Sinful Truth

by Ella Miles

“She’s not for sale,” my voice is annoyed and deep. He’s pushing me too far.

  “Thirty million.”

  “She’s not for sale.”

  “Fifty million.”

  “She’s not for sale.”

  “One hundred million.”

  The room falls silent—all eyes go to me. Julian would kill me for not taking the deal. He just offered a hundred million for Siren, more than triple what I paid for her.

  It’s an insane amount of money.

  But once again, I have to state the obvious.

  I stand, putting my fists down on the table, rattling the tableware. “She. Is. Not. For. Sale. She’s mine.” My voice shakes the entire room, like an earthquake just hit the house.

  Everyone is silent. No one says anything while I stare them down.

  This is not a negotiation.

  This is not something I will back down on.

  If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure Siren gets off this island and safely away from these people.

  Rafael breaks the silence. “I’ll take five at ten million a piece. Plus, I have some close friends who will each want at least five as well.”

  I write down the deal. I don’t care about negotiating for more money at this point. I just want this over.

  I slide the contract and pen over to him.

  He reads it over carefully and signs it before sliding it back to me.

  I nod at him.

  “It was pleasure doing business with you, Zeke. Tell Mr. Reed I retired to my room for the night and look forward to doing more business with you in the future.”

  I nod again but don’t shake his hand. I can’t stand to touch any one of them right now.

  He picks up his drink and then whistles casually as he walks out.

  “I want three,” the older man says.

  Again, I fill out the paperwork, then he signs and leaves.

  I turn to the remaining couple. “And what can I do for you?”

  “We want your best ten. If they are as good of quality as you claim, we will pay up to fifty million a piece.”

  I nod, agreeing.

  I fill in the blanks on the contract and then slide it over to the couple to read.

  The couple takes fucking forever to read every word of the contract. It’s probably a smart move considering who Julian is, but my anxiety is rising with every passing minute.

  I expected Julian to have returned by now, but he hasn’t. Maybe he’s letting me finish the contracts by myself? He thinks we will get a better deal if I do the negotiations? Or he wants me to show how skilled I am?

  But it makes me feel uneasy. I don’t know where Siren is. Julian knows he can’t touch her. I would kill him for a look in her direction, let alone a touch. He promised he would unleash her as soon as the meeting was over. So hopefully she’s just locked up in a room somewhere.

  But if I know my girl, she’s pissed. She should be making a lot of racket, slamming on doors and stomping her feet to show me how disappointed she is in me. But I hear nothing.

  Either Julian’s house is more soundproof than most, or Siren is still tied up.

  I glance over at the couple, imploring them to fucking sign the papers already.

  Finally, they sign.

  I stand and rip the papers from them, preparing to exit the room. “Excuse me,” I say. It’s the last words I ever want to say to any of them. Because if I meet them again, I’ll kill them all for thinking women are items for sale.

  When I exit the dining room, I crane my neck, trying to listen to any sign of Siren. But I hear nothing.

  Where are you, baby? I know you hate me right now, but you need to tell me where you are.

  There is a door that leads down to the basement, and a grand staircase that leads upstairs. Which should I choose?

  I see a servant standing, watching me from the hallway.

  He doesn’t speak, but his eyes tilt up.

  She’s upstairs.

  I run up the stairs, three at a time.

  My breathing picks up as I look left then right. There is a long hallway to each side. With closed door after door.

  I hear a noise from my right. The tiniest of cries—Siren’s.

  No.

  No. No. No.

  Please no.

  I can’t have failed her this badly. Please, don’t let her be hurt. I won’t survive seeing her in pain. That’s my greatest weakness. Fuck, no.

  I run down the hallway and twist the door handle. It’s locked.

  I step back and kick with everything I have. The door splits, but it’s thicker than most. A door built to keep sound and people in.

  Fuck. Why did I bring Siren tonight? I could have closed that deal without her. I should have stood up to Julian.

  I kick again, and the door splits enough for me to push through the splintered wood.

  The sight I see destroys me.

  Siren is naked on the floor. Ropes still bind her arms and legs. Her mouth is still gagged. But otherwise, everything that made Siren herself has been beaten out. So much blood covers her skin. Bruises are already coloring her broken layers. Her legs are spread, and Julian is settled between them.

  I don’t know if he’s entered her yet.

  But I already know I failed. No apology will ever be enough to make this up to her. She will never forgive me for letting this happen—never.

  And I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

  But what guts me the most is her tears. Her beautiful, fucking tears. She’s been completely ruined. She doesn’t cry unless she’s really hurting. I could snap her arm, break every bone, and she wouldn’t cry. She’s too proud. She wouldn’t want to give Julian the pleasure of seeing her in pain.

  Yet, here she is showing him every drop of pain—showing me. And it’s all my fault.

  I explode—headfirst at Julian.

  I pound him into the floor with all my might, getting him as far away from Siren as I can.

  And then I start punching, over and over and over. “I’m going to kill you! You hear that? You’re a dead man!”

  More punches. More kicks.

  I forget about everything except killing this man. I’m a trained killer. One snap of his neck. One jab to the throat. One shot of my gun. One slice to the heart. There are so many different ways I could kill him—so many choices.

  But I don’t want to kill him quickly; I want him to die slowly and tortuously for what he did. For the mess he caused. And how much I’m going to have to clean up after he’s dead. How many more men are going to have to die because of him.

  I’m going to spend the rest of my life running and fighting, away from my family of friends, until I’ve killed every man loyal to this bastard. Instead of being free of him in a matter of weeks.

  It will be worth it though to avenge Siren.

  Moans…Siren! I completely forgot about her.

  I punch Julian hard one more time in the face, knocking him completely out. I need to tend to Siren; then I can decide his fate.

  I run over to Siren and find her stirring, groaning in pain. She shivers from the cold, and if I’m not careful, she’ll lose too much blood to recover.

  Siren has to be my focus right now as much as I want to kill Julian. I consider pulling my gun out and shooting him dead. But that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy me or Siren. She’s going to want him tortured. I’ll come back for him later.

  Right now, I need to protect Siren.

  I pull my shirt off and wrap it around her body as best I can. I loosen the gag, and it falls around her neck.

  “You’re going to be okay; I’ve got you,” I whisper into her hair, not caring if Julian hears me or not. She’s mine, not his. If I choose to be kind to her, that’s my prerogative.

  “This is going to hurt, just for a minute. But I’m going to make you feel better soon. I promise.”

  She sighs, her eyes still shut with tears falling quickly. I lean down to kiss her cheek but stop short. I don’t get to kiss
her when I’m the reason she’s in pain.

  The stench of alcohol hits my nose—her tears. The bastard poured alcohol into her eyes; no wonder she’s crying.

  Carefully, I place my arms under her neck and legs. I force my eyes to avoid looking between her legs. I don’t want to know if he raped her or not. Because if he did, I wouldn’t be able to leave without killing him first.

  Once Siren is settled in my arms, I stand and face Julian, who is starting to stir.

  “This isn’t over,” I say.

  He coughs up blood. “You’re right; it’s not.”

  I kick him one more time for good measure, and then I leave. I race down the stairs, trying my best not to jostle Siren too much, but I know she needs out of this house as fast as possible.

  My truck is parked out front, and I’m grateful I drove the truck instead of walking. But I don’t want her out of my arms, even for the two-minute drive to my house.

  So I push the driver’s chair all the way back and hold her in my lap as I drive home.

  “Please, be okay. Please, forgive me. Please…”

  23

  Siren

  I can’t open my eyes, but I’m still aware of everything happening.

  I hear Zeke kick Julian’s ass.

  I feel him carry me in his arms. I should hate him. He’s the reason I’m hurting. But in his strong arms, I feel safe, protected.

  Stupid mind thinking I could ever be secure with a man.

  I feel him holding me tighter to his chest on his lap, like a wounded bird. That’s what I am? Wounded? Broken? A goddamn disaster.

  I feel every bump in the truck as he drives us back, but I try my best not to whimper. I want to be back at Zeke’s house as soon as possible, even if I have to deal with a little extra pain.

  And then I feel Zeke carry me into the house. He flicks lights on as he goes. I moan as the brightness stings my eyes even though they are still closed.

  “I’m sorry, but I need to be able to see your wounds to help you,” Zeke whispers, like each word pains him.

  Even though the gag is gone, I still don’t speak in anything but moans and groans. Julian took my voice, along with everything else.

  I hear Zeke sweep something onto the floor, and then he lays me down on the dining room table.

  I shiver as the cool hits my back.

  “Hold on,” Zeke says.

  I chuckle on the inside. There is nothing for me to hold onto, you idiot.

  Time does weird things when you are in pain. A second later, or maybe an hour, Zeke returns. He places a thick blanket over me.

  “I’m going to check over your wounds, okay? I need to stop any bleeding and make sure nothing needs stitches.”

  He waits. He’s asking me for fucking permission to heal me. It’s too fucking late to ask for permission now, you prick! You should have asked me before you bought me. Before you tried to sell me.

  He waits a second longer, then curses under his breath. He must have decided he’s out of time to get permission.

  He checks over my head first, placing a bandage on my forehead. I hear him hiss when he gets to my jaw. But he doesn’t say anything.

  He examines my neck next. He must decide it’s okay, because he quickly moves to my chest and stomach.

  He gasps—it must be bad.

  I feel something stick into my arm. He’s giving me drugs. The warmth spreads quickly, and I instantly feel light as a feather. I’m floating above all the pain. It’s still there, the pain, but it doesn’t control me anymore.

  I try to see what he’s doing, but it’s still too painful to open my eyes.

  I feel his hands work on my stomach. He’s probably stitching me up, but he must be very skilled at it because I don’t feel the stick of a needle or the pull of thread.

  I feel him cut the rope from my arms, remove the gag dangling from my neck, and re-wrap the blanket around my torso. Then he frees my legs as well.

  The blanket is covering most of my body, but I feel him hesitate before lifting it up to see between my legs.

  Almost instantly, he lowers the blanket again. Either I look normal, or there is too much damage for him to fix.

  And then I feel his hand against my face, stroking me gently.

  “I need to wash out your eyes,” he says.

  He’s right, but I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m not sure how he knows my eyes need washing out.

  “I’m going to get some water, and then I’m going to stop the burning.”

  He doesn’t ask me for permission this time, knowing I won’t answer him right now. I hear the faucet run, and then he’s by my side again.

  He takes my hand and places it on his forearm.

  “Squeeze hard,” he commands. I do as he says. Gently opening my left eye, he begins flushing out the alcohol.

  I squeeze his forearm as he pushes more water through my eye. Eventually, I feel the sting soften. He lets go of my eye, and I close it gently to prepare for him to flush the other one.

  He doesn’t give me time to think about the pending pain. He just moves to the next eye and does what needs to be done. I squeeze hard as pain stings my eye, but it too dissipates.

  Zeke stops.

  And I keep my eyes closed.

  My breathing steadies.

  The discomfort eases.

  And Zeke—he’s still here.

  Time passes as my exhausted body falls into a restless sleep from the drugs Zeke pushed through me. At first, I fight it. I don’t trust Zeke, or any man, when I’m under the pull of drugs. But I need rest to heal.

  “You’re safe,” he whispers. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Ever again. Including me.”

  And with those unreal promises ringing in my ears, I drift to sleep.

  I wake in a soft bed. I’m lying in the middle with pillows all around me. I’m in Zeke’s bed, so I expect to see him sleeping next to me.

  But when I open my eyes, I find him kneeling next to the bed, his head bent, his hands clasped together and folded. I recognize the position—my father was a religious man. He’d pray every night before getting into bed.

  Zeke can’t be praying, though? Is he?

  “Are you praying?” I ask, looking at him suspiciously.

  His head pops up suddenly. All kinds of emotions cross his face—joy, fear, pain. His face finally settles on a reserved expression hiding his emotions.

  “I’m not religious. And if God exists, I would be one of the last people he would listen to. But I had to try. Your heartbeat was so weak. I couldn’t understand why. You didn’t lose much blood, from what I could see. I assumed you were bleeding internally. And if you were, I wouldn’t be able to get you to a decent hospital in time. All I could do was pray.”

  My mouth drops.

  “What did you pray?”

  “I begged for you to stay.”

  I gulp. He looks so sincere—in so much pain, watching me.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but it doesn’t look like he’s slept. Julian’s blood still speckles with mine all over Zeke’s clothes. His hair is barely held up by his scrunchie. His eyes are bloodshot. And he looks to be in physical pain.

  “Are you injured?” I ask.

  “Not physically,” he answers. Just emotionally.

  I blink, not understanding how he’s hurting emotionally.

  “You didn’t sell me?” I meant my words to be a statement, but they come out as a question. Did he sell me? Was he just pissed at Julian for touching me before the money had been transferred?

  He’s silent a moment, still as a statue. But his eyes pour into mine, giving me everything. Then he says, “I lied. I never planned on selling you and I never will.”

  What? My eyebrows reach epic levels on my forehead. He lied?

  “I know it means you get to kill me now, but can you at least wait until I apologize first?” he smiles gently, testing the waters with me.

  It’s a damn gorgeous smile—complete with a shy dimple I didn’
t notice before, but all I can focus on is what he just said. He wants to apologize?! I don’t think anyone, especially a man, has apologized to me before.

  “Can you reserve your punishment until I finish speaking?” he asks.

  “You didn’t lie during our game.”

  He nods.

  “Then I don’t get to punish you. The rules only apply to the game.”

  He nods again, with a brighter smile, but then he exhales harshly. “I’m sorry.”

  Two words.

  Words that change my life.

  My heart starts hammering faster.

  My breath is deeper.

  Colors are more vivid in the room.

  And Zeke’s smell fills my nostrils fully for the first time.

  I come alive with those words.

  Zeke studies my expression as he speaks.

  I close my eyes to keep new tears at bay. “Again,” I whisper.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Again.”

  “I’m sorry, Siren. I’m so sorry,” his voice cracks in pain. It’s the most beautiful sound. So fucking beautiful. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful.

  He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m sorry I lied to you about selling you. I’m sorry I brought you to Julian’s. I’m sorry I let the guards tie you up. I’m sorry I let them take you away. I’m sorry I let Julian hurt you. I’m sorry…” and then he’s not speaking anymore.

  I open my eyes and watch him break. Tears are falling.

  Down.

  Down.

  Down.

  Tiny droplets coat his cheeks and drop to his shoulders.

  I’ve never seen a grown man cry. Up until this point, I didn’t think men ever cried, at least not in front of other people.

  But here he is crying for me. For my pain. For what he did to me.

  I don’t understand this man.

  I don’t understand why he bought me.

  I don’t understand why he didn’t protect me.

  But the most surprising thing…I don’t know when I started falling for him.

  It’s the stupidest thing I could have done—fall.

  Zeke may care for me, but he’s also going to get me killed one day. I shouldn’t want anything to do with him, yet I do. I want to experience everything with him.