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GENEVIEVE
Tired of sulking and feeling sorry for myself, I haul myself from bed and stretch. My toes ache from the cold, and I start to remind myself of all the things I’ll enjoy when I get back—like thick socks, the warmth of the fire, nice hot baths filled with jasmine—but then the list tapers off as I realise I might never go back. I might never get those things.
I can’t do anything about that now, but I can do something about the cold.
Shuffling out of the door, I hurry to the bathroom and shut the wooden door behind me. Sighing, I flick on the shower to let it heat up as I shuck out of my clothes and shiver. I almost jump on the spot as I wait to retain some of the hard-won heat. My eyes meet in the mirror before I turn away, hating the almost defeated glint in them. It’s not like me to give up, and I’m not.
I have a plan. It will work.
I repeat it to myself as the water finally heats and steam starts to curl around the dilapidated room. I jump into the tub, almost slipping in my eagerness to get warm. Once under the spray, I duck my head, allowing the warm water to soak my tired, cold muscles as I close my eyes and float to another place.
A happier place.
Somewhere where I’m free and not so twisted up inside.
Somewhere where I’m not forced to confront my past nor the dismal life I have now.
Somewhere…without them.
* * *
GAGE
Archer disappears while Booker glares at me and helps Eric wash up. Both have their backs to me, purposely ignoring me, and they are bent together, whispering. I could eavesdrop, but I don’t feel welcome, so I stand and move to the living room. I’m unsure what to do.
Our family has never fought before, not over the big stuff. We’ve always been in agreement. It’s yet another influence from the woman upstairs. My eyes go to the ceiling, wondering what Arch’s plan will be. I know he wants to free her. I saw it in his eyes—he’s giving in, weakening.
Unlike them, I’m still strong, and I’m not enchanted by the fluttering long lashes of the beautiful woman we have captive.
Okay, yes, I had a dream about her last night, chained up and begging for my cock, but that’s to be expected. She’s a very beautiful, sensual woman, and it’s been too long since I’ve not only been attracted to someone but wanted to act on it. It’s annoying, that’s for sure, but I can push my desire away. I’m used to not giving into it. There are more important things to focus on, like saving my family from themselves before they ruin everything we have built over some rich pussy.
Determined, I roll my shoulders back and leave them to brood as I head upstairs. I’m ready to confront her and get some answers to questions that might help me resolve this situation without bloodshed like they want, while also getting us the money we need. We need to turn this disaster into a successful job and not the complete waste of our time it’s turning into.
Not to mention we need to send a “fuck you” to that Chaz dickhead.
I mean, come on. Chaz? Who the fuck names their kid Chaz? It sounds like a nickname or some slang, not a name for a rich slob. It’s just one of the many things I hate about him. I’ve hated him since our business dealings started and I always warned us away, but I was outvoted and went along with it.
And now look where we are.
Her door is cracked open, so I peek inside, trying to be nice and start on a good note. If I spin things right, and resist throttling her, I might get more answers. Fear might help loosen her tongue, but Eric always tells me that I’ll catch more flies with honey.
Personally, I’ve found I catch more with blood.
But it’s worth a shot.
She’s not inside the room, however, so I turn away and tilt my head, listening. There’s the faint sound of the shower, and I stiffen as I drift closer. I try to resist, to tell myself to turn around and leave. I don’t need the temptation of a naked, wet prisoner.
Especially one with curves that make me salivate and a mouth that makes me want to shove my cock inside just to shut her up. My hand drifts to the doorknob despite my protests, as if I can’t control myself—something I’m not used to. Shaking my head, I almost throw myself back from it. My cock hardens in my trousers with each splash of water on the other side of the closed door.
A door, a thin bit of wood, is the only thing dividing me from what I want.
Fuck.
Turning away, I tug at my hair like Archer does when he’s stressed before I start to pace. I need to leave before I open that door and ruin every intention I have.
She’s beautiful, so fucking beautiful that I ache to mess up her perfect skin and mark it. I want to make her eyes flare with hatred again, rather than coolness, and see the fire I know exists in her. My mum always said I craved chaos and destruction. My anger is just another aspect of that. I’ve had years of training and restraint, yet with one look at that woman behind the door, it all goes out the window.
I want her—I can’t deny that.
