Page 65 of The Ecstasy of Sin

“You won’t be paying any bills,” he says. “And you won’t buy a single thing unless it’s with my credit card.”

My eyes widen.

“You can’t be serious, Dom. That sounds like… a marriage agreement.”

“We will eventually get married, yes.”

My pulse stutters. This is insane. I try in earnest to get off of his lap, but he makes it very clear that he’s not about to let me go.

One of his arms drops away, reaching into his pocket. What he pulls out makes my blood run cold.

In his hand, a loaded hypodermic needle.

“You are not about to drug me, Dom. I swear to God, I’ll scream.”

“You can scream, and you can fight, but the only thing it will do is get anyone who sees us killed. If you won’t come willingly, then I’ll take you by force. I warned you, Wren.”

I search his eyes, desperate for some flicker of mercy, some hint that this is a joke. I find nothing but conviction.

My body begins to tremble in his arms, the terror gripping me in a chokehold.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Wren. Not like this,” he murmurs, trying to soothe me through the panic. “I’m going to take care of you, but to keep you safe, I need you with me. Your life has been nothing but struggle after struggle, and the thought of you sleeping in a shelter… or on the street… for even one more night?” His jaw clenches, and his eyes darken. “It makes me want to set the whole fucking city on fire.”

I stare at him, shell-shocked and shaking like a leaf, my breath catching in erratic, panicked bursts.

It’s too much, and far too fast. I feel like I can’t breathe, the sensation elevated by the way my heart is pounding fiercely in my chest.

These cat and mouse games we’ve been playing have been fun. Being the center of his possessive fixation has made me feel real for the first time in nearly a decade, but this—moving in with him—it feels so final. So permanent. Terrifying, because it feels like I don’t have a choice.

I don’t know what to do, or what to say. If I run, he’ll catch me. Do I even want to run? I should. I should want to run.

He’s safety. He’s protection. He wants to take care of me. He’s got a needle in his hand with the intention to drug me. He killed someone to save my life. He wants me to live with him. He says I belong to him. He warned me that he’s not a hero. He already feels like home.

My mind is racing, my thoughts a jumbled mess. My vision tunnels, the edges darkening as the panic attack runs through me full steam.

I’m shaking violently in his arms, and the tears I’ve been fighting slip free and leave wet trails down my cheeks.

He leans forward, his lips brushing across my skin, and he kisses his way along the salty line streaking down my face.

He pulls away, then uncaps the needle with his teeth. He holds my gaze as he turns his head just enough to spit the plastic out onto the grass beside us. It vanishes into the greenery, lost to the pale light of daybreak.

“Close your eyes, little lamb. When you wake up, you’ll be warm and safe in my bed. Let me take your fear away.”

A noisy sob escapes me, my chest jerking from the force of it, but I squeeze my eyes shut.

I’m so tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of starving and tired of feeling like death is my only option.

I let the phantom of the safety he promises wrap around me like a blanket.

He presses a gentle kiss to my throat. “That’s it, little lamb. Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to make everything better.”

When the warmth of his lips vanish, I feel the bite of the needle at my vein.

The tears keep falling, but I don’t open my eyes. I can’t look at him and see the truth, whatever it may be. What’s done is done, and there’s no going back now.

I’m letting go. It’s easier now that the choice is out of my hands.

He pulls me tighter against his chest, his arms wrapping around me and holding me like I’m sacred to him. I bury my face beneath his chin and quietly cry as heat begins to bloom through my bloodstream.