Page 61 of Day Break

For a split second, I thought about not telling him. But then I realized he’d probably do whatever was necessary to find out anyway.

“Phillip. He somehow found out that I don’t have a license and couldn’t open a bank account,” I answered.

Lane leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling for a moment.

“I bet he tried to blackmail you into sleeping with him to keep that knowledge a secret from the rest of the family?” he said, returning his gaze to look at me.

“I don’t know what he wanted, only that he thought he could intimidate me.”

Lane brushed the bruised skin with his fingertips.

“Did he hurt you anywhere else?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“He pulled my hair,” I said, lost in his eyes.

“Son of a…” He jerked slightly, dropping his hands.

I reached down and took them in my hands and lifted them to my lips, kissing them until they relaxed.

“I’m okay, really. No broken bones,” I assured him. “I’ve had worse.”

His eyes flew back to mine, and his frown told me I’d once again said the wrong thing.

“Your husband?” he asked me.

I nodded. Suddenly, I felt the knot that had been in my stomach from the first time that Elliott had struck me loosen.

I’d never told anyone before. I’d always been afraid of what would happen if I did.

I had been indoctrinated to believe it was his right to punish me as he saw fit. I was, after all, his property. Bought and paid for before I’d even reached puberty. Before I had even known that women bleed each month.

“Did he do that often? Beat you?” Lane asked, his voice just a whisper. I nodded again, avoiding his eyes. “How old were you?” he asked. This time, my eyes flew to his.

I knew what he was asking. Knew what he would think if I answered truthfully. Did I even care to protect myself any longer? Why did this hurt so much?

“How old were you, Chloe, when you were forced to marry?” he asked again, his hands turning slightly until our fingers tangled.

I looked at them, his large, tan fingers intertwined with my smaller pale ones. The feeling of his skin on mine was like nothing I’d ever felt before.

Just being around Lane made me feel as I did when I’d had too much wine, which I’d only done twice in my life.

He released my left hand and placed his fingertips under my chin, lifting it until our eyes met. “How old?” he asked again. “Sixteen?”

I shook my head and he frowned. “Fifteen?” I shook my head again. I could see the anger grow behind his eyes. “Tell me,” he practically begged.

“Twelve,” I said finally as tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Damn it,” he growled out. He pulled me to his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “I wish I could hunt down…” He stopped and I felt his chest rise and fall as he took a couple of deep breaths. “Later,” he said after a sob escaped me. “Later,” he said again, and I felt him kiss the top of my head.

The funny thing was, I wasn’t crying because of what I’d gone through in my past. There was nothing I could do to change it. I’d survived it. I was here. In a much better place.

No, I was crying because of what Lane probably thought of me. I didn’t want his pity. I hated when others looked at me as if I were a victim. I didn’t want the way he looked at me to change.

Unlike his cousins, I wanted Lane to look at me with desire. I wanted to feel his needs for me. For the first time in my life, I wanted a man to want me. To take me. To make me his.

I wanted to have sex. Real sex. Hot. Steamy. Sweaty sex. I wanted to feel something I’d never felt before.

And I wanted it with Lane.