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At this point I’m not even sure if I’m a prisoner or if I’m still here by choice. Rigor has given me complete freedom, access to the internet, my own phone has been returned to me—but I’m still here.

I have even played along with my friends, looking back over the fake holiday I had with Rigor when this all started. I told them I’m back now, just busy, but we will all catch up soon.

Why do I get the feeling that I don’t even want to leave anymore.

The guards are still pacing the perimeter, and I doubt I’m allowed off the property—but I’m definitely not a prisoner anymore.

At the party when I saw my brother, I could easily have tried to escape if I wanted to—but I didn’t. I didn’t even consider it.

And now, day by day, I am becoming more comfortable living here with Rigor and more and more terrified of the day when I do have to leave.

It’s not leaving itself that scares me—it’s the thought of not being near Rigor.

And the fact that I want to be with Rigor—that scares me too because he so clearly does not see me in that way.

There are moments when I see flashes of his heart. But they are brief, and he is quick to cover it or push those emotions away before they can become anything.

At his desk in the home office, I click on the folder I’ve been working on, filing away the information and learning more and more about the Bratva.

I’ve finished working on the paperwork and his home system has been mastered to perfection. Now I am going through his laptop and doing the same thing to his digital files. It’s a slow process because there was no system he stuck to here—but I am creating one and rather enjoying the distraction from everything else.

Rigor walks into the office carrying a cup of coffee.

He sets it down on the desk in front of me.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

I shake my head. Then point at the computer screen. “Do you know what this was in relation to? I can’t tell if it was part of the legitimate transaction or the one that took place behind it.”

He leans over my shoulder to look at the screen.

“Mm. That was for a piece of artwork that was purchased to cover up a delivery. The goods where shipped inside the canvas.”

“Ok. Thanks,” I say, dragging the document to the correct folder.

“Thanks for the coffee too.”

“You sure you’re not hungry? You haven’t left the office all morning. Don’t you need a break?” he asks, still standing close to me. Too close because it’s teasing me and distracting me.

I wish he would make up his damn mind about what he wants from me. One minutes he’s avoiding me and the next he’s up against me like this and I know he can feel what I feel. I’m not blind or stupid. And the intensity of the electrical current that runs between us is far too sharp for him to deny.

“I’m fine. I’m in the zone so I’m going to try to get as much done as I can while I’m focused.”

“Alright,” he sighs.

I close my eyes as his warm breath brushes over my neck.

Rigor stands up but his hands are still resting on my shoulders.

“Rigor—“ I practically whisper his name, because I’m fully aware that this is the wrong conversation to start.

“Mm?”

“You’ve been really quiet these last few days. Sometimes—it feels like you want to avoid me—I just—I don’t understand what you’re thinking. What’s on your mind or what is bothering you?” My heart is racing as I clarify what’s on my mind. What’s worrying me .

He clears his throat and drops his hands off my shoulders.

“There is nothing bothering me and nothing on my mind that you should be concerned about,” he says coldly, stepping around the desk to leave the room.

“ No , that’s not an answer,” I say angrily, standing up. I hadn’t intended to fight with him, but if he’s going to stone wall me again, then that’s what’s happening.

He can’t keep leaving me in the dark like this.

One moment hot. The next cold.

“It’s the only answer you’re going to get, firefly,” he says harshly.

“Do not walk away from me, Rigor!” I shout as he turns his back and heads towards the door. “You have me locked up like a prisoner, but you treat me like an honored guest. You give me whatever I want but then won’t talk to me for days. You don’t tell me what’s going on and it’s not ok.” I’m shouting, angry, suddenly unable to control my emotions.

All the emotions that I’ve been holding inside these past few days, trying to be polite and help him through whatever is bothering him—but what about me? What about how I feel and what I need?

I need to know what his intentions are with me.

I’m terrified of the answer. Terrified that he’ll tell me to leave—but I have to know. I can’t keep living in this delusional world.

His own anger seems to peak at the same time as mine. He spins around to face me and glare down at me. His fists are clenched at his side and his jaw is feathering as his muscles clamp down.

“Don’t fucking speaking to me like that, who the hell do you think you are?” he snarls.

“You tell me, Rigor? Who the hell am I to you? What am I to you?” I shout back at him.

We are standing inches from each other and that familiar current of electricity is tugging and sparking and flowing between us.

Rigor lets out a low growl as though he has no words to express whatever is going on inside of him.

That’s when he grabs me and pulls me close and kisses me.

I gasp at the sudden shift from anger to desire.

He steps back, pushing me against the desk and lifting me onto it.

I wrap my legs around his waist, and he runs his hand up my back beneath my t-shirt.

Things escalate quickly. Fierce, feverish and untamed emotions pour out of me and into him as I grab at his clothes and start pulling his shirt buttons loose.

He kisses my neck, almost biting me as his teeth graze over my skin and send shivers through my spine.

He pulls my t-shirt over my head and leans down to wrap his lips around my nipple. I lean back with my hands against the desk and moan with pleasure.

When he presses his lips against my mouth again, I can feel his cock pressing into me, rock hard, throbbing against his pants.

I run my fingers over his belt, fumbling with the buckle, ready to rip his pants open.

But he steps back.

His mouth is pulled tight with the challenge of self-control. His fists are clenched again. He takes another step back, creating more distance between us.

I sit on the edge of the desk lost somewhere between confusion and lust that is quickly turning to anger again.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

“This—has to stop. We can’t do this anymore. Why delude us into thinking that anything can ever progress between us when you don’t even know who I am?” he snarls, his eyes narrow slits of darkness.

“What in the world do you mean?”

“You don’t know my true nature, Aly. The monster I am,” he says with coldness.

I shake my head, sliding off the desk and grabbing my t-shirt from the floor. “Bullshit,” I snap.

He scrunches his nose in shock, glaring at me.

“If you’re such a monster, prove it. You want to try to push me away by scaring me—do it properly. Show me what I’m supposed to me so terrified of.”

“No,” he snaps.

“Then you’re a fucking liar,” I snarl with such intensity in my voice that his eyes shoot open in shock.

He shakes his head and steps forward to grab my arm. He pulls me close and hisses into my face. “Fine. Let’s go.”

***

I take a deep breath. We are standing outside their secret base where they apparently keep their prisoners. My stomach is churning. Knotting and twisting. Wondering if I bit off more than I can chew. But I asked for this. And if this gives me the answers and clarity I need—then this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Rigor has been dead silent the entire drive here.

He walks towards the warehouse. Not inviting me to follow. Still not saying a word.

I jog after him as he takes long strides, moving quickly through the massive double doors. We walk along a passage to another door, locked with a key pad. He punches in the right numbers and it clicks open.

Down a long, dark flight of stairs.

It smells of iron and sweat as we reach the bottom.

When we get there, he still hasn’t spoken, but he grabs my arm and pushes me forward.

I stand in the center of a wide circular space. Along the edges of the back wall are cages. Men sit on cement floors locked behind iron bars, their heads hanging low, their clothes filthy or torn from the bodies. The smell is stronger in here. Urine, blood and perspiration.

In the center of the room is the thing he really wants me to see though.

The thing he turns me to face.

A naked man is hanging from a meat hook. My mind flashes back to the video of Avraam and I push the memory aside.

A man dressed in black is standing in front of the hanging man, holding a thin metal rod.

He grabs the man’s thigh and slowly begins to insert the rod while the prisoner screams a wet gargle, spitting up blood and pain. A weird squelching sound makes me want to puke.

The rod is all the way into his thigh and he’s crying, sobbing like a child, begging for mercy. Shouting that he doesn’t know anything.

The torturer stands back and flicks a switch causing voltages of electricity to shoot through the rod into the prisoners thigh. He spasms, gags and convulses, white foam drips from his mouth until the current is switched off and he’s gasping for air.

I turn away, fighting vomit, fighting panic and shock and fear.

Rigor grabs the back of my head and forces me to look again.

“Watch, little firefly. Watch and understand.”

The torturer flicks the switch again, and the prisoner is convulsing.

Rigor’s fingers tighten around the back of my head. “Do you see who I really am, firefly? I ordered this. He is torturing that man because I commanded it because at the core of who I am—there is only evil,” he growls.

Tears spill down my face and I bash his hand away.

I gasp heavy breaths of stale air.

I turn away from the scene in front of me, fighting the surging panic that’s threatening to take over. I asked for this. I asked for this. I asked for this.

Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment I do everything I can to pull myself together.

My hands are shaking so I scrunch them into tight fists.

I asked for this.

I open my eyes and stare straight at Rigor.

I asked for this.

I clench my jaw and swallow hard.

I asked for this.

Rigor looks at me with satisfaction in his eyes. Darkness and coldness.

I shake my head and huff a bitter laugh of disbelief.

“Nice try,” I mutter.

“What?” he says, moving his head in shock. “What the fuck does that mean?”

I turn to look over my shoulder at the man hanging from the meat hook. He’s unconscious and his torturer is pacing calmly waiting for him to wake up again so he can continue.

I see straight through this ghastly, horrific show. Rigor wants me to see the worst of him. He wants to push me away by shocking me with these visuals. But I know him.

He doesn’t want to admit that I know him. I have no idea why he’s being so fucking stubborn. But I know him.

And there is some reason behind all of this.

I’ve seen how he treats the people who work for him. I’ve witnessed it first hand—how he cares about people.

Whatever is going on here—there is a reason for it.

I sigh loudly, then turn to glare at Rigor again.

“Do you see it?” he growls, trying to push his agenda.

“Do I see what a monster you are? How evil you are?” I ask, a mocking undertone to my words.

He knots his brows.

“I don’t see it, Rigor,” I say gently, then step around him and walk back up the stairs towards the fresher air and the light of day.

My heart is beating wild and chaotic. My mind is racing, and my eyes feel burnt from what I’ve just witnessed. But I don’t see the monster in him. I don’t see what he wants me to see.

I keep walking until I’m outside, standing next to the car.

Standing alone for a moment, I take several very deep breaths of fresh air. My hands are still shaking. I shake them myself, trying to disperse the horrible energy running through me. Then I lean with my back against the passenger door and I close my eyes while I wait for Rigor.