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“I have to try.”

“It’s too damn risky.”

“It’s my only option.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have options, sweetheart. This house isn’t a democracy. Not when it comes to your safety.”

“Then go with me.”

“You’re not going near him.”

She fell silent, but the way she smoothed out her expression gave her away. She was going to fight me on this, possibly even do something stupid.

Goddamn it.

I loosened my hold of her hair, allowing the strands to slip through my fingers. Way I saw it, I had two options; chain her up and make her obey me, or try to reach a fucking compromise. I wanted the first option. I wanted her locked away in this room where no one except me could touch her.

But she’d only rebel.

I couldn’t keep her locked up forever, just as we couldn’t hide forever. Jax was right about that.

“Wait until after the wedding, then I’ll take you to see your father.”

“Really?” Her tone held a note of skepticism in it.

“Yes.” At that point, she’d be my wife, and Abbott De Luca would hold nothing over us. No more threats of having her committed, and he’d have a hard time building a case against me if I were already married to his daughter.

Alex couldn’t be subpoenaed to testify against me…if it went that far.

One of us had to be practical. No way in hell would her father admit to murdering her mother, and I had no doubt the man had covered his tracks in terms of evidence. I was afraid Alex might never get the closure she was looking for.

But she needed to hope. It was the one thing that kept her going. Kept her strong.

She seemed to mull it over in her head. “After the wedding?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re really going to marry me.” She sounded stunned, as if it were only now hitting her, and that pissed me off.

“Why wouldn’t I marry you? Did you honestly think my saying no had anything to do with our relationship? It was my baggage, Alex.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I thought maybe…”

“Spit it out. You know how I feel about you hiding shit.”

A dark cloud passed over her features, part doom and part gloom. “That’s the problem. You hide things from me, especially your nightmares, and that makes me feel…”

I took her hand in mine. “What, baby?”

“Like it’s my fault.”

I bit back a growl. “I don’t tell you about that shit because it doesn’t involve you.”

“How can you say that? You have nightmares all the time about…when they…” she faltered, unable to finish, but I heard it anyway.

Raped you.

“Babe, don’t go there.” A pleading note crept into my tone, and I despised it. I’d fought for months to put my time in prison out of my mind, and for the most part, it had worked.