drank because I wanted to leave him, but it wasn’t time yet. I was working on how and when. I know why. Or I did then, but I don’t know now. Nothing comes to me and I let the song permeate my thoughts again.
“Take me to church,” I whisper as it plays. “I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.”
His bedroom comes into view. I can’t see it yet, but I am there. It is chilly. He always likes it chilly, but then, I’m usually naked and he is not. There is the woodsy scent that clings to his skin and hair. I hate woodsy so fucking much. And then I see the life-sized statue in the corner of a tiger, which is so a part of him. It’s about power, control, and a willingness to do anything to defeat his enemies. Like I have to be willing to do anything to defeat him.
I open my eyes and stare into the fire without really seeing it, two thoughts in my mind. I was planning to stand against him long before the night I’d pulled that gun. And someone must know that statue. Encouraged, I shut my eyes again.
The taste of sweet rosé wine lingers on my tongue, melding with the bitterness of being naked while he is dressed in one of his favorite gray suits. It’s expensive, like everything he likes, including the dress I’m no longer wearing that he bought me. I hate his suit and I hate that dress, but even more, I hate the way my nipples tighten when he stares at them, like he does now. He thinks he arouses me. Sometimes he does, and that makes me confused, after what he has done to me. Maybe . . . it’s just survival.
I inhale and open my eyes, my knees trembling harder now. I hate this. I hate him, but I need to know why he was my survival. I force myself to shut my eyes again and go back to that moment.
And the fact that I do, that I can, is both comforting and uncomfortable. I am on my knees now, my hands on the carpet in front of me. He’s above me, and I can feel him staring down at me. I’m aware of not wanting to do this, of pretending to be submissive, but I can’t understand why. I hate this. Why am I allowing it? He squats beside me and his hand flattens on my back between my shoulder blades. My skin crawls, and every part of me wants to get up, to knock him away. But there’s a reason I don’t, and it’s not fear, though I know he would hurt me. I know he has hurt others.
“Ella.”
I blink and Kayden is squatting in front of me, and I’m somehow on my knees, his hands under my hair, warm on the skin of my neck. His jacket is gone, his tie loose, his hair is a sexy rumpled mess, and he is beautiful. He is right in ways that other man is wrong, and a calmness fills me that wasn’t there moments before. I reach up and grab his wrists. “I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad I’m here. Even if it meant I had to go through him to get to you.”
“Niccolo?”
“No, it’s not him. I heard the man’s voice in a flashback where he met with Niccolo, but he is not Niccolo. But this song makes me remember him, and I’m facing it and him. I’m going to—”
He tilts my face to his. “Are you telling me you’re in your underwear, trying to relive what he did to you?”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t. I told you. Some things are meant to be forgotten.” He scans the room and his gaze lands on the bed. He starts to get up, and I grab him.
“What are you doing?”
“Turning this fucking song off.”
“No! It was working. I need to do this. For us. For you. For me.”
“I don’t care if you ever fucking remember him.”
“I have to remember him. The time bomb that is my mind will haunt us both, and I don’t want that.”
“It’s only a time bomb because you say it is.”
“In my gut, I am certain that we need to know who that man is—and tonight is all about taking control. You said that yourself. We’re taking control, and we’re doing it together. So take it with me now. Help me go to those bad places