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Long, pulse-pounding minutes pass before Wolf lifts his head and reaches for me.
I cry harder.
But he doesn’t take what he earned.
He pulls my gag free without speaking. The silence continues as he removes my shackles.
I love him even more for that.
Once I’m released, I work my jaw and rub my wrists, shaking uncontrollably.
There are things to say. We should put on clothes first, but neither of us moves.
As adrenaline drains from our systems, our heart rates slow, and we take a moment to catch our breath, watching each other.
The black-inked smile is a travesty on his beautiful, tortured face. I try to be strong, but it kills me to see it, forcing me to relive the trauma all over again.
When my tears fall this time, he opens his arms and pulls me onto his lap. Skin to skin, our nude bodies come together and hold. I don’t know how long we stay like that, limbs entwined, foreheads touching, breaths melding.
Eventually, I find my voice. “Why did you do it?”
“We do terrible things for love. I don’t make the rules.”
“There are no rules here. I adore you, Wolf. I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” He slides his hand to my lower back and draws my hips against his, aligning us as he slowly rocks, making his intent clear. “But will you adore me like this?”
I stiffen, and he notices.
“I see.” His nostrils flare. “How about a pity fuck, then? I won’t turn it down. I’ll take any scrap you’re willing to throw my way. Scraps are better than nothing, because nothing is all I have.”
I hurt so badly for him. Everything feels heavy, pregnant with the weight of the assault. The last hour impacted me in ways I can’t begin to understand. I see the world through different eyes, no longer innocent and naïve. My senses have warped, every sound muffled as if filtered through a fog of disbelief.
I can’t do this.
If I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that giving him my body is the right thing, that it would relieve his pain and bring him peace, I would do it. I would gladly give him that.
But I know it won’t.
Orgasms are fleeting, and neither of us is in the right mind to handle the aftermath of sex between us. He’s a virgin. I’m drowning in horror and unanswered questions. And there’s a breathing, free-roaming, unpunished serial rapist living with us.
“No.” I place a gentle hand on his chest and push myself off his lap.
“No? But you love me.”
“I’m not him, Wolf. My love for you is selfless and pure. That means I will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if you disagree with it.”
His face falls, defying that grotesque, painted smile.
Shoving off the bed, he plucks the towel from the floor and wraps it around his hips.
Shoulders hunched, head lowered, he stalks out of the room.
Goddammit. Everything inside me aches to run after him.
He’s devastated. Furious with me. It’s the worst feeling.
But right now, it’s one of my smallest concerns.
42
Frankie
—
The instant the door shuts behind Wolf, the acrid tang of bile hits the back of my throat. A bitter reminder of the deep, visceral reactions my body sustained tonight. I don’t know how much longer I can contain it.
All I can picture is Denver grunting and undulating atop his son, wearing nothing but Monty’s slippers, the leather creaking with each thrust, mocking me.
To take my mind off that particular torture, I center it on tasks. I wedge the desk chair under the doorknob. Dress in flannel pants and a thermal shirt. Dump the drugged water out the window. Throw away the shackles and straps. Then, with great reluctance, I write out the events of the night in the scrapbook.
Every detail is etched in ink, every pen stroke of terror vivid and unrelenting. I purge it all on paper.
Then I write a letter to Monty. It’s angry and tearful and honest, vibrating with fuck yous and hate yous and how could yous. I never considered him my soul mate, and I tell him as much with paper-ripping slashes of the pen. Doesn’t matter. He’ll never read it.
I’m never getting out of here.
In the wake of the unthinkable, I grapple with the enormity of it all. Reality and nightmare are so tightly meshed I can no longer distinguish where one begins and the other ends. It’s as if I’ve been thrust into a twisted realm, where the boundaries of horror have been pushed beyond their limits.
My thoughts become a jumble of questions. How can a father do this to his son? Why didn’t Leo or Kody warn me? They knew it was coming. What will they do when they learn I didn’t stop it? Wolf shouldn’t have taken the bargain. It was supposed to be me.
How often does this happen? When was the last time? When will it happen again?
