Page 215 of Ruthless Desires: Vol. One

“You have multiple tells,” Oliver says with a snicker. “We figured them out pretty damn fast.”

I sputter, trying to think of a reply, but I end up laughing into Oliver’s sweater, clutching the fabric with my fist. When I stop, I find both men staring at me. Elliot looks relieved, and Oliver looks like… well, he looks like a man who’s hopelessly in love.

Gently, I kiss them both. Then I say to Elliot, “Do you want me to come with you? To the apartment?”

“Only if you want, love. It might help you remember what happened Friday night when you got kidnapped.”

“Oh, that’d be nice.” I start to get up.

Oliver’s arms lock around my waist. “That’s not a good idea, Wren.”

“What? Why not? If I remember—oh.” I sag against him. Because while I hate not knowing what happened Friday night, I’m not sure I’m ready to remember. What if something horrible happened? Can I handle that right now? I don’t think so.

“Why don’t you give yourself some time, princess? Let yourself recover and work through everything you’re feeling now before adding something else to the mix.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” I mutter.

Squeezing me gently, Oliver says, “Is Rhett going with you, Ell?”

“No. He wanted to stay in case you two needed anything.”

Oliver frowns. “You’re going by yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, O.”

“I’m coming with you.” Oliver kisses my temple before lifting me off his lap and setting me on the couch. “You’ll be okay, princess?”

“Yeah. Thank you for listening to me.”

“Whatever you need,” he murmurs. Then he gives me one last kiss before he leaves with Elliot.

For a few minutes, I sit in silence, going over everything I said to Oliver. I feel a little better, but there’s still so much weighing on my chest. Why didn’t I tell Oliver that Ludo showed up and left me? How am I supposed to get over my fear of water? What if I’m never able to recover from what Jordan put me through?

No. I can’t let that happen. Iwon’tlet that happen.

Without another thought, I stand from the couch and head upstairs. In Elliot’s bathroom, I close the door, leaning against it. Starting with the tub is a disastrous idea. It’s too big and intimidating. So I move to the sink, turning on the water.

It flows down the drain, and for a second I stand as still as a statue, making sure I’m ready for this. But the thing is, if I wait until I’m comfortable, I don’t think I’ll ever move forward. So I close the drain and let the sink fill up.

Once there’s an inch or two of water in the bowl, I dip my fingers into it, letting the warmth ground me. So far, so good.

“You can do this,” I tell myself, staring at my distorted reflection on the surface. “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

But as the level rises, my heartbeat quickens and my thoughts turn against me.

Freezing cold.

He’s not going to let me up.

I need air. I can’t hold on.

I’m going to die like this.

I shut the tap off before stumbling away from the sink. My back hits the wall, jarring me, and I finally tear my eyes away from the water. I fix my gaze on the floor. Sturdy. Solid. Safe.

My vision is blurred at first, but as my heartbeat slows, the white tiles come into full focus. Raising my head, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are wide, and my breaths are short pants.

A realization hits hard, like a blast that threatens to topple me.