I’ll have nothing left to live for. I told her once I couldn’t live without her. She has no idea how much I meant that.
“They’re still looking.” My men, including Nicolas, are out there with flashlights, getting thoroughly soaked. I pay them enough to make it worth it.
My eyes lock on Sid’s as she pulls her lip between her teeth and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning. Three weeks she’s been here and three weeks I’ve tried to give her space.
But I haven’t slept with anyone since I gave up Brooklin for Sid, and my hand isn’t cutting it anymore.
I need her. I’ve always needed her, and I’ve had her in every way except one. Almost, but that doesn’t count. And thinking of that night, when I made him watch…I feel a wave of nausea roll over me, but I push it back. Down.
My eyes find her dry cotton tank beneath the towel, her black sleep shorts and bare feet, toenails free of polish. We both changed when we came to the house and I sent my guys out, but now I kind of wish she was back in those running clothes I nearly cut off of her. It amazes me, how used to my bullshit she is.
We’re perfect for each other, if only she’d get that through her fucking head.
“You can’t do this anymore, baby,” I tell her softly, even as her eyes narrow on mine. I know she doesn’t like being told what to do, but she’ll learn to like it. Eventually. It’s for her own good.
I lean forward, my knee knocking into hers as my hands find her thigh, circling my fingers over her leg. Her muscles flex beneath me, the skin soft and smooth, and she looks like she might get up and put more distance between us, but her throat bobs as she sees my fingers against her pale skin, and she stills.
I trace circles over her knee with my thumb, taking in those long lashes nearly grazing her cheekbones as she stares at my hand on her.
I avoid looking at the small scar over her brow. I asked her about it. I’m pretty sure she fucking lied to me.
“I want to keep you safe. I want to take care of you.” I slide my fingers higher up her thigh and feel a tremor run through her body. It’s a reminder of my own, and reluctantly, I pull my damaged hand away from her, ball it into a fist on my lap. I’ve always been careful to avoid showing her my weakness. “But I can’t do that if you’re always defying me.”
She clenches her jaw, eyes meeting mine. “I was going for a run—”
“Close to midnight in the middle of the fucking forest.” I can’t stop the anger in my own words as I cut her off.
Her eyes flash as she sits up straighter, letting the towel fall back on the couch and exposing her lean arms and collarbone, stark against her pale, olive skin. “I won’t be a prisoner here too, Jeremiah. Not again.” She makes to get up, but I shoot my other hand out, gripping both of her thighs and holding her down.
Standing in a crouch, I lean over her as she backs against the couch, and I marvel at how small she is beneath me. I’m over six feet tall and since I left that fucking cage when I was seventeen—seven years ago—I’ve never let myself be in anything but the best shape.
Sid is a runner, and naturally, she’s petite, short, and slender.
She can’t fight me, even with all the lessons I’ve given her. She can’t outshine her master.
I plant my fists on the couch, against either side of her head as I loom over her, caging her in beneath me.
She holds her palms to my chest, trying to keep distance between us like she always does. But I felt her tits in my hand out in that forest, and I’ve seen how she looks at me. That night in the club too, before Lucifer Malikov tossed us both in a fucking cell, I know she wanted me.
She’s spent so long trying to fight it, I think she’s having a hard time remembering that it’s okay.
She can want me.
I’m not really her brother, even though I’ve looked after her in all the ways a brother should care for their little sister.
I press my brow to hers as she backs herself against the couch.
I can smell her