by Brandi Evans
The words from his damn letter swirled in my mind. I had to protect her, physically as well as emotionally. To do the latter, I needed to tell her what I'd done, even if it terrified me. Garrett was right. I needed to bare my soul—whatever soul I had left anyway—and hope for the best.
I leaned close and pressed a kiss to the apex of her shoulder. I hadn't intended to wake her, but I was pleased when she flopped her head in my direction and a sleep-laden smile played over lips still a bit pink and plump from repeated use.
"Why aren't you asleep?" she murmured. "You should be as exhausted as I am." She paused. Her grin grew. "Daddy."
I chuckled and kissed her shoulder again. Then, for good measure, I gave her ass a quick, playful slap.
Truth was I was beyond exhausted, but she wasn't the only one of us having nightmares. Mine had returned, too. They'd gone mostly silent since Bree and I had settled into our relationship. With her, I'd felt a kind of peace I'd never before experienced, but since her attack, the nightmares had returned with a vengeance.
I hadn't wanted to bother Bree with them. She'd had enough on her plate, but after tonight, I knew I couldn't keep them from her anymore. What was it she'd once said to me?
Whatever happens to one of us happens to the other. If you hurt, I hurt.
Like pulling off a bandage, I closed my eyes and said it. "I've been having nightmares."
Her eyes popped wide, instantly awake. She looked a question at me, but after a long examining moment, she adopted a position that mirrored mine.
She touched my lower lip. "Tell me."
Her words weren't an invitation; they were an order.
"They're of my father," I answered. "They start out similar to the ones I used to have, but they're getting tangled up with the present, with you. In them, he's not just hurting me. He's hurting you."
"How so?"
"Usually, the nightmares revolve around me hiding from my father while he's drunk. The details change, but he's always trying to hurt me. That's a constant. But now, it's like I'm an entity inside my dreams just watching, and you're the one hiding. He's hunting for you, and when he finds you, he—"
My voice broke, but I forced myself to continue.
"He hurts you, Bree, and I'm helpless to intervene. I have no substance. I'm just there, forced to watch while he beats you."
"Oh, Max—"
"I don't need a degree in psychology to interpret my nightmares. My father—my past—is trying to hurt you. My past sins are literally the reason behind Théo's attack, why he's targeting you. It fucking kills me."
She kissed me, slowly and thoroughly, and when she pulled back, she placed her palm against my cheek, keeping us physically connected.
She didn't push for more. She was simply a steadfast presence, and before I realized what I was doing, my mouth was open, and more words were coming out.
"I hardly remember a time in my childhood that doesn't involve his fists or his anger. Anger directed at me, my mum, my dog who mysteriously went missing when I was six. He was a fucking asshole. My dad, not the dog. I really loved that stupid black dog."
"Where's your father now?" she asked. "Do you talk to him anymore?"
"I will never speak to that monster again."
Overcome with the sudden need to move, I shot from the mattress and crossed to the corner where a small fridge was always stocked with electrolyte-enhanced water. I grabbed a bottle and downed half of it without taking a breath. I wanted to throw the bottle, to smash it against the wall, anything to work off this intense burst of emotion, but then, Bree was there. She snuggled against my back, arms coming around my middle, her cheek pressing to my shoulder blade, and my anger began ebbing away like a leaf caught in a mighty river's current.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have asked about—"
"No." I spun around and silenced whatever she'd been about to say with a kiss. "It's just hard. I hate talking about it. I hate him."
"I hate him, too, and I've never even met him. No child deserves to be beaten. Ever."
I held her tighter to me. Her father might not have abused her, but his crimes had hurt her as much as my father's fists had hurt me. Maybe more so. My father had been an asshole who used his fists for everything; her father had been a conman who'd caused one of the biggest scandals to rock Wall Street. We each lived in the shadows of their actions, but from what she'd told me, her father had been kind to her. Mine had never been kind to anyone.
"He hit my mum, too. He's the reason she was—"
But I closed my eyes. I wanted to tell Bree everything, but I didn't know how to say it. I didn't know how to talk about that night.
"I'm trying to tell you everything, but—"
"It's okay, Max," she whispered. "You don't have to tell me right now."
I rested my forehead against hers. "I truly don't deserve you."
Before she could respond, I took her mouth with mine. She twined her fingers in my hair and kissed me as if she were trying to pour every ounce of comfort she could into the act, but I needed more. I needed the nightmares to go away. I needed to make sure she was safe. Most of all, I needed to find the strength to tell her the truth. All of it. I didn't want to; I had to. I loved her too damn much to keep something so horrific from her.
Chapter 9
Bree
I woke from a thankfully dreamless sleep to an empty dungeon and a note sitting on the nightstand, my name scrawled in Max's familiar handwriting. He'd drawn a lopsided heart around my name, and damn, if I couldn't stop my smile.
When I reached for the letter, I let out a long groan. When Max had "threatened" to fuck me until I couldn't walk straight, he hadn't been kidding. I felt used and adored. It had been far too long since I'd last felt this way.
Somehow, I managed to push into a sitting position and open the letter.
My sweet,
I needed to take care of a few things this morning, but you were too beautiful to wake. With any luck, I'll be back before you stir. If not, Karen's home. She'll be looking for you.
Love you.
Max
P.S. I left a robe at the foot of the bed.
"I love you, too," I said, even though no one was around to hear me.
After pulling on the robe—a creamy, silky material with three-quarter sleeves and an above-the-knee hem—I headed upstairs. The house was quiet. I knew there was security around somewhere, but I didn't run into anyone on my way to the bedroom.
After pulling on a pair of light gray joggers and a rose-colored top, I tied my hair into a messy bun. I found Karen on the patio. Like yesterday, she wore paint-speckled clothes.
She smiled and motioned toward a stainless-steel serving dome. "It's probably a bit cold. I can warm it for you if you like?"
I shook my head. "Don't trouble yourself."
I removed the lid. Breakfast was light yet hardy, which, after last night, I needed. Steele cut oatmeal with fresh fruit and nuts. Lots of complex carbs and proteins—just what the recovering sub required.
I dug in immediately. The food was indeed cold, but it tasted amazing. The coffee she poured from an insulated carafe, however, was piping hot.
She pushed a floral plate toward me, two sealed containers atop it. "Cream and sugar?"
"Yes, please." I got to work doctoring my coffee. "I'm guessing Max isn't back yet?"
She shook her head. "He and Garrett left early this morning. I was half asleep when my husband rolled out of bed. If he mentioned where they were going, I don't remember. I was much too out of it to think rationally." Her smile turned conspiratorial. "You weren't the only girl in this house banged into oblivion last night. At one point, I honestly wondered if I'd be able to get out of bed."
A tingle spread over me as memories of last night floated to the forefront of my mind. "Me too. How those two have the energy to get up early and get anything accomplished after a night like that, I'll never understand. It's utterly unfair."
"What's unfair?" Max said, stepping onto
the patio, Garrett in tow.
My lover held a brown paper bag. The handles were the delicate twine kind made for carrying dainty things.
I was about to ask about the package when Karen spoke. "How you two can manage to fuck us brainless and then seem no less the worse for wear the next morning."
Both men grinned, and I couldn't tell which I'd classify as the cockiest.
"It's just one of our many talents," Garrett said before pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head on his way to his wife. The kiss he gave her wasn't nearly as chaste. It was similar to the kiss Max gave me.
"How're you feeling this morning, my sweet?" he asked.
"Exhausted." I played out the word, doing my best southern belle impersonation.
"Good." He kissed me again, but when he pulled back, his expression had taken on a seriousness that surprised me.
I touched his cheek. "What is it?"
"I, uh, want to take you somewhere today if, uh, you're up for it. No, I don't want to take you. I need to."
My heart rate kicked up, intrigue and apprehension congealing. "Okay. Where?"
"Somewhere I hate."
Max eased our SUV onto the gravel driveway of a one-story cottage with a rock façade. The trip had been terrifyingly quiet. The shower we'd shared before leaving had been equally scary. The way he'd lingered over every inch of my body as he'd washed me had left lead in the pit of my stomach as if he was afraid this would be the last time he'd ever get to touch me.
Two windows sat sentry on either side of the front door. Flower baskets hung below each window, familiar pink and blue flowers inside. Max had several pots of them scattered throughout his indoor garden oasis—our indoor garden oasis. He'd told me he'd brought much of the fauna there from home. This was where he'd meant.
Once upon a time, this had been home.
He put the car in park and then took my hand. "The perimeter's been secured. It's one of the things I was doing this morning."
I nodded. The other thing he'd done was visit the police station. He'd spoken to the detective in charge of his mother's case. He'd told me that before we left the house.
"Security will stay far enough back to give us privacy," he continued, "but well within shouting distance. If worse comes to worst, they'll be able to track us."
He fingered the link bracelet he'd given me after our shower. He had one, too. His was thicker and more masculine but otherwise identical, right down to the tiny tracking devices embedded in the clasps.
Silently, he watched me another few moments. I'd almost say he was savoring the sight of me, and it terrified me.
"I love you," I said, touching his cheek.
"I love you, too." He leaned in for a quick kiss. When he leaned back, resignation played on his face. "Come on, my sweet. It's time I tell you my darkest secret."
My heart was a jackhammer against my sternum as I followed Max up the walk and into the cabin. I had to admit, picturing one of the wealthiest men in the world living somewhere so tiny, even as a child, was difficult, but what the cottage lacked in space, it made up for in fairy tale charm, one hundred times over. This was the hidden cabin where Aurora waited for Prince Charming. I loved it, but I also hated it. Anyplace that made Max's face contort into that level of pain wasn't anywhere I wanted to be, let alone stay.
I thought about going to him, but I wasn't sure touching was what he needed. He was wrestling with the ghosts of his past; he wouldn't want an audience for that. I knew him well enough to know that. I'd give him a little space but only until I felt he needed something different.
I gave his shoulder blades a quick rub before setting out to explore the house. The place had an open floorplan with almost no definition between the kitchen, the dining room, and the sitting area. The same rock façade from the outside had been translated inside. The result was an organic blend of nature indoors; that was becoming a motif with Max's properties. Were this space and the garden outside the inspiration for all the places that followed?
"It's pretty," I finally said.
"The house didn't look like this when I was a child." He sounded miles away.
I turned to him. He stood with his back to me, hunched forward, both hands resting on the old wooden table in the kitchen. The surface wasn't "old" in a bad way. Rustic, yes, that was a better word.
"How so?" I asked.
"Well, for starters, I burned every piece of furniture after I—after he was gone. Anything that had any significance to him, I wanted gone. No, I wanted it destroyed. I started with the ugly-ass armchair he pushed me over the first time he broke my arm."
"The first time?"
He nodded. "He broke it the final time when I was eleven."
"Max, I'm so sorry."
He was quiet a long moment. Each minute that stretched by drew me closer to him. By the time he spoke again, I was almost within arm's reach.
"We didn't have electricity or running water until I was eight. Well, we got power when I was eight. The running water came just days before my eleventh birthday. I remember it so vividly because it was the day my fucking father threw a vase of flowers so hard at my mum that, when she brought her hands up to block it, the vase hit her forearms and shattered. She and I spent the next thirty minutes together while I pulled glass from the places she couldn't quite reach. My father had stumbled off to a bar or something. I didn't care. All that mattered was he was gone. It wasn't the first time I'd had to help her clean up from some injury he'd caused, but it was the first time I asked her why she let him treat her like that. And I will never forget what she said."
I closed the rest of the distance between us, but I didn't wrap my arms around him like I wanted to. Instead, I pushed onto the table beside him. I sat close enough that our bodies touched, letting him know I was there, ready to draw him close if he needed it.
"What'd she say?" I asked when I feared he'd never volunteer the information.
He squeezed his eyes closed, and a single tear leaked free and rolled down his cheek. "Because I love him, and I need him."
Fuck.
I pressed a hand over his heart. I had my own complicated history with my father. The man had been a lot of things—husband, father, entrepreneur, conman—but he'd never been physically or emotionally abusive. At least, he hadn't been intentionally emotionally abusive to me. He had shattered our lives and my mother's trust, however, and that certainly complicated a lot of feels I had for the man. Those feels were nothing like the turmoil rolling off Max in pulsing waves.
"I decided right then and there, looking at my mum's smiling face as I pulled glass shards from her arm, that love was a liability. If being in love could twist a person up like that, how could it ever be good? Love was evil to its core, and for a long time, I believed it. I didn't want anyone to have that sort of power over me. I think that's the reason I managed to fuck up every relationship I've ever had. Even ours. Honestly, Bree, I'm amazed every day that you don't run screaming from me."
He turned his tortured gaze on me, and I nearly wept. The pain in his dark hues reached inside my chest and wrapped barbed fingers around my heart.
I wanted to hold him, but I wanted to turn away, too. The sheer amount of emotion in his stare threatened to split me in two, but I forced myself to keep looking at him. He was opening up to me. It was everything I'd told him I'd wanted; the least I could do was share his pain.
His admission cast our relationship in a different light. The more he told me about himself, the more power I held over him, and he was a man who valued power more than anything. His desire to have ultimate authority over his life had, no doubt, driven him to become who he was. He was a world-renowned financial powerhouse, but I was pretty sure the acquisition of money had been secondary. Having money had simply been the means he'd used to build a business empire where he was the one in command.
For years, no one had held power over him—enter me, demanding more from him than he'd wanted to give. But he had given, slowly, kicking and fighting t
he entire damn time, but he'd given me power over him.
He hadn't been fighting me, I realized now. He'd been in an all-out war with the lies he'd believed since childhood.
I drew the tip of my index finger along his jaw. "Does what you feel for me seem evil?" I asked.
"No." He cradled my cheeks, pressed his lips to mine. "Not evil, Bree, not at all, but it does leave me vulnerable. It feels awful to say that out loud. I love you more than anything, but it doesn't change the fact you have this power over me. You could break me like no one ever has."
"Do you regret falling in love with me?" I hated to ask, but I needed to know.
"Not at all." He kissed me again. "I could never regret loving you. You make me happier than I've ever been, but I'm terrified all the time, too, terrified you'll finally decide I'm not worth the effort."
"I'd never—"
He talked over me. "I'm terrified Théo will get his hands on you. Terrified I'm going to fuck everything up. If I lost you, Bree, it would break me. I'd shatter into a million pieces, and nothing would be able to put me back together."
God, he was fucking killing me.
"I'm not going anywhere, Max."
"But you don't know—"
"I know that I love you. The rest we'll figure out. Together."
He pulled back, stared at me with disbelief in his eyes. "Just like that, you love me enough that it'll withstand anything?"
It was a good question and one I'd been playing over in my mind since he'd kinda-sorta-not-quite proposed to me. I'd been thinking about it even more since overhearing his and Garrett's conversation. But at this moment, staring at him as he looked on the verge of falling apart, the words had come out. And I wanted desperately to believe them.
Garrett knew Max's secret. Karen, too. And they both still loved him. Why would I be any different?
"I can't imagine anything that would stop me from loving you," I said.
He kissed me then, desperation in every stroke of his tongue, in the tightening of his arms around me, in the subtle movement of his rapidly hardening cock against me, loving me in the middle of his childhood house with all its nasty memories.
