The car swayed as it turned a corner. I felt the rhythm of his thrusts, the steady stroke of him inside me. I was close. So close. The feeling was building, coiling at the base of my spine, and I couldn't stop it.
"Look at me," he said. "Look at me, Monika."
I looked at him. His face was beautiful in the dark—the silver at his temples, the lines around his eyes, the intensity of his gaze.
"Come for me," he said. "I'm right here. I've got you."
I came apart. The orgasm ripped through me, wave after wave, and I screamed his name—Aleksander, Aleksander, Aleksander—as the world dissolved around me.
He followed a moment later, his body shuddering against mine, his face buried in my neck. I felt him pulse inside me, hot and deep, and I held him tight.
When it was over, I collapsed against his chest. The car was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and our breathing.
I looked up. Nathan was in the front seat, his eyes on the rearview mirror. He'd been watching. He'd seen everything.
I met his gaze in the glass. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and he didn't look away.
Neither did I.
27
The Choice
The hospital room was too white.
White walls. White sheets. White light that hummed overhead, casting everything in a sterile glow. I sat propped against the pillows, my wrists bandaged, my body bruised, my mind a blank expanse of nothing.
They'd kept me for observation. Twenty-four hours, the doctor said. Just to make sure there was no internal damage. No lasting effects from the kidnapping, the ropes, the terror.
I told them I was fine. I told them I wanted to leave. They told me to rest.
So I rested.
Aleksander sat in the chair beside my bed. He hadn't moved in hours—his eyes fixed on my face, his hands clasped in his lap. He'd changed out of his bloody clothes, but there was still a smear of red on his collar, a shadow of violence that he couldn't wash away.
Nathan stood by the window, his back to me, his silhouette sharp against the grey morning light. He'd been pacing earlier,restless, unable to sit still. Now he was still, watching the city wake up, his shoulders tense.
They'd both been here all night. Neither of them had left.
I looked at them—father and son, predator and heir, the two men who had claimed me in different ways. I thought about Gabriel, somewhere across the country, starting a new life without me. I thought about the farm, the barn, the girl I used to be.
"I can't do this anymore," I said.
Aleksander's eyes met mine. "Do what?"
"Being passed between you. Being the reason you hate each other." I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. "I'm not a possession. I'm not a prize. I'm a person. And I'm tired of being torn apart."
"Monika—"
"Don't." I held up a hand. "Don't tell me you love me. Don't tell me you'll protect me. I've heard it all before. And it doesn't change anything."
Nathan turned from the window. His face was unreadable, but I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled at his sides.
"Then choose," he said. "Choose one of us. End it."
"What if I can't?"
"Then we'll choose for you." Aleksander's voice was soft, almost gentle. "We'll make the decision. We'll let you go."
