“You don’t seem scared.” His gaze slowly returns to mine. “Does that mean you’re open to trusting me?”
“Of course.” My response slips out too fast, the hint of sarcasm not helping my cause. He needs to think I’m his to break. A toy. A puppet.
He sighs. “I’m not going to hurt you, Penny. You can stay as far away from me as you want, but we need to talk.”
No. There’s no room for chatter. I don’t want him weaving his manipulation into my brain again.
“We’re not here to talk.” I shuffle closer, bridging the distance between us so there’s only a breath of space. I look up at him through my lashes and try my best to appear meek. “You heard Luther. I’m a gift.”
I’m not a viper coiled to attack. I’m an object. A slave.
Believe me, Satan.
He stiffens, his jaw twitching a fraction. His eyes narrow, the intensity of his stare making my heart skip a beat.
I wait for him to comply. To finally steal what’s right in front of him.
“You’re not a fucking gift,” he snarls. “You’re not a fucking slave. All that is over.”
A twinge of yearning plucks at my heartstrings before I quickly shut it down.
“Whatever you say,” I keep my voice meek, testing to see if he prefers weak and vulnerable to my usual strong and combative as I avert my gaze like a true submissive. “I’m yours to command. Just tell me what you need.”
A growl emanates from his chest, the low rumble inspiring goosebumps along my exposed arms.
“What I need,” he grates, “is for you to understand that I don’t want to fucking touch you. Not now or in the future. I’m not Luther.”
No, he’s not.
I’m well aware he’s an entirely new monster. One with different intricacies and fetishes.
“I understand.” I keep my head lowered, the tube burning hot against my belly. “You’re not like other men. You’re special.”
He scoffs. “No, I’m not. I’m just a guy who wants to fucking help you.” He reaches into the back of his jeans and pulls out a cell. “Look.”
He presses the screen a few times, then holds it up to me. My heart stops as he scrolls through images, picture upon picture of an innocent girl with a dazzling smile.
“This is you, right?”
It takes long seconds for me to shake my head, denying my past. The woman on the screen isn’t me. Not anymore. I look nothing like her. The light left my eyes long ago. The natural exuberance no longer exists. What took its place is the polished beauty paid for by a wealthy sex trafficker. The perfectly waxed skin. The regularly manicured nails and tinted hair. With all these services dished out by people who ignored my plight for freedom.
“I know who you are,” he continues. “I know your brother. Decker and I work together. Believe me, I won’t do a fucking thing to hurt you. I’m here to help.”
Decker.
My surname slices through me with the force of a steal blade.
Neither one of my brothers has ever taken our last name as a nickname. This man is making assumptions. Playing games.
He found my past online and is using the information to continue his trickery.
“You’re confused,” I whisper. “That’s not me. I have no brother.”
I focus on letting all emotion slip through me. I don’t dwell on the aching memories. I shove everything from my mind, growing hollow… all except for the tiniest flicker of light beginning to creep its way through the darkness of my solitude.
What if he does know one of my brothers? What if he knows the woman I used to be?
I clear my throat, dislodging the instability trying to ooze its way back into me.
I’m not that woman on the screen anymore.
That life belonged to someone else.
There’s no family waiting for me.
No love to welcome me home.
“What?” His brows pull tight, his confusion heavy. “Why are you denying it? This is obviously you.” He taps the cell screen, scrolling through more triggers, weaving more manipulation.
I can’t let him continue.
This has to stop.
“I’m sorry, but you’re confused.” I step into him and reach for his arm to lower the phone from view. “And besides, who I am doesn’t matter when you’re here to teach me the ropes.”
I grip the softness of his T-shirt and maneuver my hands beneath the material to place my palms on his stomach. His muscles tense at my touch.
“Penny,” he warns. “Stop.”
My pulse increases. My chest tightens.
I wait for the usual revulsion to overwhelm me, but the nauseating protest doesn’t appear.
For some reason, there’s no humiliation. No sickening disgust.
Instead, there’s apprehension. Thick and cloying concern.
He’s not acting the way I’ve come to expect from Luther and his men.
He’s not devouring this opportunity like a stereotypical predator.
“You don’t want me?” I ask, sounding offended. “Aren’t I as tempting as your little fox?”
The reminder of the other woman is for my benefit. I need to remember he’s not innocent.
“You’re a temptation, but not in the way you think.” His tone is gentle as he steps back. “You don’t need to do this.”
He’s wrong.
This is exactly what I need to do. I have to get closer. Distract him further. Add more confusion.
“I’m a gift.” I grab his belt and begin to pull it from its confinement.
“Jesus Christ. Stop.” He pushes at my wrists. “Just fucking stop.”
He’s revolted by me and somehow this humiliation is far worse than what I’m used to.
I’m not good enough for him.
Or maybe I’m too used. Too abused. Too broken.
He has the opportunity to take anything he wants and he hungers for nothing. There’s no perversion in his eyes. No deviance.
I don’t know what to do. I need to be close. I can’t strike from this distance. “Luca, I…”
Words fail me as my cheeks heat in shame.
Has my life sunken so low I now need to beg for violation? Is that where this hellish existence has led to?
“Please,” I plea, my humiliation plunging marrow-deep.
“I don’t want to fuck you,” he snarls. “I want to help you.”
“Then help me by letting me do my job. Let me make up for hitting you yesterday.”
His nostrils flare. “As far as I’m concerned, I deserved your aggression. And I deserve far more for leaving you behind. But for now, you’re going to wait in here while I go back out there to keep an eye on Luther.”
No. Jesus Christ, no.
He can’t distract Tobias from his mission. He can’t stop me from succeeding, either.
Luca stalks around me, heading toward the door as undiluted fear sweeps through me.
“Wait.” I pluck the hidden device from my waistband and tuck it into my palm, keeping the weapon out of view as I scramble to catch up.
He doesn’t pause. He gets to the door and reaches for the handle.
This is it. I have to strike.
I run, raising my hand high, then launch myself at him.