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But I can’t.
“Do you? Like father like son? I get the feeling your father would have no qualms—”
Before I can even finish his knee is back on the bed and he wraps his big hand around my throat and squeezes.
“I said be fucking careful,” he says through clenched teeth, voice low and deep and warning.
I struggle to breathe and tug at my bonds, open and close my mouth, the sound I make weak.
“I’m your only protector in this house.”
He releases my throat, and I gasp for air, but he’s not finished yet. Fingers dig into my jaw as he forces me to look up at him.
“Do not make an enemy of me.”
“Aren’t we already enemies?” I say, the words painful to get out as his fingers bruise my jaw.
But even I know I earned his reaction. That was a low blow. All of it—everything I just said.
He lets my jaw go and reaches his hand over my head. I don’t know what I expect, but to my surprise, he uncuffs me. I guess I thought he’d leave me bound and hit me. More than just those smacks from earlier.
When I’m free, I draw my hands down and rub my wrists.
His eyes never leave mine as he gets up off the bed. It’s the strangest thing that for a moment, I feel the absence of him. Even as he looks down at me—expression dark again, shielded, betrayed—I feel that absence.
He takes a step back, but when I shudder, he picks up the blanket and tosses it over me, leaving me more confused than ever. Without another word, he crosses the room, switching on the lamp farthest from the bed, the one I’d left on while sleeping last night. It’s just a little brighter than a nightlight, and I wonder if it’s there for that purpose. Because he remembers my fear of the dark. Because I am still afraid.
He digs his hand into his pocket as he reaches the one door that I’ve not been able to open and unlocks it. He opens it and disappears into the darkness there.18CristinaI stay where I am for a long time, trying to process what just happened. What I learned.
He’s been very much in control of himself even in extreme pain, but when I mentioned his scarred hand and then accused him of being like his father, he lost that control.
As sensitive as I am about my scar, I don’t feel good about what I said because I did see that hint of betrayal in his eyes.
I think back to the events in the dining room. To how Damian was when his father was rolled into the room. I think how he held on to me to keep me from lunging, but I also think—and I don’t know why I think this—that he clung to me to keep himself from lunging at the old man’s throat.
He hates him.
Damian Di Santo hates his father.
Sitting up, I pull up my panties. My thoughts shift to my reaction to his touch. To his mouth.
Why didn’t I kick him away? Why didn’t I make him have to hold me down to get his taste?
Taste.
Fuck.
His mouth on me…I’ve never felt anything like that.
I shake my head, dislodging the thoughts. I should have fought him, yes, but he was right. I did like his hands on me. And I liked his mouth on me even more.
I climb out of the bed and go to the dresser to pull on an oversized sweater along with a pair of jeans and socks. I don’t put shoes on because I don’t want him to hear me.
Picking up the ruined dress from the floor at the foot of the bed, I drop it into the trash can in the bathroom.
I walk to the door he went through and put my ear against it to listen for him. I try the handle as quietly as I can. If he’s on the other side, I don’t want him to know what I’m doing. I guess I’m relieved when I find it locked. I don’t want to face him again, not right now.
Turning back into my room, I glance at the other door. I try to remember if he locked it when he came in, and don’t recall that he did. Although I might have been too distracted to notice.
I go to it, unsure what I’ll do if it’s unlocked. Would I run away if I had the chance? He told me the place is surrounded by woods, and I believe him. But even if it wasn’t, if I run away, he can hurt my family, and I won’t take a chance on that happening.
Taking a deep breath in, still undecided, I try the door.
And when it gives, I’m startled.
I stand there for a long minute rooted to the spot. What will I do? I can leave my room.
