Page 209 of Captive Ruin

“Slow, as well,” she comments, sitting back down in her chair. “Alas, woe is me, married to such a feeble old man.”

“Keep going,” I say. “I’m making a list.”

“You have a list already.”

“This isn’t a date list, it’s a punishment list. Just you wait until I’m well enough to get my hands on you.”

“Promises, promises,” she murmurs, picking up her book. “Never any payoff.”

I grind my teeth, staring at her while she pretends to ignore me.

But secretly, I’ve never been happier. She’s playing, she’s content, she’s mine.

And she knows it.

Amelia leaves two days later, flying from Portland on Bastien’s jet.

I lie in my bed, suffering the daily checks that the nurse undertakes, and unable to do more than that. I’m curt; I’m terse. I hate my body’s weakness, and I’m in a foul mood. But it’s not the nurse’s fault.

I’m missing my Little Stray.

This is the first time she’s gone off by herself in… months. The other times, Tony or Jorge were with her. Now, they’re somewhere around the house and grounds, keeping guard on me.

We don’t need guards. The Volkovs were apologetic and made swift justice for their latest transgression, and I don’t believe they’ll try something again.

That’s not what concerns me.

But what if Lucy persuades her to leave because our relationship isn’t healthy? That’s the far greater risk.

And she’d be right. Because it’s not.

That’s the truth, and I’m not blind to it. I’m not a normal man, but Amelia isn’t a normal woman. I can’t do a nine-to-five and court her with poorly cooked meals and dull sex in an apartment somewhere on the Upper East Side. It’s not who I am, it’s not who I’ve ever been.

She understands that—when she’s here. Now that she’s free, will she even want to come back? It should never, ever be a concern. So why does that thought worry me so much?

I lie in my bed, working through my exercises and ignoring the pain, doing what I can to get stronger. I need my strength, either to hunt down my Little Stray, or pin her down and fuck her like she’s never been fucked before.

Old? I’ll show her old.

The day crawls by, each passing hour deepening my fears. Has something happened to her? Was I wrong about how safe we are? Was her sister persuasive?

I want her happy, above all else. But if she thinks that’s best achieved without me, she’s wrong.

My shoulder twinges hard, the ache deep and sharp. I press my hand to it, but it’s not my injury, it’s my chest. My heart. A place under my ribs where the pain of loss has settled already, like I know she’s not coming back.

But that’s not true. She’s mine… isn’t she?

When will she be back? A lunch, a return trip to the airport, the flight, a car from Portland to here. Five o’clock at the earliest.

But five passes. So does six. Seven comes and goes without news, and by eight I’m reaching for my phone to call Bastien. I pause with my finger on the button, staring at his name on the screen.

What would Amelia think if I can’t trust her?

But what if something has happened, and I delay?

I drop my phone onto the bed and curse, clenching my fists. A day apart from her, and I’m a mess. She spent three months without me. No wonder she hated it so much.

Twenty after nine, a car pulls up outside. I strain my ears. The front door opens and closes, and she says something to the nurse. There’s no alarm in her tone; she’s fine.