by Nicole Fox
Left with no choice and tired to the bone of fighting the same fight again and again, I allow myself to be pushed back down the stairwell. The darkness of the descent soothes my throbbing head. You’d think I was the one who’d been clubbed in the back of the skull.
Once we’re back down, Kian takes me back to the same bondage chair. This time, he cuffs me to the metal spokes of the chair.
“Please don’t do this,” I plead.
“You’ve given me no choice,” Kian says grimly. “I didn’t want to tie you up at all.”
I give him an incredulous look. “Every single piece of equipment in this room says otherwise.”
He smirks. “That’s for a different kind of party, wiseass,” he remarks before heading back to the staircase alone.
“How long are you going to keep me down here?” I yell at his back.
“Until you start being reasonable.”
I grit my teeth as he makes the first step. Then something else occurs to me. “What about my brother?”
He stops short and turns to me with a fiercely predatory look in his eye. Apparently, that question has set him off more than physical assault had. “What about that fucker?”
“His arm is broken.”
“Maybe the pain will help him build some character.”
“At least get him a doctor,” I beg. “Please.”
“Why are you fighting for that asshole?” demands Kian. “He’s never fought for you.”
The words are true. Maybe that’s why they sting so bad. “Yeah, well… I’m better than him.”
“I’m aware,” Kian murmurs almost gently. “I’m very fucking aware.”
His answer surprises me so much that I don’t even try and stop him when he disappears up the stairwell. I let out a squeal of frustration, not caring if he hears it or not. Then I collapse against the backrest of the seat and stare at my new cuffs.
They’re glossy, made of a light silver metal, and thick as hell. I know with a glance that there’s no way I’ll be able to get out of them unless someone lets me out.
And the chances of that happening are exactly zero.
As the minutes tick by, my head starts spinning with all the new revelations that Kian dropped on me on the yacht. My mother was a powerful mafia princess in her own right. The knowledge boggles as much as it cuts. Why had she not been in my life?
I’d been told exactly nothing about her, and I just assumed as I’d gotten older that my mother was a random nobody that my father had fucked. Drago certainly never corrected me on that. And I never thought about it. Never questioned it.
Now, all I have are questions.
Why had she given me over to my father?
Why had it taken her five years to marry him?
Why wasn’t she a part of my life?
I stop thinking when my head starts throbbing with fresh pain. That’s when I hear a sound on the stairwell and turn with a start. I gasp when I see Aisling standing on the bottom step with a tray in hand.
“Aisling!” I breathe. “I didn’t even hear you.”
“You seemed… far away,” she comments. “I’ve brought you something to eat.”
I am hungry, and I no longer have the strength or the will for another hunger strike. So when she approaches and sets the tray down beside me, I eye the food with interest.
She’s brought me two large sandwiches piled high with meat and cheese. It’s accompanied by a generous helping of thick-cut fries and fresh coleslaw on the side.
The smell coming off the plate is irresistible. I reach for a sandwich immediately. Given my cuffs, though, I’m not the most graceful eater. Meat falls out of the sandwich and onto my lap as I struggle to eat. “Shit…” I mumble with my mouth full.
“It’s okay,” Aisling says. “Let me.”
Patiently, she cleans away the stray pieces of meat and settles the plate squarely on my lap. Then she adjusts everything so it’s easier for me to reach. As she does, I glance at her out of the corner of my eyes, noticing her neutral expression. The last time we’d talked, I’d thrown a bunch of accusations in her face and stormed out. The guilt resurfaces in light of everything I know now.
And it dawns on me that I owe her an apology. For more than just what she has suffered at the hands of my brother.
“Aisling?”
“Yes, Ms. Lombardi?”
The respectful prefix to my name feels like an subtle rebuke. But I know that’s just an extension of my guilt. “You don’t need to… You can just call me Renata,” I say awkwardly. “I know I told you to… but I was angry, and—”
“I’m sorry you felt like I betrayed your trust,” she says. “But Master Kian always has good reasons for what he does. I know you disagree. But I trust him.”
I take a deep breath. “He saved your life,” I say. “He delivered you from hell, so I understand why you trust him. And I also understand why you did what you did. He’s the man that gave you a second chance. I’m the daughter of the monster that ruined your life.”
She looks at me with wide eyes. I can tell that she hasn’t expected this reaction from me. Which only makes me feel guiltier.
“Aisling…” I say, realizing that my voice is shaking slightly.
“Yes?”
“I… Kian told me… about… Drago…”
She flinches violently at the sound of my brother’s name. I fall silent in response.
She’s quiet for a long time, studiously avoiding my gaze. When she does look up, her eyes are slick with tears. “What did he tell you?”
It’s hard for me to see her in so much pain. But it’s also like she’s holding up a mirror to my own pain. She’s suffered at the hands of men.
So have I.
She’s been raped, abused, beaten.
So have I.
“He told me that Drago started re-investing in the sex trafficking rings again. The same ones you were a part of.”
“Is that all?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh God… was there more?”
She gnaws at her bottom lip. It looks like she’s trying to stop herself from losing it. She closes her eyes for a moment. “I’ve met your brother,” she tells me softly.
My stomach churns with bile.
Because I know what that means.
“No…”
“He used to come in some nights,” she tells me. “He was… Well, let’s just say he could be difficult.”
I cringe against the images that brings up. Decades of slaps. Of hurled abuses. Of dabbing foundation to hide the bruises he gave me from the world. And that was to me, his fucking sister. God only knows what he did to this poor sex slave.
“Aisling, I don’t know what to say…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells me. “You didn’t do anything. It’s not your fault.”
“I’m sorry all the same.”
She shrugs. “I’ve dealt with it.”
Her words are one thing. Her body language is something else altogether. I can see the weight of the pain inflicted on her by my brother. By all the men who took what was never theirs to take.
“Aisling, do you know that my brother is here?” I probe delicately.
“Of course. Master Kian wanted to make sure I was aware. So that I can steer clear of the basement. He knows the trauma of what I went through with Drago. He wouldn’t ask me to go near him.”
I look down, realizing that nothing is simple. Nothing is uncomplicated.
“You were right before,” I mumble to Aisling. “There are no heroes or villains. Just people who make choices.”
She nods. “Which is why I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
I smile sadly. “And I appreciate that,” I say. “I should have done the same for you.”
She gives me a small nod. It’s a tiny gesture, but it makes me feel slightly better. “I should go,” Aisling tells me. “Do you need anything?”
“What I want, you can’t give me,” I say, looking
at my cuffs.
She gives me a regretful look. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I will not put this on Aisling. I will not make my problem hers. Her loyalty is with Kian, and in her case, I think it’s justified.
But I’m not Aisling. And Kian is not my savior, no matter what he says. I can’t rely on him to protect me. I can’t rely on any man.
As Aisling disappears up the stairs, I eat my sandwich and try to think about my next move. If I’m sitting around waiting for my freedom to be given to me, then maybe I don’t deserve it.
Everything is so fucking tangled. Including my history, my parentage, my relationship with my brother. A part of me hates him. But I still feel a sick sense of obligation towards him. I don’t know why. I hate that I do. I just can’t escape the feeling that we have unfinished business, the two of us.
Of all the people that left me over the years, he never did. There’s a reason for that, and it sure as hell isn’t brotherly love.
And I’m going to find out what that reason is.
Then, after I get the answers I need, I’ll make sure he atones for his sins. I’ll make sure that Aisling’s suffering is avenged. I’ll make sure the world is made right.
But before I can do any of that—first, I need to get free.
40
Renata
I’ve been an unwitting victim most of my life. I’ve gone from my father’s control, to my brother’s control, to my husband’s control.
The time I’d spent as a biker’s wife had been brutal, so much so that I’ve blocked most of it out. My memories of that period are hazy, filled with burning debris that still singes my skin when I accidentally brush past it.
But even still, I hadn’t delivered myself from that hell. Drago was the one who’d removed me from it. I had no part in the escape. Perhaps that’s what made it so easy to fall back into the role of passive bystander to my dominating, power-hungry brother.
I was so broken back then that I’d even thanked him, if you can believe that. “Thank you for saving me,” I’d sobbed into his arms. I chose to ignore the part where he’d sold me to a monster in the first place.
As I look back, I feel a hapless sense of pity for the girl I used to be. Sometimes, I can’t even recognize myself in the memories.
But I have changed.
I am changing.
Because I refuse to be that girl anymore. The girl who’s passed from one man to the other, a pawn in their schemes, struggling to find my voice in the sea of testosterone that threatens to drown me.
My mood swings dangerously the longer I stew in the darkness. I move from melodrama to self-pity to determination in the span of an hour. But by the end of it, my resolve starts piecing itself together, building steam the more the seconds tick past.
I’m done living under the heel of men who think they can take what they want when they want to.
I’m done playing the victim.
Most of all, I’m done making excuses for my brother.
What I want from him now is the truth that he’s kept from me all these years. And I know him well enough to know that he’s not going to give me anything unless I give him something in return.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs has me snapping back to attention. Here we go. It’s time to take back the reins of my own life.
Kian steps into the chamber. He pauses in the doorway at first. A silhouette of a man, tall and broad. The only color is the brightness of his sapphire eyes catching the dim light.
Then he emerges from the shadows, walks over to me, and offers me the tall glass of water in his hand.
“I’m not thirsty,” I tell him. “But I do need to use the bathroom.”
He untethers me from the bondage chair without a word and leads me to a narrow door at the back of the room.
I walk inside and he shuts the door behind me. The room is so dark until I find a light switch on the wall and flick it on. It reveals a ventilation unit on the ceiling, but there’s no way out. I’d suspected as much, anyway, so it’s hard to be too disappointed.
I finish peeing and open the door again to find Kian leaning against the wall, waiting for me.
He snaps the cuffs on me instantly and pushes me back towards the bondage chair. I notice he’s watching me closer than usual. Probably trying to figure out why I’m not protesting like I normally do.
I need to play the part well. Kian is smart enough to smell a ruse a mile away.
But he’s also a man. And men can be astonishingly blind when their dicks are involved. That’s what I’m counting on, at least.
“Kian?”
His eyes bore into my face, trying to suss out what’s motivating my non-confrontational tone. “Yes?”
I let my eyes flicker to his for a second, and then I drop them self-consciously. “Nothing,” I say quickly. “Never mind.”
“If you were going to ask about your brother—”
“I wasn’t,” I say, cutting him off.
Kian frowns. I let my shoulders drop slightly. “Aisling was here earlier.”
“I know.”
“She told me a little bit more of what she went through. She told me about Drago. That he was one of the men that… that hurt her.”
He doesn’t give me any reaction at all. Even his expression is unreadable, impassive at best. “She’s not lying.”
“I know she’s not,” I say quickly. “I believe her.”
“Good.”
I can tell he’s wondering where I’m going with this. But he doesn’t want to ask. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“No, you told me that he was investing in the rings again, trying to carry on our father’s legacy. You didn’t tell me that Drago raped Aisling.”
“It was implied.”
“Kian…”
He sighs. “I didn’t see the point in telling you that. Other than to hurt you,” he clarifies. “It didn’t seem like a good enough reason.”
His answer is unexpectedly sincere. I feel my chest constrict suddenly. As though the reaction is so separate from me that I can’t rein it in the way I need to. But maybe the only way to play Kian is to admit the truth about how I feel about him. Maybe the only way to make Kian believe me is by telling him something worth believing in.
Something honest.
Something real.
“Aisling told me that you’ve made sure there’s distance between Drago and her.”
His response is immediate. “After what she’s been through with him, I owe her that much.”
Again, my chest kind of pulses uncomfortably. I hate that my attraction to him is becoming more and more acute the longer he talks. Because honestly, he does care about Aisling. He does care about women like her. Women like me.
Which means he has never done nor would he ever do what my brother did. What my father did. What men like Rokiades did all the time.
“Kian,” I say softly, shocked to realize that the words that are about to come out of my mouth are in fact, true, “I’m sorry.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I misjudged you.”
He stares at me for a long time. “What is this, Renata?” he asks. “You trying to con me?”
“Look me in the eye and figure it out for yourself,” I tell him. “I’m telling you what I feel. You may not be a hero. But you’re not a villain, either. You’re not a monster. And you’re definitely not like Darragh Kinahan. I should never have said that.”
He still looks suspicious, but his expression is calm. “What brought about the change of heart?”
I shrug. “Talking to Aisling,” I reply, which is not wholly untrue. “Plus sitting here for the past few hours thinking about—well, everything.”
“And you expect me to believe you?”
“I can see why it might be hard for you to believe me. Especially after I hit you in the back of the head,” I say sheepishly. “Sorry
about that, too, by the way. But I was angry and frustrated and bitter. I knew next to nothing about my mother before now. And then you decide to drop a bomb on me, and you expected me not to have a reaction?”
He considers that for a moment, but stays quiet.
“I just… I was angry. I still am, if I’m being honest. But not at you. Not anymore.”
“So what are you saying exactly, Renata?”
“I’m saying that I understand why you want me to stay here with you,” I tell him. “I know it’s not to control me or use me. I know you just want to keep me away from the Greeks, from my brother, from all the bad guys out there.”
He still doesn’t say anything. His eyes are hooded and I can’t for the life of me tell what he’s thinking.
I may have an ulterior motive, but every word I’ve just said to him has been true. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“I want to.”
I feel my pulse quicken as I take in his beautiful blue eyes. They’re darkening as we speak. His body oozes masculine power and I feel that now familiar budding of electricity between my legs. The plan in my head is feather-light, but growing more and more concrete by the second. And the best part of it is… I may not have to fake a thing.
I stand up, pulling at my restraints a little, but they don’t budge. “Then let me prove to you that you can trust me,” I whisper.
He cocks his head to the side, his eyes flitting over my body possessively. I see the glimmer of hunger there, and I know instinctively that this plan can work.
“How are you going to do that?” he asks with detached interest.
I bite my lower lip. Just enough to convey that I’m nervous but eager. Both are true.
“Tie me up, Kian,” I say softly, before letting my gaze flicker over the room we’re in. “Teach me how this works.”
His eyes widen. Infinitesimally, but enough that I notice. “We tried that before,” he growls.
I don’t hesitate. “Try it again.”
His face is swirling with unreadable emotion. Jaw clenched tight. Knuckles white under his skin. “You know what it means,” he says.
“Yes, I do. I’m ready.”
He looks me up and down. But it’s more like he’s sizing me up.
