“You're not the hero,” she said. “You're keeping me against my will.”
Damian said nothing to that.
She stared out the window at the passing trees. She felt shell-shocked. Why did this always happen? Why did they always throw her away? Was she not good enough? Even before the scars, this was what happened. What was wrong with her that these men got rid of her at the first available opportunity?
She jumped when Damian's hand rested on her knee.
“I know this is hard for you. But in time you will see it's for the best.”
Being separated from Lindsay wasn't what was best for her. She should have been consulted. He should have asked what she wanted. But then, that wasn't their relationship. His ownership of her had never felt more absolute than in this moment when she belonged to somebody else.
In the very beginning when she was still free, meeting Lindsay at his office in the city for therapy... he'd told her he could find her a good master. Someone who had money, who could take care of her, who could give her all the things she needed. In a roundabout way hadn't he fulfilled his promise? It had taken eight years and a twisted route to get there, but wasn't this what she'd wanted?
It wasn't as though Damian Brand was the kind of man she'd kick out of bed. He ticked all the boxes. Money. Charm. Intelligence. Strong. Beautiful. Masculine. Dominant in all the right ways. If she could have picked a master out of a catalog she couldn't imagine a reality in which she wouldn't have chosen Damian and hoped like hell some other woman hadn't already snapped him up first.
But that was before Lindsay. Didn't what they shared mean anything to him? If he really wanted her, wouldn't he have found a way that they could still be together? If he didn't, what were the odds she'd fare any better with Damian? Damian could have any woman he wanted. He could have one of those young twenty-two-year-olds from the house if he wanted.
He could have a woman without the ugly scars that marred her. It didn't matter what he said about them... nobody could look at her back and not wish those marks weren't there.
Now she wasn't a pity fuck, she was a do-a-friend-a-favor fuck. And somehow that was worse.
Damian remained silent the rest of the way to his house. His modern glass mansion appeared on the horizon. A prison with a panoramic view. It wasn't as big as the house, but it was massive for a place that would hold only the two of them.
“Will I ever see him again?” Surely she would. If he and Damian were such good friends. It would be nothing to just let her see him. Please, just let me see him.
She hadn't even gotten a proper goodbye.
Damian shook his head. “We both thought it would be better if you had a clean break.”
“Well, thanks for consulting me.” She didn't care about respect and titles and rules. She'd yet to call him master, something she was sure he'd noticed and equally sure he'd punish her for later.
He'd probably imagined this going down much differently. He would comfort her. She would fall into his arms. It would be some kinky fairy tale. But all she wanted was to be back in Lindsay's bed, in his plant room with that stupid dirty-talking parrot.
Damian came around to her side, opened the door, and helped her out, then walked her like a prisoner up to his front door.
“Are you going to untie me? Or are you going to treat me like a hostage now that you have me and can do whatever you want? Lindsay made it pretty clear he's not going to be checking on me.”
Damian didn't respond, he just input the security code. She immediately recognized the subtly distinct sounds each button made. It was the same security system the house had. 94353. 94353. 94353. 94353. She thought the number over and over again until it was imprinted on her brain. 94353. She wondered idly if it held some special meaning for him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked as soon as he'd locked them in for the night.
“Yes.”
Damian's eyes narrowed. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir.” She knew she was just digging the hole deeper, but she couldn't help it. That title was reserved for Lindsay. She wasn't ready to use it with anyone else. It felt like betraying him somehow. She was angry at herself for caring about that. Why should she care? He'd betrayed her. He'd thrown her away. Just like the last one.
Damian sighed. “I know you're hurting, but this disrespect won't be tolerated for long. I'm not willing to be a monster with you. Lindsay entrusted me with your safety and happiness. I'll give you time to adjust. You can continue to call me Sir for now. But understand it's only temporary.”
Once they were locked in and the security system was engaged, he untied her wrists. “Don't hit me, and don't try to run. I don't want to keep you tied up like an animal, but I'll do whatever I have to. I am fully aware that I'm breaking the law right now. I couldn't leave you in that house with that monster, but I'm not willing to go to prison for you. Don't push me into a corner where this has to go to an ugly place.”
She wondered if he'd been thinking that speech up during the long car ride while she'd been unconscious.
“Come into the kitchen. I made some beef stew before Lindsay called.”
She followed him to the kitchen. She needed him to believe she would comply with all this so he'd let his guard down. It wasn't as though he were a seasoned criminal. It was doubtful he'd ever kept anyone imprisoned in his home, despite all the bondage equipment in his basement.
She watched as Damian began to reheat the large pot of stew, then he came to stand behind her. He swept her hair out of his way and kissed the side of her neck. He ran his fingertips gently over her back.
She winced. “Please...”
He raised her shirt to look at the bandages. “How bad did he hurt you?”
“Not bad. It's just tender.”
“When you heal we could try to get the scars removed,” he said.
Shannon jerked away from his touch. “No! If you take them from me I'll never forgive you.”
Where had that come from? She'd wanted the scars gone ever since the moment they'd been created. But somehow between the time she'd become Lindsay's and now, something had shifted. Those marks had stopped being about Brian a long time ago.
Hadn't she realized as much in the dungeon when she thought Brian might kill her tonight? Somehow the scars had gone from being Brian's mark of pain and destruction to Lindsay's mark of protection and safety. They were the only thing she had left from him, and she wasn't willing to give them up.
Damian moved around to the other side of the counter, carefully watching her. “I thought you wanted them gone.”
“I don't.”
He held up his hands as if in surrender, even though they both knew he held all the power. “Okay.”
“Okay I can keep them?”
Damian nodded. He was still figuring her out. She wondered if he'd put it together yet. When he did, would he try to have the scars removed to erase Lindsay from her forever?
When the stew started to bubble on the stove, Damian reduced the heat, and ladled some into bowls.
She spotted his keys sitting on the counter. She was so tempted to try to take them, but there wasn't enough time.
“Do you want crackers?” he asked turning back to her.