Stop touching him!
It took all my strength to obey. Every instinct boycotted when I forced myself to let go—to allow him to willingly strangle me.
Dropping my hands to my sides, I locked my elbows, keeping them dead straight. I shuddered uncontrollably, battling the instinct to fight back.
Only once I’d gone completely still, with no threat of touching him, did he unlock his fingers and stand. The instant he let me go, I rolled onto my side and hacked and choked, dragging oxygen into greedy lungs.
He stood staring, his face black and terrifying.
I thought I knew what I agreed to, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t factored in his volatile mental state. He was more than just an asshole. He was unhinged—deranged—and every agreement we’d made seemed incredibly idiotic.
He groaned under his breath, sounding like a wounded animal before dragging hands over his face. He paced away, stalking from one end of the room to the other.
By the fifth or six lungful of air, I sat up. But I was too afraid to stand. I liked being down here, away from his murdering fingers.
Fox prowled, muttering under his breath. His eyes flashed from deadly to contrite to weary. Stopping behind his desk, he snarled, “I didn’t mean to do that.” His fists opened and closed with unspent energy. “You provoked me. At least now you know what happens. Don’t disobey me. Next time, I might not have the strength to stop.”
His mouth tightened into a grimace. Anger rolled off him, buffeting me across the small distance between us. My heart raced, and I couldn’t look away. He entrapped me with his stare, wreaking havoc on my emotions.
I flushed, dropping my gaze. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Nervously I climbed to my feet, kicking off the stupid heels to stand barefoot on the silky strands of the carpet. Better to run. Better to flee. “I didn’t mean to disobey.”
I wanted to curse him for hurting me rather than apologise, but his remorse was real. It echoed in the room, vibrating in his muscles. He watched me warily as if I’d run at any moment. It was his fault for kissing me so sweetly, so gently. For a man who wore violence as his true identity, my mind couldn’t come to terms with how softly he’d kissed me.
Running a shaky finger over my bottom lip, I tried to forget. Tried to ignore the awkwardness, the strange determination, and sweet eagerness that’d been on his tongue. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it’d been his first kiss.
Testing, learning, figuring out how to do it.
My eyes widened, staring at Fox. The concept of him never kissing anyone seemed completely absurd. This male didn’t kiss. He plundered and took.
So why did I kiss a completely different man than the one standing in front of me?
Once again my heart popped with little bubbles of despair. The tenderness of a motherly instinct rose quickly. I wanted to tear through his inner turmoil and give him a person to confess to, lend an ear and nod in concern—to share his burden.
Because he was burdened. Heavily.
His gruffness and scar didn’t scare me. He spun a lie and the stench of untruths never worked on me.
Flashes of emotion appeared in his eyes.
My heart raced, bashing against my ribs. Taking a careful step forward, ignoring the bruising around my neck, I asked, “Are you alright?”
His eyes popped wide and he laughed. “You’re asking if I’m alright? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
I shrugged. “We all have triggers. I believe you when you said you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
He froze, staring as if I confused the hell out of him. “If we all have triggers, you must have one. What’s yours?” His voice stayed deceptively quiet.
I wasn’t being baited into revealing more of my secrets before I was ready. Shaking my head, I said, “That doesn’t matter. What matters is I promise I won’t touch you again. I can see it’s an issue for you. I’ve learned my lesson.”
And I’ll figure out the reason behind it.
Fox gritted his teeth. For a second, I wondered if he’d order me to leave—that he no longer wanted to buy me.
Finally, he nodded. “In that case, let’s proceed.”
Chapter Six
Roan
There were certain things in life that made sense and others that made no sense at all. Most of my life didn’t make sense—I had no freedom, no right to my future. I obeyed orders: slept when I was told to sleep, ate when I was told to eat, and killed when I was told to kill.
But my ruthless conditioning, the coldness that imprisoned my life, had cracked and splinted and begun to thaw.
And it was all because of one person.
One person who didn’t fear me. One person who pushed me beyond my boundaries and helped me find a way to wellness.
One person who could make it better.
I knew it was only a matter of time before I ruined it. But I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.
Tonight, I did the one thing that made the least sense of all.
I bought a girl.
And I would never let her go.
* * *
I couldn’t meet her eyes.
I couldn’t look at the red marks on her neck without being crippled by guilt. There was no correct etiquette of what to do after throwing someone to the ground and strangling them mid-kiss.
My first fucking kiss and I fucked it up.
You should’ve done what you were ordered. I should’ve believed them when they said there would be no going back.
There were no guidelines, or manuals on how to break what had been drilled into me for twenty-two years. They created a machine and everything of who I’d been had ceased to exist. That kiss just proved it.
I’ve bought a woman, and I’ll probably kill her before I’ve even noticed.
My heart squeezed at the thought. I didn’t know her, but already she’d given me something incredible. She’d kissed me with nothing barred; she’d poured every need and dream into her tongue and licked me with passion. Her body pressed against mine, her heat sent my cock rippling with the first pre-cum I’d enjoyed in my life. Everything overwhelmed me and I over thought the kiss, trying to understand how to tilt my head, how hard I could go without clashing teeth. It’d been consuming, amazing.
My hands curled with hatred for myself. I’d expected too much—I thought she’d offered me a miracle.
I let my guard down and broke my feeble control. One touch. One simple touch to send me hurtling back to who I’d been and using second nature against me.
Zel rubbed her neck, nonchalantly bringing her thick hair to cover her shoulders, hiding the majority of the bruising. “It’s okay, you know. I accept your apology. You don’t have to look as if someone will come and beat you.”
How did she guess?
I snarled, pacing away. “You don’t know anything. Stop trying to figure me out.”
I hated that I was supposed to be in control but every time Zel stole it off me. Either with her temper, her understanding, or her strength. I was one step behind and fumbling like a fucking buffoon.
I wanted to scream at her to let me inside—to give me power over her, but at the same time I needed her to remain strong. I needed her courage if she had any chance of surviving me.
Deciding to focus on the kiss rather than the aftermath, I stopped pacing and faced her. “What did you feel kissing me? I want to know.”
Her cheeks flared. “I don’t need to tell you. You know.”
“What do I know?” I knew her taste still lived in my mouth. I knew my cock hurt with how much I wanted to plunge inside her, but I had no fucking clue what she thought. I wanted to know she was as affected by whatever existed between us as me.
Because if she doesn’t it’ll prove that you’re fucking unlovable.
The thought came from nowhere, and I sucked in a gasp. Fuck me, was this what rehabilitation felt like? Ripping myself apart, tearing away the pieces I wanted to be free from, flushing remnants of addiction from my veins. There was
no doubt I was in withdrawal—not from substances, but from a conditioning that owned me body and mind.
Hazel murmured, “When you kissed me I felt everything. I loved the slipperiness of your tongue. The heat of your body. I could feel—” She paused before carrying on, “I could feel your cock against my belly, and it made me want you. The kiss whispered of promises, and my body melted for you. Does that answer your question?”
Goddammit, it made me rock hard and drooling.
Zel was so different than the last woman. She was a comet, blazing through my dead world.
I’d screwed a total of one woman. She’d been like me: a belonging. We sneaked out of the establishment one night and indulged in what we’d seen people do on television. It hadn’t been great, more like a life experience I needed to get over with, but it’d given me a brief taste of connection. We hadn’t kissed. We hadn’t hugged—touching apart from the essentials was out of the question.
Afterward, we went back to our cells and never mentioned it again.
Two weeks later, we all graduated, and she left for her assignments and I left for mine. The rest of my life had a large stain over it, and I didn’t like to go swimming in memories.
Why did you buy her? You know it’s not going to end well.
I didn’t fucking know. It’d been spur of the moment, an urge I couldn’t disobey. I had to keep her. I had to know if she could cure me. I couldn’t describe the insane idiocy of dragging her upstairs. The connection made no sense. I’d never been interested in anyone the way I had locked onto her. It wasn’t logical for a man of my past to even care about another human, let alone suffer lunacy at the thought of letting them go.
The kiss had been too distracting. Dropping the tight grip on my control, I focused on her heat and texture. I memorized every nip and sweep of her tongue. I didn’t notice she’d unlocked her hands.
Big mistake. Huge fucking mistake.
It couldn’t happen again.
Scowling, I settled stiffly into my chair, thankful for the large expanse of wood between us.
She moved to the chair opposite and sat down. My eyes narrowed on the shadows on her neck. As much as I thirsted for the connection, as much as I wanted her to touch me and find solace from a lifetime of pain, I couldn’t.
The closest I could come was using her callously. Never letting her get too close, never sharing any of my thoughts or past.
It was best she knew nothing about me.
I told her not to touch me. It’s not my fault I hurt her.
That was bullshit.
It seemed other precautions would have to be taken to make sure she didn’t disobey again and make me kill her.
Her eyes met mine and my heart lurched. Run. Leave me. No amount of money is worth staying with a monster like me.
Needing to dispel the wariness between us, I muttered, “I’m sorry.”
Zel nodded, wincing a little from her sore neck. “I know. You don’t have to mention it again. Call it a learning curve.” Her eyes held forgiveness along with fierce determination.
I snorted. She thought she could fix me, and I wanted her to. Too bad it would never have a happy ending.
Sighing, I grabbed a piece of paper and my favourite fountain pen. Bowing my head, I scribbled:
Contract between Obsidian Fox and Hazel Hunter.
The vague agreement wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. I only bothered so I had something to hold over her if she suddenly tried to leave. I might want her to leave for her own safety, but I was a selfish man and would use her for as long as I could.
Hazel agrees to obey Fox implicitly for the agreed amount of time of one month. In that time she will go where he wishes, do what he wants, and offer no argument or disrespect. In that time, Fox agrees to treat Hazel with respect and won’t make lavish demands. Hazel agrees to be available to Fox at any time, night or day for his needs, and will obey any order that’s given. Fox agrees to keep her safe, not cause any pain—
Stopping, I scratched out the last line. I’d already caused her pain by body-slamming her to the ground.
Fucking idiot. Fucking machine.
My handlers had ruined me for life. The automatic maiming from being touched had been so ingrained, it would never leave. I was a moron to think it ever would.
The heaviness in my soul grew as I accepted the inevitable: I would never be free.
I’d been able to break other commands, but touching had a special hold on me. After all, they’d gone to a lot of trouble to make it my first instinct.
The cane came from nowhere, walloping me around the back of my knees. My hands flexed around the knife as I faced the target of bundled hay dressed in kid’s clothing of dungarees and green t-shirt.
“Stab it, Operative Fox.”
They struck me again, and this time it was instant. The moment pain radiated in my joints, I stabbed the dummy with all my strength.
Again and again they hit me until the hay and clothing were a shredded mess at my feet. Sweat ran under my thick winter jacket even as snow flurried around us from the icy Russian winter.
Pain equalled pain. To be inflicted meant to inflict. Touch meant to kill. Simple.
It was freeing to obey such a basic code.
I shook my head, frowning at the piece of paper. Damn fucking flashbacks. They came more often when I was stressed.
Returning to the paper, I finished writing:
Fox agrees to pay Hazel one hundred thousand up front, and another one hundred thousand dollars at the end of one month. If Hazel leaves without Fox’s permission before the time is up, the contract is null and void and no money shall be exchanged.
Scrawling my illegible autograph, I looked up.
Zel hadn’t moved, her eyes focused on my scar. Interest and pity etched her face.
I growled, “Another rule I forgot to mention. Don’t you dare pity me. I don’t want your pity. I don’t deserve your pity. Understand?”
She flinched, but didn’t look away. “It’s not pity. It’s curiosity.” Her hand flew up to spin a delicate chain around her throat. I’d noticed it before. A single star.
The way she touched the silver in reverence hinted that it held a tender history. It meant a lot to her.
It made me jealous.
“I’m just trying to understand you. That’s all.” Her voice was firm and not in the least bit scared of my minor episode of throwing her to the floor. She was so damn strong. Idiotic hope sparked once again. Was she strong enough to withstand me?
My lips tingled, remembering her taste. Remembering the brutal need in her—the summoning from her body to mine.
My heartbeats changed from low and measured—how I always was when I slipped into conditioning—to fast and hard with need.
I wanted her.
Shifting, I rearranged my fucking hard-on. Her lips curled just a little, almost as if she knew what caused my discomfort.
It was her. All her. Damn woman.
“Sign this.” Shoving the paper across the desk, I motioned for her to come forward.
In bare feet, she stood and padded closer. Perching on the edge of the desk, the gold and silver dress hitched up, showing a split to mid-thigh.
Goddammit.
My stomach twisted as my cock lurched, growing hotter and thicker until I was sure it would self-combust.
With slightly shaking fingers, Zel took the piece of paper and read it. Her eyes narrowed and she nibbled on her bottom lip. I expected an argument, but she only nodded and looked up. “I need your pen.”
Silently, I passed her the fountain pen and held my breath as she signed with a pretty flourish. I felt like a full-blown asshole. I’d made her submit for money. What sort of bastard did that? It couldn’t be helped that she really had no concept of survival. Selling herself to a stranger for a month? What woman did that? We were both as bad as each other.
The thought had a strange appeal.
Keeping my face completely neutral, I took the signed cont
ract from her, keeping my fingers well away from hers, and placed it into the top drawer and locked it.
A smidgen of relief filled me. She was mine for exactly thirty days. It was time we got acquainted.
Her eyes swept upward, connecting with mine only briefly before dropping to the scar. Her pouty lips thinned while thoughts swirled in her green eyes.
The scar had been a punishment—a reminder of just how deep I’d fallen. It’d been retribution for not obeying.
I couldn’t even think about that night without breaking into a cold sweat.
“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” Checking the time on my phone, I added, “What time do you normally go to bed?”
She paused, surprise written on her face. “Same as everybody else I guess. About midnight, get up at about six or whenever Cla—”
She snapped her lips together, avoiding my eyes.
“Don’t do that—cut yourself off mid-sentence. Whatever you were going to say, I want to know.” I hated her keeping things from me. Even though I had full intention of keeping everything from her.
She pulled her shoulders back, fighting me with her gaze. “I was going to say when Clue gets up for work. She has a range of jobs, and some days she’s up very early.”
The lie rained from her lips like the truth, but I knew different. The decibels of her voice were odd.
Shaking my head softly, I whispered, “I know you just lied, but after what I did, I won’t push it. But next time…it better be the truth.”
She held her ground even as a flash of apprehension filled her gaze.
I cocked my head, drinking her in. “Where are you from originally?” I guessed Europe—Spain perhaps. I’d become quite an expert on guessing nationalities. Another hazard of my previous employment.
She shrugged, eyeing me warily. “I don’t need to lie about that. I only knew my father. Or at least, I think he was my father. He looked after me until he just disappeared one day. I think I was five when he left. I vaguely remember him speaking another language, so it’s entirely possible I’m from overseas and not Australian originally.”
I didn’t have a retort to that. Seemed we had yet another thing in common. Missing lineage. Missing pieces from our past.
