“I’m not going to talk to anyone either? Is that it? Am I your prisoner?”
Brody took a step toward him. Just one. But the kitchen felt smaller.
“You’re not my prisoner.”
“Well, it sure doesn’t feel like it. I can’t leave the house, I can’t go wherever I want, I can’t talk to whoever I want. What do you call that?”
“Protection.”
“Protection, my ass.”
The word came out with more force than he intended and bounced off the white kitchen tiles. Brody narrowed his eyes. The gray deepened.
“You don’t know what I’m protecting you from.”
“Because you won’t tell me. You don’t tell me anything. You bring me here, lock me up, tell me I’m safe, and expect me to swallow it without asking questions.”
“I’ve explained it to you.”
“You have explained nothing to me. You’ve given me crumbs.”
“Ren.”
“What? Are you going to tell me not to yell? To calm down? To be a good omega and stay put in the room you’ve given me?”
Brody crossed the kitchen in two strides. He planted himself in front of him. The scent hit him like a wall of heat—sweet, dark, and overwhelming—and Ren took half a step back but no further. He would not give him any more ground.
“Lower your voice.”
“No.”
“I said lower your voice.”
“And I said no.”
Brody’s eyes were gleaming. Something was vibrating in his throat, an indistinct sound that wasn’t quite human, and Ren felt it in his bones like a seismic tremor.
“You do not know what lies outside these walls. You do not know what Reznov can do to reclaim what he considers his. You don’t have any…”
“Then tell me!”
Brody raised his hand. A sudden gesture. Quick. To point something out, to emphasize, his fingers extended upward, pointing at the ceiling.
Ren flinched.
The movement was instantaneous, involuntary, etched somewhere in his body that he didn’t control. He curled up into himself. Shoulders up. Head tilted. Arms half-raised. A posture he recognized but didn’t remember learning. Expecting the impact, tensed every muscle like a spring, and he closed his eyes.
Silence.
Ren dared to open his eyes.
Brody held his hand frozen mid-air. His lips parted. His eyes wide open—so wide that Ren could see the white around the gray irises—and in them something that looked like horror. Not anger. Not impatience. Pure horror at realizing what Ren had just expected of him.
The air between them turned solid.
Ren stood up abruptly. Shame burned his skin like acid. Every inch. From his ears to his hands. Worse than during the auction. Worse than finding himself dressed in latex. Worse than falling to his knees before a stranger because of his scent.
“No…”
