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“No?” He moves another step. “No, what?”
“No to tomorrow’s freedom. Give it to me now.” Instead of moving away, a new idea forms in my mind, and my feet have me closing the gap between us.
“Shut your eyes.” I reach up and place my fingers over his eyelids, carefully forcing them down. “Tell me I can leave now. Give me back my freedom.”
“Christabelle…” he rasps, showing vulnerability, perhaps for the first time ever. “I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
“And I’m not willing to remain a prisoner. Show me what kind of man you really are, Felix Malone. Show me you’re not your father.”
His jaw clenches with tension. Rage. Hurt.
“Either let me go.” I push up to my toes and press the softest, sweetest, barely-there kiss to his lips. “Or you take me against my will. There will be no in-between.”
My words burn on my tongue. My bargain, like black sludge crawling through my veins.
I’m offering myself up to a man who was born to take. A product of rape, and a son raised by a mafia monster who encouraged non-consent. I practically hand myself to him, despite knowing the risk is huge.
But he releases my body. And his eyes remain closed.
I drop my hand and take a step back, my pulse thundering in my veins. Disbelief wars with common sense.
It’s a trap. Surely, he’s lulling me into a sense of security.
“Go,” he chokes out, shaking his head gently side to side. But his eyes remain closed. “Run, Christabelle. You’re free.”
17
FELIX
TO FEEL IT BREAK, MUST SURELY AFFIRM I HAVE ONE. RIGHT?
The air grows cold where I stand.
My hands flex, yearning to reach out.
For the first time in my life, I stand before an enemy and bare myself to them.
If she runs, she runs. If she sinks a blade between my ribs, then I guess that was my fate.
“Will you come after me?” Her voice comes from far away. From across the room at least.She’s already making her escape.“If I go, will your men stop me on the way out the door?”
“No.” I swallow the ache in my throat and continue to choose darkness. I’d rather see nothing, than see her back as she leaves me. “My men have never been instructed to stop you.”
“They…” My words surprise her into pausing. “What?”
“They follow you to protect you.”
To save myself from temptation, I spin on my heels, opening my eyes as I go, and head toward the dinner table.
Our meal awaits. Wine rests in crystal glasses. Candles burn lower. I study all that waste, and refuse to turn back and lay eyes on the woman who makes me wonder: how did Archer know when to pour all of himself into Mayet? How did he battle the fear of it all falling to shit?
How does he know, even now, that she will protect his heart as fiercely as he’ll protect her life?
“Felix?” Christabelle calls at my back, almost like my refusal to look into her eyes offends her. “Explain yourself.”
I lift my shoulders in a casual shrug and pick up the wineglass closest to where I stand. “I brought you here, Darling. But I never told them to keep you here.”
“You wouldn’t let me leave!”
