by Eden Summers
She slides from her stool and smoothes her leather jacket. “And just FYI. Torian came home yesterday, so you’re—”
“Why the fuck am I still being kept in the dark?”
“Because I asked him to.” She straightens to her full height. “You need all the space you can get. And as I was saying, you’re running out of time to fix this. Hunt and Deck are still in Greece tying up loose ends, but they’ll be back soon and what do you think will happen then? Decker won’t continue letting you make choices for his sister when she’s a goddamn mess. So buck up, asshole. Or prepare to stand aside.”
I stiffen at the truth in her words. At the looming separation.
I won’t let someone else take over Penny’s care. Not even if it’s her family. Especially when it’s not what she wants.
“Handle it, Luca.” Sarah grabs her keys and purse from the counter and makes for the hall. “And do not buy her a fucking puppy.”
She walks herself out. I’m too busy wallowing in self-loathing to follow.
I hate that she’s right.
Fucking detest it.
The thought of hurting Penny again makes me livid. But I need to make my move—before it’s too late.
And, from the sight of Penny approaching the French doors in my periphery, now is as good a time as any.
“Did she leave?” She steps inside, cautiously looking around.
“Yeah. It’s safe.”
I receive a half-hearted smile in return, the gorgeousness quickly fading. “Why did she come over this time?”
I could lie. I could blame my upcoming actions on Sarah, too.
“Luca?” She approaches, her brows raised in question, her eyes bloodshot from recent tears. “What did she want?”
“To help.”
“With what?” She continues to the fridge, turning her back to me as she grabs a bottle of juice.
“With you. She convinced me of something I didn’t want to acknowledge.”
Her movements slow while she pours a mouthful of OJ into a clean glass, drinks the contents, then returns the bottle to the fridge without a word.
I wait for her to ask for clarification. But she doesn’t, instead placing her glass in the sink before walking toward the hall. She’s already predicted what’s coming. I swear she already knows.
“Penny,” I warn. “Your time’s up.”
Her posture stiffens, her chin raising an inch in defiance. “Excuse me?” She doesn’t turn to face me. Doesn’t even glance over her shoulder.
“I said, ‘your time is up.’ You’re not wallowing anymore.”
There’s no response. Nothing at all, before she continues walking.
“Goddamnit. Don’t ignore me.” I slam my palm down on the counter, the crack of noise making her jump. “I’m serious. We need to get back to your list.”
“My list?” She turns, gradually, her brows pinched as she meets my gaze. “You think watching reruns of the Fast and the Furious is going to wipe away my suffering?”
I breathe in her pain, sucking it deep. “We’ll create a new list. One that will teach you self-defense and weaponry. More rigorous exercise, too. You’re going to start training.”
“Exercise is your thing, not mine. I just want to be left alone.”
“I’ve listened to you cry for days. I’m not doing it anymore. If you don’t want to exercise, then we’ll start on self-defense.”
“No.” She scowls. “You can’t make me.”
“I won’t leave you defenseless, shorty. This world with the Torians isn’t the same as the one you grew up in.” I approach her, matching her scowl with my own. “You need to learn to protect yourself.”
“I already know how. My time with Luther taught me that.”
“Then show me.”
Those deep eyes search mine, cautious, annoyed. “I don’t need to prove myself to you.”
“Then consider it a favor. I worry about you. This will help me sleep at night.”
She scoffs. “You don’t think, after all my time spent captive, that I didn’t learn a thorough understanding of what I’m capable of when pitted against a man?”
I encroach, stopping when we’re toe to toe, almost hip to hip. “Then. Show. Me.”
Her expression loosens, her agitation changing to bone-weary sorrow. “Tomorrow.”
“No. Now. Torian is already in Portland. Your brother will soon follow. If you want to stay here with me, you need to show you’re improving, not going fucking backward.”
Her lips part, her shock subtle before she shakes her head. “My sister just died. And you are the one who pushed me to grieve for her. To grieve for everything. Now you expect me to stop?”
“You can grieve all you like. But you need to be learning how to live in this world at the same time.”
“Tomorrow,” she repeats, swiveling on her heels to make for the hall.
I grab her. I fucking shouldn’t, but my fingers latch on to her arm, the throb of connection sliding through me before I realize there’s no going back. “Now, Pen.”
Her breathing hitches, in fear or shock, I’m not sure. She focuses on where I hold her, where my palm grips the baggy sweater just above her arm, before her eyes finally meet mine. “Get your hand off me.” The demand is barely audible, so fragile and weak it only increases my need for action.
I drop my hold and choose to walk into her instead. One foot after the other, intimidating her backward.
“Luca,” she warns as she retreats, matching me step for step until she’s flush against the wall, her head held high, her breaths increasing.
I know those quickened inhales aren’t from lust. I fucking know it. Doesn’t stop me feeling the heat in my veins, though.
The rise and fall of her chest. The soft, parted lips. The way those eyes hold mine.
She undoes me. Without words. Without actions. She fucking tears me apart. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Try to fight me off.” I loom over her, deliberately intimidating.
“I don’t want to fight you.”
“You need to learn. If you have a few tricks up your sleeve—”
“I’ll what?” she interrupts. “I’ll be able to fight off the next person who tries to abduct me? Is that what you think? Because self-defense won’t help when I wasn’t attacked, Luc. I was led. Luther talked me into leaving the States. The only thing you can do to help that is give me lessons on stupidity.”
“He was a master manipulator. Everyone was fooled by him. Even his own son.”
She sighs. “I don’t have the energy for this.”
“Then show me.”
She leans back into the wall, defeat slumping her shoulders. “Please.” She reaches out, her fingers tangling in my shirt. “I’m just so tired, Luc.”
I fucking love the way she says my name. The delicate cadence. The shortened familiarity. And that touch, the one that’s entirely gentle, yet packs a goddamn punch.
My mouth dries, and I’m consumed by that feeling again—the one where passion and duty collide.
“We can do this tomorrow,” she promises. “I’ll work hard to have more energy then.”
I ignore her and lean closer. “You need to place a jab just below the sternum—that’s where there’s minimal muscle to protect vital organs. Or aim for the crotch, eyes—even a stomp to the foot can help.”
Her hands continue to tangle in my shirt, tugging, pulling, silently begging as her teeth dig into her lower lip.
I could drown in this version of her. The timidness. The exquisite feminine frailty.
I want to trap her further. Not just against a wall. But in my bed. Under my body. The attraction is so fucking potent it suffocates me.
Whenever I’m close to her like this, I become consumed by her.
“I don’t want to do this,” she murmurs. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You can’t. You couldn’t. Don’t worry. I’ve got skills of my own.”
She nods, yet those
hands don’t drop from my shirt. They burrow farther, her fingertips sinking beneath the material to brush my stomach.
Adrenaline rushes through me like a storm. My pulse goes manic. She affects everything. Every inch of me. From my drying mouth to my hardening dick. Then I start trippin’, because the little sense I have knows that the timid swipe of tongue she lashes over her lower lip can’t be reciprocated desire.
There’s no way she can feel the same way I do.
No way her heart is pounding from lust like mine.
It’s too soon. I fucking know it. But that rationale doesn’t stop me from leaning closer to feel her breath brush my mouth in the most delicate tease.
Her teeth sink deeper into her lower lip. She bats those feminine lashes. Her hands splay, no longer fingertips against my stomach, but full palms, skin to skin.
I want to groan from need. To fucking moan against her mouth as her touch glides around my waist, then to my back.
After weeks wanting her, craving her, I can’t fight anymore.
I’m done, and about to claim the luscious prize of her mouth when her arms swoop farther. She snatches the gun from my waistband, snaps it in front of me and jabs the barrel into my stomach. Hard.
I don’t even have time to react before she raises a taunting brow at me.
“Are those skills good enough for you?” She jabs me again, the metal digging deep.
I should be pissed. Ashamed at the very least. She used my attraction against me like I was a sex-starved pervert. Yet here I am, still a slave to my pulsing dick.
“I can manipulate, too,” she murmurs, her beautiful face so fucking close. “I’ll never be able to physically defend myself against a man. I know that, Luca, because I’ve had a lifetime of failed experience. But I can distract and influence sometimes.”
Distract and influence?
No. She tempted and seduced.
That damn woman has my cock tied in knots.
“Impressive, Pen. But that gun is loaded. The safety isn’t on. One nudge of the trigger and I’m worm bait.”
The reality should flatten my libido.
It fucking doesn’t.
“Then maybe you should back off and take me at my word when I say I’ve got skills.”
I force out a laugh. “Those so-called skills won’t work on everyone.” Just pussy-whipped chumps like me. “This manipulative display doesn’t change anything. You still need to learn how to defend yourself.”
“Do I need to pull the trigger to prove I’m defending myself just fine?”
I chuckle in an attempt to release some of the blinding aggression. God, I want her. Crave her. Fucking need her. “Don’t kid yourself, shorty. I could get that gun out of your hand in seconds and have you flat on your back in a few more.”
“You don’t scare me.”
“I’m not trying to. But if you don’t lower that barrel I’ll prove my point.” Christ, how I want to prove that point. “So either shoot me or prepare for change, because I’m not backing down.” I flash her a feral smile. “I’m done playing nice.”
11
Penny
I let him touch me.
I stand frozen before him, continuing to let him touch me.
It’s a little daunting. Even somewhat intimidating. But I allow it because the physical contact brings an unfamiliar twist to my stomach. The sensation not loathsome in the slightest.
My pulse hammers, the beat erratic. And my breathing couldn’t settle if my life depended on it.
He does something to me, something I don’t understand. He has a way of wiping the past from my memory, temporarily covering my scars to transform me into an inexperienced teenager.
It isn’t safe to feel like this.
I clear my throat, dislodging the uncomfortable tickle, and lick the dryness from my lips. “Please let me go.” Sweat coats my palm, my grip on the gun slipping. “I need to use the bathroom.”
He doesn’t move. The only acknowledgement of my request is the flaring of his nostrils as his focus narrows on my mouth.
He’s a wall of muscle. A large, protective wall I itch to melt into.
“You’ve got ten minutes.” He steps back, giving me space that feels like abandonment. “Then you’re getting your ass back here to train.”
“Okay.” I nod, my heart rampantly beating in my throat. I’ll do anything, say anything, just to get more breathing room. “Ten minutes.”
I start for the hall, only to have him block my path with a flawless sidestep. “Are you forgetting something?” He holds out a hand, palm up. “Gun. Now.”
I return the weapon, my fingers accidentally dragging over his, the connection increasing the whirlpool of crazy sensations inside me. I literally scamper for the hall like a skittish dog, then continue to my room. I don’t stop my escape until I’ve locked myself in the adjoining bathroom to stare at myself in the mirror. Panting. Gasping.
I barely recognize the woman reflected back at me.
She’s frazzled. Mindless and wild.
For the first time since arriving in Portland, I acknowledge how much my appearance has changed. I was far prettier as a slave. All the visual benefits of the compulsory beauty treatments and hair-styling appointments have since faded. My lashes no longer hold the thick tint. The expensive makeup is no longer a daily requirement. And now I sort of wish they were, because I’m not looking my best for him.
For Luca.
It’s ridiculous and pathetic. Downright insane, too. Yet I feel unworthy at the sight of my reflection.
There’s no sense to my thoughts. None at all. There’s even less sense surrounding the dampness between my thighs, my arousal seeping into the crotch of my sweatpants.
I don’t like Luca that way. I can’t.
I shouldn’t like any man.
So why do I crave things I shouldn’t be craving?
It’s disgusting after everything I’ve been through. Especially when the fluttering sensations were triggered from a moment filled with menace and danger.
I’d had a gun to his stomach. I’d threatened to kill him. All the while, my hands itched to drag him closer. To pull him into me. Against me.
I’d yearned for his proximity. The closeness that always makes me feel sheltered.
“Goddamnit.” I wince through the shame.
Luther did this to me. He’s turned me into a mess.
He influences every second of my life, and it’s got to stop. I refuse to continue being his slave. I hate myself for allowing him to shape me for this long. For not being able to sleep at night. For the inability to wear underwear. For the fear and the anger and the pain.
I cling tight to the vanity and fight the scream clawing up my throat. I will not let that man defeat me. I refuse. He may have won the game with Abi from beyond the grave but he won’t regain a tighter hold on me.
“I won’t fucking let you,” I sneer into the mirror. “You’re dead, you son of a bitch. Fucking dead. You can’t control me now.”
I storm from the bathroom, yanking my sweater over my head as I continue to the wardrobe. If Luca thinks self-defense lessons will help me, then so be it. I’ll learn. It’s not like I enjoy being this broken shred of a woman. I don’t want to be useless.
I’m just not sure my shattered pieces can be recycled into something worthwhile.
I strip off my moist sweatpants without daring to look at them. That’s when I pause, my hand poised near another oversized outfit when my gaze catches on the only set of figure-hugging yoga pants I mindlessly purchased with Luca’s credit card when I first arrived.
I have a closet full of baggy items. But I no longer want to hide in those.
I want to be better. To be whole.
I’m not going to like this. I already hate it. Yet, I drag the stretchy pants from the shelf anyway and don’t allow myself to acknowledge an ounce of discomfort as I yank them on.
I ignore the snug fit as the material clings tight to my thighs. And I don’t take not
e of my figure after I drag a tank top from the shelf and pull it on. The inbuilt sports bra is the closest I’ve come to underwear in a long time.
Everything I wear is constricting. I try to make it embolden me, the taunting restriction working as a reminder of what I’ve been through. A conniving devil smothered over every inch of my body.
Then I turn on my goddamn heels and trek back to the living room, determined to find a piece of myself in whatever maddening defense lesson Luca has in mind.
If only the look in his eyes didn’t lessen my wafer-thin enthusiasm.
I wish I could ignore this, too. The frowned shock at my appearance. The wrinkles of disapproval.
“Something wrong?” I ask over the lump in my throat.
“No. Nothing.” His voice is gruff as he pushes the coffee table away from the sofa, creating space in the middle of the room. “Just surprised, that’s all. It’s been a while since you wore something that didn’t resemble a sack.”
I take a step back, my skin crawling with the need to hide.
“Get over here,” he growls. “Let’s get this done.”
“If this is such a burden, why are we even doing it?”
“It’s not a burden.” The growl deepens. “It’s—” He stops mid-sentence, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
“It’s what, Luca?”
“Nothin’. Just get over here.”
I bite my lip, not wanting to move, equally despising the warmth that has shifted from between my thighs to pool in my chest.
“Now, shorty.”
“Okay, you don’t need to bark at me.” I walk forward, my heart fluttering wilder the closer I get, the furious beat only increasing when I stop a few feet away from him. “What do you want me to do?”
He doesn’t meet my gaze as he repositions his stance on the rug, spreading his legs a few inches apart. “I’m going to teach you some basic moves first.” He brushes his hands together, his biceps flexing beneath the cuffs of his T-shirt. “When someone’s coming at you, you want to be assertive and as loud as possible. Obviously, aim for the groin if you can. That tends to drop a guy like a sack of shit. But if you can’t, you can try a hammer punch.” He clenches his fist and makes a predictable hammer movement. “Or your elbows. Or the heel of your palm. You want to use—”
