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I attempt to look up despite my awkward position, and he finally lets go, looking at me with his impassive face.
“Did your dad rape you?” His voice is so bland I don’t even think I heard the question right.
I race into a sitting position, crawling away from him.
“What the—” Not realizing how far I’ve moved back, I fall off the bed, crashing onto the floor.
If that doesn’t make my headache worse, I don’t know what will. I put two hands on the mattress, helping myself into a standing position. Grabbing the pillow, I hide my naked body behind it as if he hasn’t seen all of me. Fucking hell, he branded it.
“What the fuck, Nate? Who asks that?”
He shrugs. “You call your dad’s name in your sleep, did you know? Asking him not to break you.”
My mouth drops open, and I can only blink silently.
Throwing the covers to the side, he gets out of bed. While he walks around naked in his room, I can’t help my eyes from dropping to his dick. It’s half-hard, probably from morning wood, but I can’t fucking stop staring at the silky skin. Who even has a dick that beautiful? It’s ridiculous.
He goes to his suit pants, taking his phone out of them. He’s not even focused on me, probably checking his messages and missed calls as he keeps talking. “You can tell me if he did. Maybe that’s why you like being forced?”
“I—” Throat tightening and thoughts spiraling, I’m unable to respond.
This is not how these kinds of talks go. Not with a psychopath who couldn’t care less about it. Not with someone who can’t feel your pain.
He throws his phone on the bed before walking to me.
“Hey.” Now standing inches away from me, he grabs my chin in his hand, forcing me to look up at him. “My foster dad raped me.” He shrugs, and my stomach drops. “I was already fucked in the head way before, but I’m sure for someone who isn’t, it must have a huge impact.” He taps the side of my head with his index finger. “Did it fuck you up in the head?”
I can’t even pick up my jaw off the floor. “Your foster dad? Oh my god, Nate.” The empathy in my voice makes me want to die. This man is holding me captive; now isn’t the time to feel bad for him.
But shit. That’s…heavy. He can’t talk about it like that. Like his foster dad once gave him a little slap or scolded him. He raped him.
“What?” he asks stupidly as his eyes flick around my face. “What are you thinking? Name it.”
“I—I don’t—”
“Name it, Kayla.” His grip tightens, his frustration growing like all the times he can’t read me.
“I-I’m sad.” Fuck. That was a big mistake.
“Sad?” he asks, surprised. “Is that what you look like when sad?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know! I feel bad for you.”
“You’re empathizing, then?”
“Oh my god.” I try to shrug him away. “This is weird. Stop.”
But he doesn’t let me go. My arms tighten around the pillow I’m hugging against my body, and I look away.
“Look at me,” he snaps. “I want to understand.”
“Me too!” I bark desperately. “I want to fucking understand how you can talk about…about what happened to you without blinking. It clearly broke you.”
“No, you don’t get it. See, I was already like this. I was born like this. Nothing made me this way, Kayla. What Bianco did, it angered me. I was furious, so I decided to take over his empire. I stopped him from doing the same to my siblings. I played along, then I put him away and watched him suffer. Done and dusted.”
“What? Bianco was your foster dad? I-I thought he was just your boss.” My head is spinning. “So, you’ve always been part of the Cosa Nostra?”
“Ugh,” he huffs. “This is a long story, Kayla. I have a lot of things to do today.”
