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Died by suicide.
The images of blonde women and stories that are too similar to one another blur together. He has a type, and Mia fits the bill to a tee. He sells them, makes his commission each time they change owners, and then when they’re broken beyond repair and too used to be sold again, he marries them, sentencing them to a life that none of them asked for.
The marriages date back to the late nineties, normally just a few months between one wife’s death and the next wedding, except for the last eight years.
He hasn’t replaced a woman since he met Mia, which can only mean one thing.
She’s special to him somehow. And we’ve just made this the greatest game of cat and mouse for a man like him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MIA
We fall into a comfortable routine, and as each day passes, I feel more of my old self rising to the surface, begging to be let out.
Ace treats me like I’m made of glass, but if I’m honest, I don’t hate it. It’s nice to have someone who cares for me, someone who I know will never hurt me.
I’ve managed to choke down at least one meal a day for the last week, and although I see Ace’s disappointment each time I say no when he offers me food, the relief in his eyes when I say yes always brings a smile to my face and makes eating a little more bearable.
Emerson comes by most days to chat, and I find I enjoy her company more and more each day. The concept of friends is strange to me now. I spent so many years alone with my own thoughts, usually my only contact was with a man who saw me as nothing more than a toy for him to use, but things have changed so much.
Every morning when I wake up, it’s not dread that washes over me, it’s relief. Relief that I’m free. Relief that I get to see Ace as soon as I step out of this room. And relief, that at least for now, I’m safe.
I pull on a pair of soft gray sweatpants and the matching sweatshirt before slipping on a pair of slippers Snow brought around for me a couple of days ago. It still doesn’t come naturally to accept things, but I’m getting a little better at it.
I step out from the primary bedroom and head down the stairs to where Ace is banging around in the kitchen. I get the impression he doesn’t usually cook much, mainly from how many pans he’s ruined in the last few days, but it always makes me smile because he’s doing it for me.
When was the last time anyone did anything just for me?
His eyes flick up to meet mine, and a bright smile crosses his face. “You’re up.”
The corners of my lips tug up. “What are you cooking?”
He looks behind him at the stove, and his brows tug together as he stirs something. “I was making you some oats, but the back of the packet lied to me.”
I raise a brow as I approach him, careful to remain out of his reach. I’m not sure that it’s a conscious choice, more so a habit I’m yet to break. I peer into the pot and a giggle that I can’t quite swallow bubbles in my throat.
His intense green eyes turn on me, a smirk crossing his face. “What’s so funny, sugar?”
“Your lack of cooking skills.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think them through, but I don’t get the chance to reprimand myself before Ace has me perched on the edge of the counter, wedging himself between my legs.
I gasp at the contact, but his touch doesn’t make my skin crawl. If anything, it sets me on fire.
“Are you laughing at me, sugar?” Ace rumbles, his face so close I can almost taste him. He hasn’t kissed me again, although sometimes I wish he would. He’s doing his best not to trigger me, and I appreciate that more than he could ever know.
I nod, tucking my bottom lip between my teeth to try to squash the smile that still feels so unnatural. I’ve faked a lot of them over the years, but it’s strange having something to be genuinely happy about.
A low growl fills the kitchen as Ace slowly lifts his hand from where it was pressed to the counter. His slow movements are for my benefit, to make sure I know the hand that’s approaching my face isn’t doing so to harm me.
His thumb tugs my lip from between my teeth carefully, his eyes glued to my mouth in a way that makes me hold my breath in anticipation. I need him to kiss me again. It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s all I can think about.
“You keep biting this lip and I’m going to be tempted to bite it too,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes and back again. The fire in the depths of his gaze should frighten me, but more and more I’m remembering the boy who protected me and reconciling him with the brutal man who saved me from a life of horrors.
I take a steadying breath and drag it back between my teeth. My heart thumps wildly in my chest, but it’s not fear that makes it race, it’s excitement. This moment with Ace, it feels normal, something I never thought I’d get to feel again.
Lust flashes through his eyes as he carefully tugs the battered pillow from its prison again and leans forward. He flicks his gaze to mine one last time, searching my eyes for hesitation, but he won’t find any, and then he does exactly as he said he would.
His teeth sink into my lower lip, eliciting a soft moan from my throat. The bite of pain sends shock waves straight to my core. His tongue moves in a soothing motion, only heightening my need for him.
