by Eden Summers
I huff out a laugh. If only the humor could stick around for longer than a heartbeat. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She inclines her head. “And I'm deeply sorry for yours. My point, though, is that you’re going to get through this. Despite everything I endured at a young age, I found my calling. And I swear on the graves of those I love that you will find yours, too. You only need to be willing to work for it.”
“I’m willing to work. I just…” I close my eyes and turn my head away.
I don’t believe anything will change. How can I when I’m free—completely unshackled and unbound—yet I feel more trapped than ever before?
More helpless.
Hopeless.
Broken.
Something is wrong with me, and I’m scared I’ll never be able to fix it.
“Your mind builds on what you feed it,” she murmurs. “And you would have so much pity and fear that it’s only natural to gorge on what you know. But that’s not how you heal. You can’t beat him until you turn the tables and take control.”
Him.
Luther Torian.
The man who continues to torment my thoughts from beyond the grave.
“Your brother will hate me saying this,” she adds, “but trust in Luca. He’s a great guy. And from what I’ve seen and heard, he’s willing to do anything for you.”
“He’s burdened to do everything for me,” I correct, squeezing my eyes tighter. “He doesn’t even want to be here.”
“Really?”
When she doesn’t elaborate, I look at her, finding her brows raised in question.
“Penny, do you really think a guy like that, all strong, determined, protective, and annoyingly stubborn would do anything he didn’t want to do?” Her brows remain hiked. “He wants to be here. He wants to help you. Otherwise he would’ve hightailed it long ago, dumping your ass on my doorstep as he went.”
“He’s honorable. He wouldn’t—”
“Make all the excuses you want. But like I said, if you feed yourself that negative bullshit, it’s going to eat away at you. Use Luca while you’ve got him. What do you have to lose?”
His respect.
His sanctuary.
She gives me a pointed look. “What did I say about the negative shit? Your eyes seriously speak volumes. Maybe that’s something you can work on, too.” She winks at me and pushes from her seat. “Now, before I completely outstay my welcome, I’m going to leave. I’d like to come back tomorrow, though.”
“For another highly motivational pep talk?” I ask. “Or to continue spying for my brother?”
She laughs. “Look at you letting down your guard to be a comedian. But just so you know, I’ll totally be back for both. Now go find Luca and talk to him.”
“About what?”
“Whatever comes to mind.”
She walks for the door, leaving me to deal with the emotional whiplash as she disappears inside. One minute I’m content in my isolation, appreciating the distance Luca has given me—the next I’m thinking about where he is and if I should listen to her advice.
Since returning to the States, I’ve become increasingly indecisive. Almost constantly manic. Calm on the outside, a whole bunch of crazy on the inside.
In captivity, I’d only had the option to fight. Strategy was all that ran through my mind.
Now there’s no need to battle physically, so my brain wants to make it a mental challenge.
I’m hammered with thoughts. Memories. Fears.
The voices in my head are a looped recording filled with panic and shame. And I can’t quieten them. I’ve tried. They multiply no matter what I do. Despite how fortunate I am.
It’s as if piranhas are constantly nipping at my ankles, eager for the taste of my suffering.
My mind doesn’t want me to heal.
I sigh, entirely weary.
I want him to help. I want it more than anything. But talking to him means I’ll become more of a burden. It will also wake him up to the reality that I’m not the person he saved in Greece. I’m not a fighter. Only a failure.
I still yearn to be rescued.
I swallow over the lump forming at the back of my throat and force myself to walk inside.
The house is peacefully quiet. Sarah must have left, allowing the comfort of normalcy to gently spread its wings around me.
It’s back to being me and Luca. The way I like it.
If only there wasn’t this new pressure slowly bearing down on me. The ability to recover seems entirely out of reach.
But what if she’s right? What if he can help?
The sooner I get back on my feet, the sooner he can be unburdened from my annoyances.
My stomach churns as I make my way toward the rustle of paper down the hall. My nerves build when I realize he’s in his room. In unchartered territory. Yet my feet move of their own volition, taking me to his threshold, the door slightly ajar.
He’s near the huge bed, his back facing me as he rifles through a myriad of paper bags spread across the mattress. Some are crumpled and empty, the contents seeming to be the mass of material piled in front of him.
I take another step and the door hinges squeak in protest.
Shit.
Luca stiffens, his spine snapping ramrod. “Did Sarah leave?”
I wince. “Yeah.”
“Did she go of her own free will or did you kick her out?” He turns to face me, a lock of hair falling over his forehead to tease his eye.
“I’d never kick someone out of your house.”
“Why not? Don’t be polite on my account. When it comes to her, you’ve got free rein as far as I’m concerned.”
I know he’s joking, attempting to make light of an awkward situation. Again, I’m appreciative. “Did you know she was coming around so she could report back to Sebastian?”
“I gathered as much. I don’t blame him, either.”
“But you speak to him, right? I’ve heard you talking on the phone.”
He nods. “At least once a day. But it’s no secret he doesn’t trust me with your welfare. He’s keeping tabs the best way he can.”
I wince, wishing the way my brother kept tabs didn’t add more of a burden. “Thank you, Luca.”
“What for?”
“For having her over every day, knowing she was spying, yet keeping her on a leash. I know this can’t be easy for you.”
“Can’t be easy? Are you kidding?” He waves me away and returns his attention to the mess on the bed. “You treat me like a king. All that cooking and cleaning. I haven’t done laundry once since we got here.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
He shoots a warning look over his shoulder. “Do we really have to have this conversation again? You know I don’t want you lifting a finger.”
“It keeps me busy.” I bite my lip, hesitant to expose my vulnerabilities. “My hands and my mind.”
“Well, I’ll buy you a gaming console. You can button bash for a while instead of getting cleaner’s elbow.”
“No, thank you. I’m not a gamer.” I take another step, the intoxicating earthy smell of his aftershave sinking into my lungs. It’s everywhere. In every breath. “What are you doing?” I continue to the bed and focus on the mess covering the mattress.
“Tidying up crap I had lying around.” He begins shoving things into bags, his movements agitated.
Something has changed. Something’s made him uncomfortable.
“I’ve overstepped.” My thoughts become words. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have intruded on your private space.”
“You haven’t.” He keeps shoving, shoving, shoving the items of clothing. “Give me a second and I’ll have this all bagged up.”
No, I’ve definitely triggered his annoyance. I can see it in the way his usually graceful moves have become jerky.
I retreat a step, preparing to leave.
“Penny, I’m serious. Don’t go.” He meets my gaze, his intense eyes holding mine. Deman
ding. “You’ve barely sought me out since we got here. Don’t leave me now.”
I don’t want to. It seems like I’ve reached some sort of threshold by walking into his room. But… “Why does it feel like I’ve done something wrong?”
“You haven’t. It’s me.” He waves a hand at the items scattered over the bed. “I’m the one making it feel weird in here.”
“Why?”
He straightens, sucking in a frustrated breath. “I don’t know.”
“Are these things sentimental?” I lower my focus to the bags. “Do they belong to a girlfriend? Or an ex? Is that why—”
“No. I bought all this for you.”
I tense.
Freeze.
The only movement I feel is the rampant beat of my heart.
The reminder of the gifts Sarah mentioned comes back to bite me. I do a frantic visual search of the items scattered in front of us, trying to understand where his discomfort could stem from.
“I blame the concussion.” He snickers. “I went on a crazy bender, buying shit I thought you might need… or like… or whatever. I dunno. It was a stupid idea.” He grabs the two bags closest to him and walks around me to carry them to the corner of the room. “I’ll get rid of them.”
“Why?” It’s my curiosity talking. My fear, too. Always my fear. I want to know what he thinks my needs look like. “What did you buy?”
“Nothing you’re going to want. Like I said, it was stupid.”
“Please let me look.” I tentatively move forward, keeping my gaze on him as I grab the closest bag.
“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugs. “Just keep in mind I wasn’t thinking straight.”
The contents of the first bag make my cheeks heat—tampons, pads, a heat pack.
I wish I knew how to react, but emotion overwhelms me. There’s appreciation, guilt, and shame. Always shame.
I reach for another bag and pull out the material contents to expose a casual, full-length dress, the pattern pretty with light pinks and shades of cream. Those emotions intensify. The exact same ones—appreciation, guilt, then shame.
My throat tightens as I reach for a third, finding more clothes. More dresses.
By the fourth and fifth bags dread begins to take over, the ickiness coating my skin.
“I told you it was stupid.” He slumps onto the mattress near the head of the bed. “I’ll give them to a local charity.”
I want to tell him not to. That maybe one day these items will become useful. But that’s a lie. “Luca, I wish…” The words clog in my throat.
“What is it?” He frowns, pushing to his feet to take a step toward me.
“No. Stop.” I raise a hand, unable to handle closer proximity when my mental demons are overwhelming me. “I’m beyond thankful for you. And this.” I swing out an arm to indicate the gifts. “But you’re right. I can’t use any of it.”
He nods, pretending to understand.
He doesn’t. How could he?
“The pads and tampons…” I rub my knuckles over my sternum in an attempt to ease the building pressure beneath. “I don’t need them. Luther made sure of that.”
He snaps rigid, his nostrils flaring. “Why? What did he—”
I shake my head, trying to stifle whatever he thinks that monster did to me. “He made sure there were no inconveniences—that’s all. I have a birth control implant. It’s temporary. I’ll have to get it removed.”
“I’ll take you to a clinic. We can make an appointment for today.”
I nod and smile the best I can. “Thank you. But I’m not ready.”
Going to a doctor means touching. Poking. Prodding. An internal exam. And the outside world. It’s too much.
“You tell me as soon as you’re ready, shorty. You hear me?” His words are filled with venom. Fiercely protective. “Snap your fingers and I’ll be all over it.”
“I will. Thank you.” I swallow. Nod some more. “Then there’s the dresses… I can’t wear them. Luther always forced us to—”
“I know.” He cuts me off. “I remembered too late and I’m sorry. That’s why I didn’t want you seeing any of this. When we first arrived, I made the fucked-up assumption that you kept wearing the baggy clothes you ordered online because of a sizing issue. But it’s deliberate, isn’t it?”
My heart squeezes. My lungs and stomach, too. “Yes.”
“See? I fucked up. I’m not the best woman whisperer, but I assume you already knew that.”
I huff out a laugh at his charming self-deprecation. He’s too good to be true, which scares me a little. I know who this man is. What he is—a criminal, a murderer. It’s the heart of gold that sets him apart from the family he works for.
“You’re doing just fine.” I back away, hoping the distance will stop my chest from humming.
“You’re walking out on me?” He glances at me from the corner of his eye, disappointment heavy in his voice. “Are we finished with this conversation already?”
“No.” I keep walking until I reach the far side of the room, then lower myself to the carpet and sit facing him. “The opposite actually. I’m getting comfortable.”
He juts his chin in subtle acknowledgement, but those eyes speak of relief. He’s happy I’m stepping out of my comfort zone. He’s pleased with me, and I both hate and love the sense of accomplishment it inspires. “I’m trying, Luca. I’ll admit I’m not doing as well as I’ve led you to believe.”
“Really?” His mouth lifts, subtle and sarcastic. “You haven’t led me to believe you’re doing well at all, shorty. I know you’re struggling. You’re not sleeping well either, are you?”
“No.”
“Nightmares?”
I nod.
“I’ve woken you a few times,” he admits. “I’m not sure if it helped though.”
My throat restricts. My cheeks heat. “You’ve woken me?”
“Don’t worry; I didn’t disturb your privacy. All I did was call your name from my room, or the hall if you were determined not to wake up.”
The heat increases, the fear disappearing as embarrassment takes hold. “But how did you know I was having nightmares?”
“You cry out. You’ve called my name a time or two, as well, which speaks volumes of the horrors you must be enduring.” He shoots me a sly grin. “But all jokes aside, the first time I heard you I thought you needed my help. That something serious had happened. But once I reached your door, you were yelling for your brother, and then at Robert.”
The humiliation increases, scarring me. I break our gaze, unable to look him in the eye when my burden on him continues to grow.
“If you’re interested, there might be something in one of these bags to help you sleep better.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be sedated.”
“No, not sedatives. After your first few restless nights, I did some googling. There’s an air diffuser around here somewhere. It’s got some type of oil that’s meant to help. It’s a lavender blend or something.”
This is ridiculous. Seriously, ridiculous.
This man, with his cold calculation and criminal ties, is googling sleep aids and buying air diffusers. It’s enough to make a delirious laugh bubble in my chest.
He narrows his gaze on me. “Did I say something funny?”
I stop fighting and let loose with an embarrassed chuckle. “You’re this big, tough, aggressive bad guy. I never would’ve imagined the words ‘lavender blend’ coming from your mouth.”
His grin stops my pulse.
So many men have grinned at me. Leered. Ogled. So many that I never thought I’d appreciate the beauty of a male’s face again. I thought I’d always find their interest threatening. But when Luca smiles at me, the routine spike of apprehension fades into a strange sense of accomplishment.
“Laugh all you like,” he drawls. “I’m only going to get more stir crazy the longer I’m stuck inside these four walls.”
And there goes my happiness.
P
oof. Gone.
“I know you’re not ready to get out of here,” he adds. “But how would you feel about writing a list of goals and attempting to take on one at a time?”
I glance down at my fingers tangled in my lap. I don’t feel good at the prospect, not good at all, even though the uncharacteristic sweetness is appreciated.
I want to stay within my comfort bubble. Unhappy, unhealthy, yet cozy in the familiar surroundings. “Can we leave this for a few days?”
“I don’t think we can. It’s time to start moving forward.” There’s an edge of authority to his tone. “These goals can be small or big—you decide. And we only need to work toward achieving one a day.”
“We?” I raise my gaze, my self-loathing growing at the determination in his expression.
“I’m in this for the long haul. We can do it together.”
I return my attention to my hands and pick at the quick of my thumb. Truth is, I hate disappointing him. I have ever since the first day we met. And now a lifetime of events have passed between us. He rescued me, risked his life to save me. He deserves better than my resistance. I should be giving him my full compliance. If only it didn’t feel like launching myself into a complete free fall.
“Which leads me to my hidden motivation.” He pushes to his feet and walks toward me, towering above me with an outstretched hand. “I’m hoping the first task on your list might be to help me out.”
“Help you out how?” I pause, not eager to place my hand in his. Part of my reluctance is due to my past. There’s more than that, though. I don’t fear him hurting me. My hesitation stems from something different. Something I can’t pinpoint.
When I finally give in, sliding my palm against his, I hold my breath.
His warm, calloused fingers grip mine. Tight. Strong. He pulls me effortlessly to my feet, making me shiver.
“Don’t look so scared.” He drops his hold and takes a step back. “You stitched my head in Greece. I’m only hoping you’ll work your magic to help take those suckers out.”
4
Luca
She follows me to the kitchen where I grab a notepad, pen, and a chair, then continue into the main bathroom. The blade, antiseptic, tweezers, and pile of tissues I attempted to use yesterday are still spread out on the counter as if waiting for the torture to begin.
