I wouldn't say that the conversation with Kincaid was confrontational. He was soft-spoken and conversational, but I could sense the irritation in the man when he didn't get answers to his questions the way he expected he would. I imagine the man is accustomed to getting exactly what he wants whenever he wants.

  Beck leaned in closer to me as he felt the need to shield me from his boss, and I could tell he did it on instinct rather than acting in some expected or planned way.

  Knowing that everything is transactional in life, I feel as if I owe Beck something for that simple protection even though I know the man would never go head-to-head with his boss. Whatever level of chivalry he felt in the moment, he'd never risk losing his job and way of life for a woman who can't seem to get her shit together enough to get out of a fucking closet.

  Despite knowing that, it doesn't make the scales any less uneven.

  When a chip of nail comes off on my tongue, I pick it away with my fingers, Nathan’s voice in my ear reminding me that it's not only unladylike to chew on them, but it's also incredibly unsanitary to do so. I chew the next fingernail even harder, my insolence one of the very few ways I can fight back against the voice in my head.

  Beck’s breathing is calm and even, but that doesn't mean anything. I don't know how many times I quietly climbed out of bed to go to the bathroom to clean my wounds when I thought either Nathan or Xan were asleep only to be punished for getting up.

  I remind myself as I stand and cross the room that Beck isn't either of those men.

  I haven't caught him looking at me like I'm something he owns, and the only reason I'm still allowed to breathe is simply because he allows it. Those were Nathan and Xan's traits.

  He doesn't shift his weight or startle when I press my knee into the mattress.

  The moon is big enough tonight that it's shining a little light in the room. Although most of his handsome face is cast in shadows, I know the moment he opens his eyes. I sense his attention on me even if I couldn't see it for myself.

  There's a certain kind of power Beck has, and although he could, he never seems to want to use it against me. I don't know if acting like he's an innocent hero is part of his game or if he's just genuinely a nice person.

  He doesn't pull away when I press one hand into his pillow on the opposite side of his head.

  He doesn't argue or ask me what I'm doing when I lower my mouth until it's just a breath away from his.

  He is hesitant at first when I press my lips to his, but his sharp intake of breath and the way he shifts a little on the mattress tells me that if he isn't interested, he's at least curious.

  When I swipe my tongue at his lips, urging them open, he doesn't deny my entry.

  The groan that erupts from his throat does more to me than it should, and I sort of hate his ability to draw that sort of reaction from me.

  I have to keep reminding myself that this is payment, that I'm giving him something he wants because he's been so nice to me.

  I lower myself down, letting some of my weight settle against his body, but he doesn't reach for me. He doesn't flip me on my back and take what he wants. The man doesn't even touch me despite his need, because I know he's gripping the blanket under his hips.

  He doesn't move until I run my hand down that line of muscles on his abdomen, on its way to the front of his sweatpants.

  He grips my hand in his, but I feel exactly how much I'm affecting him before he manages it. He doesn't have a strong hold on my hand, but I know he'll tighten it if I try to touch him again.

  "Let me," I say.

  "You don't have to do this," he says, his thumb massaging the back of my hand in a way that feels much more intimate to me than having a handful of his cock would.

  "You've been so nice to me," I explain. "I owe you."

  He shakes his head, his free hand coming up to cup the side of my face. He frowns when I flinch, fearful that he's going to strike me.

  "Jesus." His voice is a whisper, and I hear the curse of both Xan and Nathan in it. "You owe me nothing, but if you feel the need, a thank you is enough."

  Tears burn the backs of my eyes for only a second before they crest my lower lids and fall to his t-shirt-covered chest.

  I feel like a whore. I know what no sounds like even though the men in my previous life never did, but when I pull away, he doesn't let me get very far.

  I don't know why the rejection stings so badly. I should be ecstatic that he isn't expecting me to follow through with pleasing him in exchange for the help and support he's offered me.

  "You're more than welcome to stay in the bed though," he says. Honestly, I really think he's giving me options, and from the sound of it, he'd be okay with either decision I make. That has to be a first for me.

  With Xan and Nathan, options were always tied with tests and challenges. There was always one choice more correct than the others, and I don't think they knew which one was right even when they offered them.

  I climb off him, shifting my weight more to the center of the bed rather than settling back on the edge. Beck rolls away from me, pointing his back in my direction. It tells me one of two things—either he trusts me to be back here or he believes I'm not a threat.

  It would probably be best if I climbed out of his space and went back into the closet, but every muscle in my body aches. Just sitting here on the mattress is enough to tell me that this bed is more than a little comfortable.

  I start chewing on my thumbnail, anticipating him telling me to lie down or get out, but he never does.

  After a few minutes, I lie flat on my back and stare up at the ceiling. Clouds moving in front of the moon cast even more shadows, but the eeriness that normally hits me doesn't show up.

  I lie there for at least two more hours before climbing under the covers, sure that my shivering in the cold room has been keeping him awake, but he never says another word.

  I toss and turn for another hour before falling asleep beside him.

  Chapter 17

  Newton

  I keep my eyes on her when I climb out of the bed, and I see the second her brain comes back online.

  She opens her eyes, much too awake for someone who feels as if she has the luxury of taking her time.

  I hate the men who put that fear in her. It makes me want to watch Xan die all over again while his father's corpse rots at his feet. Men like the Adairs don't deserve to breathe the same air as everyone else. They're poison, cancerous. Evil men who think the world owes them something and that they can take and take with no repercussions.

  I hope Xan's body rots at the coroner's office. If it weren't for the pain I want to inflict on Nathan Adair myself, I'd wish that someone in jail stabbed a concrete sharpened toothbrush right into his heart and cackled while he died.

  I clear my throat when she looks at me, eyes full of fear.

  "You're safe," I tell her.

  Honestly, she could be in danger, but it would take a lot of death and destruction before anyone could harm her.

  She rubs her eyes with the backs of her hands, and the darkness under them isn't surprising. I know she eventually fell asleep last night, but she tossed and turned all night.

  When I offered her the opportunity to stay in the bed, I was hoping that maybe she'd be a little more comfortable and she could sleep better. Clearly, that wasn't the case. With how little rest she did get, I'm left wondering if maybe she didn't feel like it wasn’t an offer at all but a command for her to stay.

  "I'm getting ready to head to breakfast," I explain.

  Her eyes rake down my body, and I fight the urge to move my hands in front of it because it would only make me look guilty. I already feel enough of that for not stopping her last night when she climbed on the bed.

  "Can you wait for me?" she asks as she sits up. "I'd like to leave the room again."

  "Sure," I tell her, trying to hide the shock in my tone. "I can wait. Do you want to go first?"

  She follows the point of my finger toward the bathroom door, but when she looks back at me, she shakes her head.

  "You go first."

  I don't waste a second grabbing my things and leaving the room. Just the sight of her on my bed, lines on her cheeks, and her voice a little husky from lack of use for hours puts me on edge.

  I feel like a deviant doing what I need to do in the bathroom to keep myself under control. Stroking my cock in the shower feels like a perverse thing to do, considering the kiss last night was only because of some fucked-up mindset of hers that any niceness that comes her way has to be repaid somehow.

  Knowing that didn't keep me from kissing her back, just like it doesn't stop me from picturing her naked body in my head and from shooting cum down the drain.

  I'm a fucking deviant. She's here to be protected. I'm tasked with keeping her safe and giving her the things she needs. I'm not supposed to feed that fucked-up part of her that Nathan abused her into believing.

  Shame coats my skin despite washing myself three times before finally climbing out of the shower and drying off.

  Instead of being back inside the closet, Brielle is sitting in the armchair on the far wall.

  She gives me a small smile when I open the bathroom door, and I hate knowing that it's fake. She has no reason to smile at me.

  "About last night—" I begin, but I snap my mouth closed.

  "Thank you for all the help you've given me," she says, and it's exactly what I told her was enough.

  She doesn't want my apology, or maybe she doesn't expect one. Her words should've been to tell me to shut the fuck up because it has the same result.

  "I just need about five minutes," she says, already dressed for the day.

  I'm the type that likes to shower in the morning to wake up, and I've learned that Brielle likes to go to bed shortly after her shower.

  If we were a couple, and I shouldn't even be thinking shit like that, we'd be the perfect pair.

  I grab socks from the dresser and mumble cuss words to myself as I pull them on and get my boots on my feet.

  Maybe we've been spending too much time together. I can honestly say that this last week plus a few days has been the longest I've spent with any woman.

  "Have you given much thought to picking up where you left off on your schoolwork?" I ask the second she opens the bathroom door.

  I want her to know that I've moved past what happened last night.

  She shrugs. "I don't really see the point in it."

  I know better than to push her. She was hurt and manipulated by two men who were supposed to love and protect her. If I know anything about human nature, it's that she's more likely to fight against anyone trying to control any part of her life right now.

  "If you change your mind, Em has your computer at her house. We could easily set it up in here or in one of the other rooms."

  She pulls in a deep breath, and I can tell she's both a little annoyed that I'm still talking and grateful that I'm not going to argue with her about it.

  There are a million questions in my head as I lead the way out of the room, but she won't make any kind of progress if I start grilling her about Ohio, and how it makes her feel hearing that Nathan will soon be sent back there to face his crimes.

  I could tell last night by the way she reacted to the news that she didn't think it’s the best idea, but Kincaid is right. He can't stop the police or the courts from doing anything.

  "Can I wait in the living room?" she asks before we make it to the end of the hallway. "I mean, I don't expect you to keep catering to me, but it sounds like there are a lot of people in there."

  "It's fine," I assure her. "Do you want to go back to the room until I make our plates?"

  Brielle looks past me to see Gigi sitting on the couch, braiding one of her little girls' hair as the toddler watches cartoons.

  "It's fine," she says, but I see the way she sucks in a deep, fortifying breath before walking in that direction.

  I watch her sit down, wondering how she feels when Gigi begins talking to her, but she doesn't look back in my direction as if she needs to be rescued. I assume Gigi will keep the topic of conversation light, considering her daughter is there.

  The kitchen is full of people, but it's not unusual. Most folks around here get up early and if they don't have anything going on, they tend to stick around and just sort of hang out.

  Hemlock, of course, is in the corner by himself, but at least he doesn't fully isolate himself the way Brielle has.

  "Kincaid wants to speak to you," Shadow says as he fills my coffee cup after pouring his own. "He's in the garage."

  "Okay," I tell the club's vice president, beginning to set my cup down.

  "After breakfast, Newton," Shadow says. "After that, I'll need your help with a trip into town."

  I nod. It's the first time anything has been directly requested of me since I hurt my wrist.

  I was told I could leave the sling off at my last doctor's appointment a few days ago, but I still haven't been given full clearance to return to work.

  "Sounds good," I tell him before making a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon for Brielle.

  "Peanut butter?" Oracle asks as he approaches. "That's a new one."

  I shrug as I stack one pancake on top of the other before drowning them both in syrup.

  Brielle mentioned the other day that the only thing that would make the pancakes better was a layer of peanut butter. I don't know why, but I think I'd do anything to keep her happy.

  Knowing I have to talk to Kincaid, I don't bother to make myself a plate. I carry the plate out to Brielle. She's now sitting by herself, but at least she isn't curled up in the corner of the sofa.

  "Thank you," she says when I offer her the plate.

  "I have to go find Kincaid," I tell her. "He needs to talk with me."

  She continues to hold the plate out in front of her rather than settling it on her lap.

  "Then I have to go on a run into town with Shadow."

  She nods, looking around me at the voices carrying out of the kitchen.

  "I can ask him if you can come along," I offer. She's quick to shake her head at that.

  No one knows she's here, not even Victoria, the director of the shelter.

  "I think I'll have breakfast back in the room," she says as she stands. "Is that alright?"

  "Of course it is," I tell her.

  I let her walk past me, and I follow her all the way back to the room.

  "I don't know how long I'll be," I explain, but she doesn't say a word to me. It breaks my heart to see her carry her plate back into the closet.

  Kincaid is exactly where Shadow said he was going to be. I have to wonder if he's out here for anything other than his need to speak with me because I find him sitting in one of the chairs facing the door as if he's been expecting me for a while.

  "I wanted to touch base with you about Brielle," he says the second I close the door behind me, not wasting a second getting to the point. "Has she said anything about Nathan or his criminal activity?"

  I shake my head.

  "We found a notebook at that house she met him at. The police believe it's Xan's. Although most of it is just ramblings of an insane man, he mentions that she talks in her sleep. Has she said anything?"

  "She mumbles, but I haven't heard distinguishable words," I tell him honestly.

  "It's been over a week, Newton. You're sharing a bed with—"

  "She's been sleeping in the closet until last night," I say, correcting whatever thought he might've had about what's going on in that room. " I'm not so certain that she won't go right back in there again tonight."

  I don't confess my connection to Brielle. It doesn't seem like the right time.

  "I'd like you to see if you can get more information out of her."

  "You think she's lying about what she knows?"

  "I think she's terrified that the monster that hurt her since she was a little girl isn't done with her yet. I think any lies she tells are a defense mechanism. Xan wasn't always insane. Nathan did that to him. I can't even imagine what he was capable of doing to a little girl."

  Chapter 18

  Brielle

  Maybe he regrets bringing me into his room at all.

  Maybe he's disgusted with the way I came on to him last night.

  Maybe he hates himself for getting hard because deep down he truly finds me repulsive.

  There has to be a reason as to why he said one thing, that he'd sit with me today, and then not a few minutes later, he suddenly had an excuse that put distance between the two of us.

  I know it shouldn't feel like a betrayal, but I can't stop my mind from going there. I got too comfortable. I let the routine we had shadow everything else.

  I can only be tolerated for so long before people grow frustrated and cast me aside.

  I squeeze my eyes shut when my mind tries to convince me that any attention is better than no attention. Nathan would isolate me, and I don't mean away from the public. I'd be in a sort of solitary confinement situation. I wouldn't be able to hear or see anything, and it was maddening. There were times that I'd pray for attention even if it was the bad kind. Humans aren't meant to spend so much time alone. It's unnatural.

  I know his offer to let me come along with him was just a tease. He knows I can't leave this place. I'm in enough danger as it is. Going out in the open where one of Nathan's men could get to me would be foolish, but apparently, he likes to torture me with the idea of it. It was like dangling a raw steak in front of a hungry lion only to snatch it away.

  I want nothing more than to be able to jump in the car and go for a ride or simply walk the aisles of a grocery store. It was what I envisioned when I left Ohio over a year ago, but it’s never happened.

  I've been locked away in the women's shelter the entire time.

  I should've listened to my gut instead of trying to help Beth.

  My mind is at war with itself.

  Logically, I know that Beck has a job with Cerberus. He has responsibilities that don't include spending his time with me.

  Maybe I should consider myself lucky that I got the time with him that I did.

 

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