Page 12

"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

” I snarl in her ear, the rage getting the better of me.

It’s more than anger, more than simple fury at what she has tried to pull off here.

It’s fear. Because I know what could be on the line if she gets away from me, and that is something I am not willing to contend with, not willing to even think about right now.

She could cost me my family. And that means I have to be a whole lot more fucking careful when it comes to keep her under wraps.

She kicks her legs back against me, squirming in my arms, but it’s futile.

She’s putting up far more of a fight now than she did on the day of her wedding.

It strikes me suddenly, but that has to be because I’m not pressing a gun into her guts this time around.

She twists her head around to face me, her eyes wide and pleading.

"Please, just let me go," she begs me. "I promise I’ll tell my father that you were good to me. I’ll make it so he’s got no reason to come after you, I swear, I?—"

I can’t help but let out a short bark of laughter, though there is little mirth in it.

"You think your father is capable of showing mercy?” I snap at her, as I lift her into my arms. She reluctantly puts her arms around my shoulders, her feet and legs clearly too sore to risk walking any further.

"You don’t know him like I do," she protests. "You could—I mean, he’s not all that..."

She trails off as she stares back at me.

I guess she must be able to tell that I am not buying a word that comes out of her mouth right now, and I have no intention of starting.

I have no idea what she really knows about her father, how much she is ignorant of, and how much she is just lying about.

She might think he’s a decent man, but I know what lurks underneath.

She slumps against my chest, and I can feel the fight slipping out of her body.

She couldn’t have really thought she would get far with no shoes and nothing to protect her against the cold, could she?

Maybe she’s that naive. Maybe her father really has kept her hidden away for so long that she doesn’t know what the real world is like.

Or even the world that she is a part of.

I plant her back on her feet once we’re out of the woods and back at the cabin. I’m going to give her the chance to prove to me that she’s not going to run again. It’s not like I trust her, but I need her to think there’s a chance for her to repair the damage she’s done here today.

She looks back at me for a moment, her eyes wide with fear.

Her hair is a mess, leaves and twigs tangled into it, her arms bloodied and scratched to shit from her attempt to flee through the woods.

A far cry from the woman I grabbed from her wedding, the one who was perfectly put together, ready to walk down the aisle and accept her place at the side of a bastard almost as bad as her father.

But there is something about the way she looks at me that tells me that she’s the same woman. Not just in the way she physically appears, but in her eyes. There is some kind of defiance there, some fight, as though she is warning me that she is not going to make this easy for me.

Whatever it is, it vanishes almost as soon as I notice it. Her shoulders slump down, and she stalks to the cabin, her head hanging to her chest, her hair falling into her face.

I follow her inside, and double-check that the door is locked behind her.

I need to repair the damage done to the bathroom and make certain that I have some sort of surveillance on this place, so I can keep watch on her if she tries to make another break for it.

I didn’t want to mount cameras here originally, worried that her father might find some way to hack into them, but I will find a way to install something to keep watch over her from here on out.

In that instant, I start to believe that her little escape attempt is over. But then, before I can say another word, she rounds on me, and the rage in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.

She is far from done with me yet. And if I thought I was getting away with dragging her back here like a hunter with their newfound prey... I was wrong.

"I need a shower."

I let out a snort.

"You think I’m going to let you in there, after what you did?”

She crosses her arms over her chest.

"I’m a mess. I need to clean myself up."

I look her up and down; she’s not wrong. But, after what she just pulled, she’s hardly in any place to be laying down demands.

"Back to your room. Now."

I leave no room for argument in my tone, but she doesn’t budge an inch. She’s clearly feeling defiant right now, like some kind of errant teenager. But I am not her father, and she can’t pull this entitled shit here. Here she’s under my command, and she needs to learn that.

"I’m not going to my room until I have something to eat and clean myself up."

"You think you’re in any place to be making demands?

” I growl at her as I close the distance between us, the fury temporarily getting the better of me.

I just had to run through the forest to bring this girl back where she belongs, and she’s speaking to me like I’m the one who fucked up.

It’s infuriating, to say the least, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to keep myself in check.

"I think you need me alive for some reason," she shoots back. "And I guess that means you don’t want me getting an infection in one of these cuts and having to cut my arm off or something..."

She gestures to the scratches along her arms.

"So I suggest you let me clean myself up, and then we can talk."

I almost laugh at how fucking bold she is.

The way she talks to me is like she thinks she calls the shots here.

I stalk a little closer to her, our faces just a few inches apart.

She doesn’t draw back, staring me down as though she doesn’t want to give me an inch, though I can see that she is shaking slightly, her bottom lip trembling as she tries to hold my gaze.

"I don’t think you understand how this works," I warn her, not moving my eyes from hers for an instant. "You don’t get to tell me how this is going to go. You stay here, you keep your head down, and you don’t pull any great escape attempts, and you get out of this alive. You hear me?”

She doesn’t move a muscle. Her eyes flash with something I haven’t seen before—something that almost looks dangerous, or would, if it was coming from someone with the ability to actually threaten me.

"You have no idea who I am," she snaps back at me. "You have no clue what you’re getting yourself into. My father?—"

"Oh, I know all about your father," I murmur to her, my voice dropping. "Question is, do you?”

That seems to get to her. For a moment, she’s silent, her brow furrowing slightly, and she shakes her head.

"What does that mean...?"

"You know everything that your father is involved with?" I taunt her. Now that I’ve found something that gets to her, I can’t help but use it, pressing on it like I’m applying pressure to a bruise.

"What the hell are you talking about?” she counters, but there is a slight quake to her voice. I know I hit a nerve.

She might want to put up this front that she can handle everything I throw at her, but her father is clearly a sore spot. How much does she know about him? And how much as she tried to ignore over the years, just because the reality would have been too much for her to handle...?

"You really don’t know," I murmur, leaning towards her slightly. All the energy that coursed through my body the moment I realized she had run seems to have turned to something else now—something that’s stirred by her presence before me, her eyes burning into mine.

"Don’t know what?” she snaps back.

I can hear the doubt in her voice now. She is second-guessing herself, though she doesn’t want me to know. Her eyes are wide, not moving from mine, her lips pressed together as she tries to disguise everything that is going on inside her head.

"You tell me," I add, lowering my head slightly so that we are barely more than a few inches apart. "You think you know your father? Tell me what kind of man you think he is."

She doesn’t reply. Her eyes slide from mine, but I reach out, catching her chin in my hand and drawing her gaze back to meet mine.

The anger is dissipating into something else now, something that seems to consume my whole body.

Being alone with her in this place, the scent of her skin filling my senses, her wide blue eyes gazing back at me as though she can barely believe that I am real, it’s lighting something dangerous in me, something I know I should be able to control.

"You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you."

"So, tell me," I press her, cocking an eyebrow. "Try me, Cara."

She inhales sharply. I can tell she wants to lay this out on the line right now, and I want to hear just how much she knows, just how much she is ready to share.

She has hinted towards her father’s work before, but there has to be more that she’s not telling me, more that she’s trying to contain right now, and I’m determined to shake it loose.

"Because from where I’m standing," I continue, "he tried to marry you off to that Mario bastard to serve his business. Selling off his baby girl to make a connection. How is that right?”

Her face pales. It seems that she forgot she told me her marriage to Mario was nothing more than a facade, something she had agreed to in order to help the business, not because she actually cared for him.

"You don’t understand what it’s like for women in this world?—"

"I don’t?” I reply, keeping my voice steady.

We are standing just an inch apart now, and I am distinctly aware of how near we are to one another, how easy it would be to shut her mouth with a kiss.

I’ve been locked up in here with her for so long now, and the tension is getting the better of me.

How am I meant to keep my shit under wraps when she’s glaring at me like that, eyes alive with a passion I’ve never seen in her before. ..

"No, you don’t," she mutters. "You don’t know what we have to give up. The things we have to do..."

"And what exactly was your father going to make you give up, hmm?” I press. "You can’t tell me that Mario wouldn’t have expected everything from you. Your mind, your body..."

She draws in another breath. I can tell she wants to fight me on this, but how can she? She knows as well as I do that these marriages are meant to produce offspring, and if they don’t, they attract the kind of gossip that a man like Mario would never want to happen.

"I— that part was meant to be up to me," she protests, but her cheeks have flushed, her eyes widening, like the mere thought of it is enough to scare her.

"Look at you," I murmur, my eyes grazing up and down her body. "You really think he would have been able to keep his hands off of you, Cara?”

"What do you mean?” she whispers, and I chuckle slightly. My hand grazes against hers for a moment, and she doesn’t pull back.

"I mean, you’re a gorgeous woman," I tell her, letting my gaze rest on her for a long moment. "And any man in the world would kill to get you alone."

She bites her lip. Her eyes flick down my own body, considering the statement.

"And does that include you?”

It’s a challenge—a daring statement meant to stir up more emotion in me than I can handle. If I’m smart, I’ll shut it down before it can go any further. But as we stand there facing one another, I’m not sure if I have any good sense left in my system.

Because all I can think about right now is kissing her.

My hand skims up her arm, testing. I don’t want her to do this because she feels she has no choice. I want her to want me. The way she’s looking at me, I’m almost certain she does, but I’m not willing to make the first move. If she needs this, she has to show me.

"Do you really need me to answer that?” I murmur.

And, all at once, her gaze softens, and she moves herself into me, planting her lips on mine.