I whimper my dismay. “Please,” I beg, beyond caring.
My hips rock forward against the bars, and I can’t imagine how I look right now. Elijah stands there like a fortress in a suit—impenetrable. Adam’s hand may have played with me, but Elijah is the one who controlled the strings. “Please,” I say again.
His green eyes look past me. “You. Back the fuck off.”
The heat from Adam melts away. Then it’s only the two of us standing a foot apart, cold metal bars between us, an entire world between us.
We’ll never be on the same side again.
I know this is wrong and perverse, but somehow that only makes me hotter. There are two men watching me, two men burning for me. I don’t need to look down at the erections between their legs to know this. It’s clear in their eyes.
I glance back at Adam, and he’s lounging on the cot, a pair of slitted eyes.
Elijah taps my clit through the fabric. “Look at me.”
And so I look into his green, green eyes. They look like the glittering surface of the sea, and I feel a pang of regret for ever leaving that paradise. If I had never run from him, I would never know the depths he would go to catch me.
He pushes the heel of his hand against my clit. “Go on. Make yourself feel good, sweetheart.”
My cheeks burn, but I obey him. I rock my hips against his hand using the bars for leverage. His gaze never leaves mine, not even when I climb onto the precipice, not even when I fall. The orgasm clenches every muscle in my body, and I keen my perverse pleasure.
There is no time to relax after the climax. I wrench myself away from the bars.
“I hate you,” I say between gritted teeth. Tears of humiliation dampen my cheeks.
“That’s fine, sweetheart.” Elijah doesn’t sound bothered in the least. He scrubs his hand over his face, the same hand he used to make me come. He breathes deep as if enjoying the scent of me. It feels primal, having my scent on him, and I fight the satisfaction it gives me.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can.”
“Adam thinks you’re trying to prove a point. That you don’t deserve me.”
An eyebrow rises. “Do you think I deserve you?”
“At this point you only deserve a hard kick between the legs.”
He laughs, revealing white teeth. Why does he have to look so handsome? As good as he looks in a T-shirt and tactical pants, he somehow looks even better in a suit. His green eyes sparkle. “I’ve always liked that violent edge you hide from the world.”
“You bring it out in me.”
He crouches in front of the bars. “Fine. Here’s a real answer. Because this is who I really am. You met me in captivity last year. I was injured and beaten. Tortured. Hungry. So you assumed I was tame. That wasn’t true then, and it definitely isn’t true now.”
Tame? No, he’s definitely a wild animal. Feral. “You’re angry at Adam. You should be. He shot you and imprisoned you, but I didn’t do any of that. So why am I here?”
“For the same reason a lion drags a lioness into his den.”
I shiver, and though I hide my response, my body heats. This particular lioness likes to be dragged around by her lion. “I will fight you.”
“Good.” He pushes the bag through the bars. “You earned this.”
Humiliation threatens to drive me to my knees. My stomach turns over, but I force myself to face him with my head held high. He created this situation. He’s responsible for every ounce of shame it causes me.
Not that it bothers him much.
He gives me a small smile, not abashed in the least. He turns and walks away, sure of my response. Sure that my desperation will make me comply.
It’s with shaking hands that I sort through the offering he brought. I need the water, and I know that in a few hours, I’ll be grateful for a Snickers bar. Except that’s what he wants from me. That will only give me enough strength to play more of his sick games.
He wants to prove that he’s evil? Let him.
I shove the bag back to him. It slides through the bars, beyond my reach.
He stops and turns back around. “What are you doing?”
“Fighting you.”
He looks pitying. “That’s only going to make you weaker.”
“Yes. It will kill me if you wait too long.”
“So you think I’m going to release you if you don’t eat.”
“Or drink. Yes. I don’t think you’re as terrible as you want me to believe. I don’t believe you’d let an innocent woman starve to death. That’s something your father might have done, but you’re not like him. No matter what you say.”
Shadows flicker through his green eyes, and I have the sense that he isn’t fully in the present. Memories are dragging him back. They may even claim him for good. It’s a war I’m fighting. For the man inside him who wants to be honorable.
I believe he’s there, even if Elijah doesn’t.
He turns and leaves the basement.
My throat constricts as if to remind me how thirsty I am. The bag of water sits a couple yards away from the bars. Far enough that I can’t reach it, but I can look at it.
When I look back, Adam is looking at me with a mixture of amusement and dismay. “Hell,” he says. “You might have consulted me first.”
Guilt gnaws at my insides. “I’m so sorry. And you’re injured.”
He laughs. “It was worth it to see the shock on his face. He didn’t see that coming. And don’t worry. I’ll live. If only to spite Elijah North, I’m making it out of this cell.”
I curl up on my cot and fall into a deep sleep of exhaustion.
Dreams come in the form of an endless black ocean. I’m falling, crashing into the water. The impact leaves me breathless. Water swirls around me. Bubbles escape my lips.
When I can finally see, there are nets all around me. Beside me, beneath me.
Even above me, keeping me from the surface.
The nets pull tighter and tighter, until they trap my arms against my body. They wrap tight around my tail so I can’t swim anymore, and then I’m falling, sinking into the black abyss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Adam
Apparently I’m on a hunger strike.
It wouldn’t have been my choice, especially with the bleeding coming from my side, but I’ll stand in solidarity with Holly. Or sit, which may be my only option. Lying down also works.
Holly is sleeping so deeply that she didn’t stir even when I used the bucket in the back corner, thank God for small favors. Now she has a gentle snore that somehow sounds cute.
There’s a creak at the top of the stairs, but she doesn’t move. I stand and move between her and the stairs, ignoring the throb in my side. It’s ridiculous, really, the idea that I could protect her. A hard wind would knock me over. Now I understand why Elijah was intent on defending her in that French church.
Holly Frank has a way of bringing out the protective instinct in a man.
Elijah has shed his suit jacket upstairs. He’s wearing shirtsleeves rolled up and rumpled. That doesn’t make him look nearly as casual as his socks. Black dress socks. He’s not wearing any shoes. It’s like he got drunk on the sacramental wine and then came downstairs.