word, he unfastens the handcuff from the chair, leading me by the metal restraint to the bedroom and hooking me to the small table on the floor again.

  “I’m going to my place, then I’m going for a long jog.”

  My lips part, and I’m about to answer when he leaves, shutting the door, and I drop back on my behind. Looking around the empty room, I see a king-size bed with a white duvet and gray sheets. Pictures are on the dresser of Scar and Hana, more of the little girl softball players, and one of Blake with Training Day.

  My eyes move to the nightstand, and I see the beat-up copy of Goblet of Fire. Crawling closer, I pick it up and open the cover. The picture drops out, and I lift it, studying his young face.

  I remember lying in his bed as he read to me, and I remember his words, I stopped trusting anyone until I was completely alone…

  We were both completely alone, but he trusted me. Hugging the book to my chest, I place my hand over my eyes. I don’t want to cry anymore. I want him to hear me. I want him to believe me… and one day to trust me again.

  I wake to the sound of water running in the bathroom. The room is dark, and the book is back on the nightstand. Sitting up, I rub my eyes, but I don’t have my phone, and there isn’t a clock anywhere I can see.

  The noise of the shower ends, and I wait, listening until the door opens. He steps into the room and pauses when he sees me sitting up.

  “I picked up dinner in town.” He looks down, then glances to the bathroom.

  The muscle in his jaw moves as if he considers offering me a shower. He must think better of it, because he walks over to where I’m sitting, leaning down to take the cuff off the table. He waits as I stand, and again, he leads me by the restraint to the kitchen.

  I’m again fastened to the barstool, and I wait as he takes out containers of cole slaw, mac and cheese, and sandwiches from Slim Harold’s. This time he doesn’t take his food and leave. He stands at the bar and shovels large bites into his mouth as I sit and watch before lifting the plastic fork and eating a few bites of cheesy elbow noodles with a crispy parmesan crust.

  Skipping lunch has me ravenous, and after the first few bites, I’m eating more. I wish I could take a shower, but I imagine that might be a bridge too far at present.

  When we’re done, he walks me to the bathroom, leaving me alone to wash up, brush my teeth, and take care of business. I hear when he exits the small room to fetch me, and we return to the bedroom, where I’m fastened to the nightstand again.

  He kneels in front of me as he attaches the metal to the base, and when he lifts his head our eyes meet for the first time since he returned. Heat burns in my chest, and I see it reflected in his eyes. Just as fast, it morphs into anger.

  His jaw tightens and he turns away, walking to the door. I think he’ll leave, and swallowing the fear in my throat, I take a chance.

  “Are you angry because you fell for me?” My voice is scratchy from lack of use, and I clear it.

  He stops, and I shudder, wondering if he’ll leave without a word, if he’ll go to the office and return with the duct tape, or if he’ll double back and slap me. He does none of these things.

  “I’m angry because I was worried about you.” His voice has a quiet edge. “I actually wasted time thinking our relationship might jeopardize your future, but you planned it all from the first day. None of it was real, and you were willing to risk my reputation, my livelihood, everything for a list of names.”

  “I had one job.” It sounds so stupid now. “I didn’t expect it to be… you.”

  “It was all a lie.”

  “It wasn’t all a lie.” He might not believe me, but it’s true. “I didn’t have a choice—everything I told you about my past was true. My father was murdered, they took me when I was a child. I’m convinced they killed him, and I have to find out why.”

  He’s quiet, and I’m not sure he believes me. “Your people abused Hana, one of the sweetest people I know. They raped her and blackmailed her for a revenge porn film. Made her think she killed a man.”

  Lowering my chin, regret aches in my chest. My hatred for them, for my guilt by association with them, is an unquenchable source of despair. If I could get out of here, I could do something to help. Maybe then he’d believe me.

  “I didn’t know about that.” My voice is quiet. “I only knew Hana had problems.”

  He exhales sharply. “You honestly think I believe a word you say? Your fucking heart is as cold as your people. If you even have a heart.”

  He leaves, shutting the door firmly.

  I had a heart. I thought I’d lost it, but he helped me find it again.

  Now it’s broken.

  24

  Dirk

  I wake in the night to the sound of whimpers. The rain is back, and a tree sways violently in the breeze outside the window, casting shadows like arms waving. Sitting up in the bed, I think I must’ve dreamed the cry. My sleep has been restless since I came here, and Rainey’s presence keeps me on edge.

  During the day, I do my best not to look at her. My anger is hot as ever, but unfortunately, so is my desire. Her submission crawls under my skin making me want to punish her for what she did. Only I sense she wants to be punished, and the kind of punishment I have in mind involves holding her down and fucking her senseless.

  It’s messing with my mind, and I need Scar to finish what he’s doing and get back here, so I can leave and get my head together. Rolling onto my side, I scrub a hand over my forehead, summoning all the horrible things their criminal band has done through the years. It’s my defense against these feelings for her that don’t want to die.

  Hana is the easiest way to refocus my anger. Victor Petrovich abused her for years, then when he died, Rick Ivanov took up the mantle, drugging her, using her for porn, and then blackmailing her with it. Hana spent years in therapy, and she’s still scarred by what they did.

  Second best is the horse doping racket, which is why Hugh has Training Day. That beautiful horse was tortured, forced to run on injuries, all so those assholes could line their pockets and pay their bookies.

  “Give it to me!” Rainey’s voice is a broken cry, and I sit up again, panic twisting my chest.

  The sound of rustling sheets, the clink of the handcuff jerking against the table leg, another cry. “No, no, no!”

  I throw back the blankets, swinging my feet out of the bed and dropping to my knees on the rug. She’s on her hands and knees, eyes closed as she digs in the pallet, throwing blankets aside as she frantically searches for some invisible thing, hampered by her arm attached to the nightstand.

  “Please, please…” Her voice is shattered, and in the dim light, I see tears on her cheeks. “It’s all I have.”

  Crawling closer, I put my hands on her shoulders. I’ve heard it’s dangerous to wake people in the middle of a nightmare, but I don’t know what else to do.

  “Rainey, wake up.” My voice is quiet but firm. “You’re having a nightmare.”

  She lifts her free arm, slapping me away. “Don’t touch me.” Again her voice cracks. “I know you did it!”

  She’s crying, and my instinct is to pull her close, hold her and tell her she’s safe, I’m here. Only, that’s not what we’re doing now. She crawls to the back wall, scooting as if she’ll get behind the furniture, and I decide maybe it is.