Page 46 of Taint My Soul

“Come here, please.” He stretches his hand to me.

“You couldn’t even look me in the eyes the first time you fucked me. You were scared and pathetic. And you’re fucking asking me to kiss you.” The words tear out of me, fueled by the anger I have had all week. Fueled by the frustration. Fueled by the drowning feeling constricting my lungs.

“I’m in control.” He whispers to himself.

Control. Control. Control.

That’s all he knows.

He tries to touch me, but I step back. “No, you’re drunk, so I’m going home.” I turn on my heel.

“You can’t walk away from me, Mason. I own you.”

His words hit me like a moving bullet. I freeze, terrified, as an excruciating breath saws out of me. I already have a plate full of people trying to control me. Not him. Not anymore. Because this is becoming more than just a job. This is becoming more than something I have to do because of my freedom. Looking at him, I see more than just pain. I see a man who’s trapped by his own world.

“You’re so used to getting whatever the fuck you want. You fucked me, yes, but I’d never feel anything for a man like you.”

“I have your anger. Your disgust. Your hatred. That’s enough for now.” He whispers.

“You’re sick.” I scoff.

“Please stay. I’ll leave. It’s too dark already. Stay here. You can leave tomorrow morning.”

His offer lands over my skin and leaves me with goosebumps.

All I see is an opportunity. Opportunity to find something I can give Vincent. He must have secrets here. Anything that can tie his family to the crimes that happen in the underbelly of this city.

He’s literally offering me my freedom.

I don’t utter a word. Even as he picks up his shirt and walks toward me. He stops by my side and inhales sharply before he resumes walking to the elevator.

Then he’s gone. And I’m standing all alone in his apartment. Minutes pass, and I’m still standing in the same spot he left me. It’s only a few hours to sunrise, and I haven’t gotten any sleep.

A hollow feeling sits in my chest.

I should take this opportunity, but I remain there, watching the living room.

He left his house for me. I’m not even sure if he understands what he’s just done. I mean, he’s drunk.

Yet I find the idea that he put my safety first before anything else comforting. And that comfort blooms into a feeling I can’t contain.

There’s no one else here except me.

No one can come and go as they please because this is Saint’s place.

It’s protected.

It protects me from the horror I’ve been facing for the past three weeks. For the first time in months, I feel safe, but I know that this safety will end in a matter of hours when he comes home and realizes what he’s done, when he sends me away again.

I put my backpack on the floor and explore the apartment, taking the grand staircase to the bedroom. Everything here’s neatly arranged to Saint’s excellent taste. The dressing room has expensive suits perfectly arranged in the racks. A pile of shoes, a watch, and a collection of jewelry.

I return downstairs after the quick tour and settle down on the couch in the living room. That’s when a memory hits me. Fresh and clean. I remember looking at houses with my mother during the week they died. We were going to move to a place in Queenstown because my father had gotten a new job. She’d ask me what type of house I’d love to live in when I was older.

I’ve always wanted a quiet place. A place by the mountains where I can keep a garden and soak myself in nature when life gets difficult. A place that keeps me far away from the chaos of this world.

But I’m not sure if I’d ever get that.

My gaze narrows to a closed door. I haven’t looked at that place yet. It must be his office.