Page 82 of Shadow Waltz

“I want to belong somewhere,” Ash replied, and the distinction was subtle but crucial. “I want to matter to someone who has the power to keep me safe. I want to stop running from one crisis to the next and start building something that lasts.”

The honesty was brutal and beautiful, stripping away every comfortable lie I'd been telling myself about his motivations. This was choice, pure and simple, made by someone intelligent enough to understand the alternatives.

“Tell me about the meeting,” I said, settling into the leather chair that gave me a clear view of both the door and the windows. “What did he offer you?”

Ash moved away from the window, pacing the length of the room with restless energy that spoke to adrenaline still working through his system. “Witness protection. New identity, new life, federal resources to help me disappear completely. He painted a picture of suburban normalcy that probably sounds like paradise to someone who's never had it.”

“But not to you.”

“Not to me,” Ash confirmed, pausing in his pacing to look at me directly. “Because I've learned that safety isn't about hiding from danger. It's about aligning yourself with someone powerful enough to face it head-on.”

The observation revealed exactly how his mind worked—not like a victim looking for rescue, but like a strategist calculating the best path forward. It was the kind of thinking that had kept him alive through four different owners, the intelligence that made him valuable beyond his physical appeal.

“You told him you were staying,” I said, making it a statement rather than a question.

“I told him I chose you,” Ash replied, and the way he said 'chose' made something dark and possessive unfurl in my chest. “I told him that what we have is real, that I'm here because I want to be, not because I'm afraid of the alternatives.”

The words should have satisfied me, should have proven that my investment in him was justified. But instead, they raised new questions that I wasn't sure I wanted answered. Ifhe was choosing me freely, if this was partnership rather than ownership, then what exactly was I offering in return?

Ash lingered near the desk, fishing the small USB drive from his jacket pocket and placing it on the polished wood between us. “Here,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “Everything Reddick had on his laptop. Names, transactions, contacts. It’s all there.”

I picked up the drive, turning it over in my fingers. “How’d you manage this?” I kept my voice even, though the question burned under my skin.

Ash shrugged, a defensive edge sharpening his posture. “I saw an opening. Distracted him long enough to get what we needed.”

“Distracted him how?” I asked, letting the silence stretch.

Ash bristled, jaw working, eyes flicking away. “Are you mad?” he said finally, defiant but uncertain. “Because if you are?—”

“I’m disappointed,” I cut in gently, “but not at you. At the world, maybe. At the fact that it’s come to this. But we needed that data, and you got it. I can’t fault you for that.”

Ash folded his arms, shoulders tense. “I did what I had to do. It was my call.”

I leaned forward, letting my gaze find his. “And what did you do, Ash? Don’t feed me the sanitized version. I need the truth.”

He gave a short, bitter laugh. “You really want details? You want to know if I fucked him, if I let him touch me, if I played the part you rescued me from in the first place?”

My voice was quiet, but I didn’t back down. “I want to know if you’re alright. I want to know if you’re doing this because you think you have to, or because it’s the best way forward.”

Ash’s chin lifted. “I made the decision. I was in control. I don’t need your permission, Luka. I need you to understand that I’m not fragile, and I’m not ashamed.”

I nodded slowly, chest tight. “You don’t have to be ashamed. But don’t shut me out, either. I need to know you’re not just surviving—I need to know you’re still choosing.”

Ash’s eyes softened, the fight draining out of his posture. He moved closer, close enough that I could see the flicker of pain and pride in his face. “I am choosing. Every day. Even when it’s ugly. Even when it hurts.”

“And what do you think we have?” I asked, the question feeling dangerous even as I spoke it.

Ash stopped pacing and looked at me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. “I think we have something that scares you because you can't control it completely.”

“I can control you.”

“Can you?” His smile was sharp, challenging. “Because I just spent the afternoon making my own decisions, and here I am, still wearing your collar by choice.”

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and it sent electricity racing through my nervous system. This wasn't the broken boy I'd bought at auction, wasn't the compliant pet I'd collared and trained. This was someone who'd figured out exactly how much power he actually held.

“What I want,” I said slowly, standing and moving toward him with predatory intent, “is to understand exactly what game you think you're playing.”

Ash didn't back away as I approached, didn't show any of the deference I'd grown accustomed to from people in his position. Instead, he held his ground with the quiet confidence of someone who knew their own worth.