“And why is that?”
“Because, I’m going to get you out of this place.” His eyes narrow and blaze with fire.
It’s a punch in the gut and a reminder. The men here, all of them, only ever look at me as a thing to have. To take and claim. Hurt and destroy. Max is no different. He just laid it on the line. He wants me. He desires me. And he’ll do whatever it takes to have me.
Unwittingly, Max signs my death warrant. He doesn’t understand that Benefield never relinquishes his toys.
Never.
I’m a dead woman walking.
Although, Max makes me believe there’s life beyond these walls, his interest consigns me to death.
I pull back from his touch and drop my gaze. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you any reason to think otherwise, but I truly am here by my choice. My place is by Tomas’ side.”
“You’re very convincing, but I don’t believe you. Given the chance to be free of this place, would you take it?”
That path leads to death.
I’d rather stay with the monster I know than leave with the one I don’t.
“That is not for me to say.” A tear makes its way past my defenses. It pools in my eye and trickles down my cheek. “My place is here.”
Max brushes the pad of his thumb over my cheek, catching my tear. He puts his thumb to his lips and sucks away the salty essence. I want to grab his hand and demand he return my tear. He has no right to it.
“You don’t belong here,” he says.
“And yet, here I am. Didn’t we have this talk already?”
“What do you mean?” His brows pinch with confusion.
“Men crave beautiful things. They put them in cages to keep them safe from the world, without realizing they destroy what they aim to protect.”
I firm my chin and wrap my protective inner armor back around myself. Max gets under my skin. I lower my barriers when I’m with him, letting him see the weakness within me. Pain hitches in my chest as I turn away.
Max’s arm shoots out. He grabs me and spins me around until I face him.
He’s tall, massive, undeniably male, and I react to the potent swirl of masculinity engulfing me. His intoxicating scent hits my sensory receptors. Male. Virile masculinity. Power. Control. It’s an aphrodisiac I can’t escape.
“Some men set those they love free,” he says, “hoping they will one day return. Not all men are monsters.”
“The men who come here are.” There, I said it. I called him a monster.
“I would never put you in a gilded cage.”
No, but you would buy me and take my freedom. “I’m not for sale, Mr. S, but there are plenty of girls here who are.”
Max makes me believe he can protect me. He makes me believe I’ll find shelter in his arms. God forbid, he makes me believe he will rescue me.
I can’t help but dream.
His masculine aroma slams into me. I try to turn away. I try to fight biology on its most primal level, but Max holds me tight in his grip.
I should shout, or scream. Only nobody will come to my aid. Not in this place. Not where such sounds are a part of business as usual. Only, I don’t shout. I don’t scream.
I need to believe, if only for a moment, that this man might care for me, even if it’s not true. I need it because I’m weak and incredibly lonely. If these past few weeks taught me anything, it’s that there is no hope.
I place my hand between us, meaning to push him away, but the moment my palm connects to the warmth of his chest, I breathe out all the torment and misery within me. I need a protector more than I need to breathe.
My head tilts forward, and before I know it, my forehead presses against the hard planes of his chest. My fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt as my shoulders shake with the sobs I refuse to let loose.
He grips my other arm. Instead of tightening—instead of hurting me—his bold hands glide over my shoulders, pulling me to him. In complete silence, he does nothing other than hold me while I silently fall apart in his arms.
Outwardly, all I do is stand still. Inside, I weep and sob and cry as I pour out months of terror and fear into his embrace.
I need this. I need a protector.
A savior.
I need to know I’m not alone in this desolate hell.
Why does he hold me? Why am I leaning into him? Why does it feel like that perfectly tailored suit is nothing but a shell? Like if I were to strip it away, I’d see the real him?
Is it too much to hope for compassion from a monstrous man? The solid beat of his heart steadies me. The slow draw of his breath centers me. I feel him all over, touching me and protecting me. I feel him humming in my blood, delving deep into all the hidden places inside of me.
The canopy rustles overhead as a songbird shifts in its roost for the night. The noise breaks this odd spell, clearing my muddled thoughts. I push away, but he growls deep in the back of his throat. His arms tighten.
“You’re safe, Eve. You’ll always be safe with me.”
The funny thing is, I believe him.
An insect buzzes off to my left and a tree frog answers with a chirp. A light breeze tickles my cheek as his fingers float through my hair. His tenderness will destroy me.
When the backs of his knuckles graze my face, I hold my breath and tense. Reality comes crashing around me. This is a mistake.
It’s a terrible mistake.
He cups my jaw, such a gentle touch for a massive man. It feels nice, but he’s not safe. He’s a man bent on bending a woman to his will. Maybe this is how it starts? Give a little tenderness to draw me in, then crush me beneath his strength.
My chin tips into his palm, unwilling to be rid of his touch so soon. There’s something about him that draws me and compels me to believe his lies.
I look up at him, and tumble into his compassionate gaze. Mesmerizing and dark, his eyes shine vividly, promising protection and salvation. His mouth parts, and for a minute, I think he’s going to kiss me, but he only presses his warm, pillowy lips to the top of my head.
This feels too heavy.
Too real.
Something shifts within me, a loosening of the iron-tight hold I keep on my emotions. There’s a gravity to this moment, as if everything is going to change.
And that is dangerous.
I should fight this strange chemistry, but all I do is lean further into his embrace. I’m so tired of fighting, of pretending, of hating what I’ve become. I’m tired of everything.
All I want is for all of this to end.
If I’m to become a slave, is this man any worse than the others?
Then it hits.
His tenderness will be the thing that breaks me.
In the fight for freedom, I’ve already lost.
Eighteen
Max
It takes four days to clear my suite of all the bugs. While we identified all of them that first day, removing them in one sweep would’ve raised red flags. As a result, we moderate our conversations.
Knox gets up from his knees with the last of the listening devices pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He walks into the bathroom and crushes it beneath his shoe and the hard tile.
I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“Finally.” Not that we’re going to suddenly reveal our true identities, but it’s one less thing to worry about. I don’t have to spew filth to Knox about the girls I’m considering.