by Ella Miles
Enzo winks at me like he knows the dirty thoughts plaguing my head. And then he strides past with his glorious, godlike body.
I follow, chills running through my body as I walk. My body feels sore and stiff. I haven’t left the bedroom in weeks, or has it been months? I’ve forgotten how long I’ve been here, unlike when I was taken before and counted every single day.
Being held captive by Enzo isn’t that bad, but the loneliness is the same. I still feel like property. I’m still owned. Enzo just doesn’t act on his dark desires as my previous master did.
We step into the hallway single-file. The lights are off, and only the moonlight shines through the window overhead.
We continue in silence down the stairs that are no longer my adversary. The swelling in my ankle has reduced and other than an ache of stiffness, I’m able to keep up with Enzo’s quick steps.
My eyes dart around on the first floor, looking for Westcott. I don’t know what he does except bring me regular food.
“Westcott’s room is separate. He lives in a small cottage on the grounds. He isn’t here.”
I exhale. I don’t know why I care if Westcott is here. He’s seen me naked almost every time he’s brought me food. It’s not about that. It’s that this feels different. This game we are playing is ours—our secret. I don’t want anyone else to know.
I don’t know where we are headed. I have yet to tour the entire house. So when Enzo makes a sharp turn, I suck in my breath as I stand in the double door entrance to a grand room.
He steps inside, but I gawk. Not at his tight bare ass I want to lick, but the room. The room stretches two levels and has floor to ceiling windows that seem to float out over the ocean. Large bookcases line both walls, the kind where you need a ladder to reach the top shelves. The room is dark, and Enzo doesn’t turn the light on. The only light illuminating the room is the moonlight, which is more than enough for both of us to see. I’ve learned that Enzo prefers the night almost as much as I do. Probably because it’s easier to attack people in the dark than the light.
“You like books?” I ask, stepping inside.
“No, I hate them,” he says stone-faced.
“That would be a lie. I win round one,” I say smiling.
He grins as he pulls two chairs up, right next to the window overlooking the sea.
“We should sit back here. That way you’re supposed hatred for the books will keep you distracted,” I say barely stepping into the room.
He shakes his head. “The ocean can’t hurt you.”
I cringe, hating that I told him my secret about hating the ocean.
That’s the problem with the game. No matter if you win or lose, you always reveal more about yourself.
He takes a seat and waits.
I edge closer, like I’m waiting for a lion to jump out and eat me. I stare at the surf knocking about in an endless calm of rolling waves. We are high above the water. There are panes of glass and several yards between me and the sea.
The water won’t hurt me.
I sink into the other chair. I swallow hard, pushing the ache in my throat down.
“This isn’t fair you know. You have the advantage.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No, it’s a fair game.”
“How?”
“You are afraid of the ocean. And I’m afraid of you.”
I huff. “Afraid of me?”
“Of what I would do if I lost my self-control.”
“You mean you would torture me?”
He’s silent—which means yes.
I look away from him and back to the ocean.
“How you can be more frightened of the ocean than of me, I don’t understand.”
I glare back. “Because all you’ve ever done is threaten. You threatened to kill me, you sold me, you held me captive, yet you’ve never once physically hurt me yourself. And although I don’t know why, I do know for some reason, you can’t hurt me.”
He growls and jumps out of his chair, stopping only millimeters from burning my skin.
“Be lucky all you’ve ever experienced is a threat from me. Trust me; you may be the only human on the planet I’ve threatened without following through. You think you’ve experienced pain, but I’m the king of pain.”
“You won’t hurt me,” I spit back.
His eyes trail all over my body. “Not today; I can’t promise I won’t tomorrow.”
He sinks back in his chair.
I tremble a little from the booming voice that just fell silent.
“Let’s just play,” I say.
He nods.
“Ladies first.”
I let my mind still as I think of my lies. I should try to appear sexy, use my body to try and distract him, although he only seems attracted to my injuries because he thinks about how much enjoyment he’d get from breaking me again.
I clear my throat and focus. I want to win. I want my answers. And he won’t give me much truth in what he reveals about himself.
“I never want to be touched.
“I enjoy sleeping on the floor.
“I want to fuck you.”
His throat growls when I say the last one. His body monitoring mine as if searching for some hint of truth to any of my words, relaxing after seemingly finding what he was looking for.
“My turn,” he says.
I nod.
“I’m never letting you go.
“I hate that I let another man hurt you.
“You were taken for six years, not three.”
I gasp.
He looks pained—like every word he spoke was fire from his mouth.
Suddenly, my truths and lies no longer matter. Because all I can focus on are Enzo’s. I was taken for six years, not three. How is that possible? It can’t be true, can it? It has to be a lie, but then why would it hurt Enzo so much to say it?
I’m never letting you go is obviously true. He’s told me as much before.
And he’s also implied that he hates the scars on my body. That he wasn’t the one to cause them, because he’s a fucking sadist as well as a cruel bastard.
Six years…
I lost three years more than I thought.
Three whole years.
Fuck.
What else was I wrong about?
I ticked off the time in my head so clearly, but I remembered wrong. Did I block it out? What else don’t I remember? What did I get wrong?
I can’t speak, but thankfully Enzo can.
“The third one is your truth, the rest are lies.”
He doesn’t call me out. He doesn’t prolong the inevitable. He doesn’t say why he believes that to be true. Or even brag that even though he’s my captor, I still want to fuck him.
Just because I want to doesn’t mean I will ever act on it. It’s just lust after a hot man. Because two-seconds after I want him, I remember all he’s done, and I go back to hating him.
“Your turn, Kai.”
I could win. Actually, we would tie if we both guessed correctly. I know the truth. They are all truths. I just refuse to say it. Because if I say it, then it makes it true. And it can’t be true. None of it can be.
“All of yours are lies,” I say unable to meet his eyes, which leaves me looking at his bare feet.
“Kai,” he commands.
One word and my head raises.
“Are you sure? That’s your choice?”
I nod.
He sighs, knowing I just threw the game.
I narrow my gaze. Did he want me to win? Well, I can’t! I can never win! Because I’ll never be free.
“You win,” I whisper. I lose. I always lose, even when I win.
22
Enzo
Kai let me win.
Because she can’t face the truth. She wishes every word out of my mouth was a lie.
She hates that I care that another man hurt her.
She hates that I’ve claimed her forever.
And she hates, most of all, that I know someth
ing she doesn’t. That six years have passed instead of three. That the reason time seemed to move so slowly over the years was because it was standing still for her.
My choice was easy, even if she hadn’t thrown the game. I know her well enough to know even though she needs to sleep on the floor, she yearns to find comfort in the soft cloud of fabric covering the bed. Even though she’s afraid of my touch, her body begs to feel that exquisite warmth she remembers from our first encounter all those years ago.
Six years ago.
And I saw the way her body heated when she said she wanted to fuck me, I’ve heard her cries for me to fuck her in her sleep. Those were the hardest words I’ve heard leave her mouth. It pushed my restraint to the limit. Because I’m desperate—for anything. A touch. A caress. A brush. Anything. I need that spark that occurs when cold and heat mix.
I need more.
I need her lips pressed against mine as I suck on her swollen lip. I need her body aligned with mine, writhing beneath me. I need to watch her gasp and moan as I flick her harden nipples between my fingers. And most of all, I want to watch the tears well in her eyes as I spread her wide with my cock. And I want to watch the tears change as her eyes roll back in her head and the pain changes to ecstasy.
Yet I don’t get to touch her. She’s just desperate for a chance to feel any pleasure after being denied joy for so many years.
I need a drink.
Kai shouldn’t drink when she’s this weak, but the only way I’ll get to drink without her protests is to offer her some too.
So I walk over to the bar cart in the corner. I grab two glasses and pour some scotch into both before I bring the drinks back. I hand one to Kai.
She takes it with shaky hands. She doesn’t even focus intently to ensure our hands don’t brush as she snatches the glass from my hand. I should have brushed my fingers against hers since she wasn’t on guard. That might have been my only opportunity to touch her.
I sigh as I sit and sip mine.
Kai’s hands continue to tremble violently as she brings it to her lips. I know she tastes the liquid, but her eyes have glazed over into a blank expression.
I take the glass from her hands and set it down on the floor beside her. Her body is too focused and unsteady for the alcohol at the moment.
“Six years,” she whispers.
I want to speak to explain. I want to take away the last six years for her, but I can’t. I want to take it away for myself.
Finally, her head whips toward mine. “It’s been six years since we fell into the ocean off the side of your yacht?”
“Yes.”
She closes her eyes harshly, as she sucks in a breath. Her knees come up to her chest, trying to reassure herself.
I could comfort her so easily with a hug. I’m sure a hug would help. But it’s not something I’m used to giving, nor have I experienced in recent years.
And then I see why her eyes are closed so tightly. Tears. Tiny droplets are escaping out the side of her eyelids.
I gasp.
Out of everything she’s endured, I never imagined she cried. Kai’s too proud and strong to let any man see her pain—including me. The only reason I get to see them is because this revelation took her by surprise. She spent her time in captivity trying to remain in control, I’m sure, but now she realizes she was never really in control.
She brushes the tears from her cheeks as they roll down, but no audible sob escapes her lips.
I shake my head, admiring her strength.
I wish I were as strong.
Her eyes open after several minutes pass. The redness in her eyes the only sign remaining that she cried.
“I was taken at sixteen. Just two weeks shy of my seventeenth birthday. I thought I had only lost three years, but I lost six. So instead of twenty, I’m twenty-three years old.”
There is nothing to say, so I say nothing.
“I’m twenty-three.” She laughs at herself as if that is the only logical thing to do. Then she looks at me with wildness in her eyes. “Age is nothing but a number. Twenty isn’t that different from twenty-three. That’s not what makes it hard. It’s realizing how long I was gone. How much I endured. How much control I lost.”
I disagree. Twenty is very different from twenty-three, at least the three years made a huge difference in my own twenty-four years on this earth, but I won’t tell Kai that. She needs to deal with the realization on her own.
She slumps back in her chair, her legs falling back to the floor. Then she turns her attention back to me. “You won. Ask your questions.”
And then I realize why she let me win. This answer, finding out she lost more years, was enough for tonight. She can’t endure any more truths.
What do I want to know? I get three questions. I start with what I assume will be an easy answer.
“Why do you sleep on the floor instead of the bed?” I assume it has to do with the six years she was taken, but I need confirmation.
Her eyes go blank again. “Because for three—I mean six years—I was never given a bed, pillow or blanket. The floor I slept on was hardwood. Over time I guess my body adapted. Anything else is too soft for me.”
I nod. I appreciate the truth, but I need more. And the only way to get more is to push her out of her comfort zone.
“Why don’t you like being touched?”
She bites her lip. “Get touched against your will for six years and then tell me how you like other people’s touch.”
My eyes darken. “There’s more to it than that.”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s it.”
“No, that’s not it.”
“How do you know? You’ve never been through the torture I have.”
“Yes, I have!”
Her eyes widen, our bodies halt, but my voice carries, bouncing off the walls, echoing through the room. We wait for the reverberations to stop.
Her tears threaten again. This is what I need an answer to. This. I’ve finally hit a lie I need the truth of. It’s the key to healing her.
“Why don’t you like being touched?” I slow my voice.
She looks down, ignoring me.
“Why don’t you like being touched, Kai? I’ve experienced torment before, but it doesn’t make you stop hating other people’s touch. If anything, it makes you seek it out more. It makes you desperate for pleasure, comfort, love, anything that can erase the pain.”
Nothing.
“What happened, Kai?!”
I grab her forearm before I realize what I’m doing.
Kai screams, but I’m not sure if it’s from surprise at being grabbed, pain, or pleasure. Her scream carries, as the electricity pulses back and forth between us. Pushing us to the edge of joy before ripping us down with the sharp ache as the heat and cold fight with each other.
I only touch her for a second, before I correct my mistake, but it’s enough to know she is definitely hiding the truth from me. Because her reaction is beyond anything normal.
Instead of pushing her again, I change my tactic. “Why come back to the barbarian who sold you?”
She holds her forearm carefully in her other hand, as she stares at the spot where I touched her. A single tear rolls down her cheek.
“Because I am nothing. I can’t be healed. They broke me, permanently.
“I used to think someone would save me. My father or best friend would come and rescue me. I even fantasized you might come and take me away. But when I broke, they said I was free.
“When I came back to Miami, I knew I wasn’t. I was alone, surrounded by people who didn’t care enough to come for me. I didn’t want to go back to them. The only thing that seemed to matter was my need for answers. I risked everything to learn the truth. I risked my life because I already knew no one would save me. I couldn’t even save myself. The truth became my everything, but now that I know one truth, I realize the truth isn’t worth my life.”
More tears fall down her rosy cheeks.
“If
you could take our previous game back, where you lost your life to me, you would?”
“Yes.”
23
Kai
“You saved yourself, that’s how you got free,” Enzo says encouraging me despite me never having asked a question, trying to pretend like my life isn’t the mess that it is—trying to give me some sense of encouragement.
My eyes glisten with the tears. I didn’t cry for six years—hardly a single tear fell. And now, I feel like I can’t shut them off for the stupidest of reasons.
“No, I didn’t save myself.”
“Then, how did you get free?”
I’ve already told him, but he wasn’t listening, or he needs confirmation that the words I spoke were true, and I wasn’t exaggerating.
“I was deemed broken. It was a game to them. Jarod wanted to break me, and then the men had no use for me anymore. Jarod said I could be free if I broke, so I broke. And then they dumped me on a park bench.”
Enzo curses under his breath. It’s beautiful how he feels all of my agony. It makes me more attracted to him than solely his physical allure. It’s a stupid thought to think he could be more than a beast.
“Where did they keep you?”
“In a room with no furniture.”
“Where?” he asks again.
My eyes flutter down as I think of the yacht and why I hate the water so much. I glance out at the ocean in front of me.
“Okay, no more questions,” Enzo sighs.
He stands, and I think I should follow him, but he motions for me to stay seated. So I do.
I hug my knees to my chest again as I try to self-soothe. I wish I could let someone embrace me. I would love to feel comforted again. I look out as the moon rises higher over the sky. I don’t know what time it is. Usually, Enzo leaves by this time of night and heads to Surrender or to kill whoever dared to cross him.
I don’t know what he’s still doing here with me.
A few minutes later, Enzo returns. I gaze at him as a pair of sweatpants now cling to his legs a tray of food in his hands.
Neither of us has worn clothes around each other in weeks. It was a silent protest, a game we both wanted to win when one of us backed down. It seems I at least won one game.
