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I know there’s a reason why she doesn’t fight me more.
It’s because she recognizes me. Her mind, soul, and memories are awakening because of me. She might not truly know who I am, and I’ll use that to my advantage. She’d want nothing to do with me if she knew I was the reason her parents were dead.
I’m not the hero in her story.
I’m the villain.
“Are you still sitting there?”
I have my right ankle crossed over my knee, an empty glass in my hand, and I turn to see him shove a spoon full of sugar flakes in his mouth. The milk dribbles down his chin, and he chews with his mouth open as he pulls up another chair.
My head pounds as the chair legs screech across the floor. He plops down next to me and shoves another scoop in his mouth.
“So? What are we doing? This is fun.”
I blink at him in annoyance. “I’m making sure she doesn’t try to escape.”
“Liar.”
I exhale and stare at the rainbow of light scattering across the floor as the morning sun hits the empty scotch glass. “She told me she was married, so I locked her in the room.”
He lifts a shoulder and lifts the bowl to his mouth, slurping the milk. “She isn’t married. I’ve run a background check on her. So she only told you that to make it seem like someone would look for her. She’s actually the best person to kidnap. She doesn’t have anyone. No one would miss her.”
I knock the bowl out of his hand, and soggy cereal spills across the floor, and the bowl breaks in half. “She has me. She doesn’t need anyone else. I would miss her. I have missed her. Do not downplay her importance.”
He wipes his mouth on his shirt sleeve. “I’m not. I’m just explaining you don’t have a reason to be mad. She’s single. Why aren’t you in there? You probably could have been having a bunch of angry sex.”
“She isn’t thinking of sex, Otello. She’s thinking about how to escape.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s a normal human being who is scared and in a place she doesn’t know. I’m really concerned you were dropped on your head as a child.”
“She has no reason to be afraid, though. I don’t get it.” He stands swiftly and grabs a few napkins from the bar to clean up the cereal on the floor.
“You’re sure she isn’t married? She’s perfect. It’s possible for her to have someone.”
He rolls his eyes and cleans up the mess. “I might be careless, but I didn’t just spend months hunting someone down, stalking them, knowing their every move, not to know the basics. Give me some credit, damn.”
I rub my temples when I feel a headache start to form. I didn’t ask him to do any of that, but I can’t find it in me to be angry. The woman of my dreams is here. In my house. In my bed.
“And it isn’t like you’d care anyway. If she were married, which she isn’t, you’d probably find a way to have her for yourself. I mean, I’m not really seeing the issue and why you’re out here pouting.”
“I’m not pouting,” I grumble, not wanting to admit that’s exactly what I’m doing. I am pouting. I’m not typically the kind of man who gets his feelings hurt. I thought my ability to even have feelings died years ago. It’s been ages since I’ve felt anything other than annoyance and anger.
But never jealousy.
Never…heartache.
The thought of her with another man has me possessive in a way I’ve never been. It also fucking hurts.
After all the years of killing and fighting for my family, I’d come home and dream of a life with Mable. I’d get lost in my studio, painting her body, imagining us together, building a life and a future I literally only could ever dream about. I’ve sculpted her pregnant belly, and I’ve carved what I thought her face would look like during orgasm in clay.
I’ve obsessed about making her mine to the point of madness. Because she’s here, it feels like she’s mine, like I know her, like she went on a vacation and just returned.
I stand, running my hands down my face with exhaustion, and then look at my watch to check the time. It’s nine in the morning, and I’ve been too stubborn to check to see if she’s okay. I also need to call Daphne and tell her we are not getting engaged.
Not when the woman I love is finally here.
