He takes another step. “I don’t want to touch you. That’s not why I came in here.”
“Then stay where you are.” I back away. “Don’t move another inch.”
He doesn’t listen. In fact, he grows taller in the diminishing space between us, his presence taking up more room as he creeps closer. “Penny…”
My name on his lips is sickening, the tone placating and authoritative at the same time. “I’m here to help you,” he continues. “I can—”
“Stop,” I growl. “Whatever you have planned, you’ll get caught, then Luther will punish you. It doesn’t matter who you think you are. You can’t silence me. I’ll scream.”
His lips press tight. His nostrils flare. Pure frustration ebbs from him yet it’s not enough. I need his defeat. I have to know he won’t divert his sickening intent toward my sisters.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” I whisper. “Luther may act like he’s willing to share his harem, but believe me, he’s far from generous. As soon as you lay a hand on any of us you’ll be indebted to him and he always reclaims what he’s owed.”
“Luther doesn’t scare me.” His face softens. “And like I said, I have no desire to touch you.”
I glare despite the likely retaliation I’ll receive for my insolence. “So, you’re one of those role-playing types?”
Each monster has a different strategy. A well-greased kink.
Some enjoy boasting their horrors. And others, like this man, prefer to play nice, luring victims with honey to later strike with sickening poison.
“Don’t worry,” I add. “Luther enjoys the same type of games. Sometimes he pretends he’s had a hard day and wants someone to cuddle up against. But gentle cuddles always turn into vicious hands around a delicate throat. Or gouge marks along tender skin. He likes lulling victims into a false sense of security. I gather that’s what you’re doing now, right?”
His jaw ticks. “No.”
“No?” I quirk a brow.
He holds my gaze, those hazel eyes softening back to their deceptive look of concern. “I want to help you.”
“Help keep me in a sexual violation routine? Isn’t that what you were discussing earlier?”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
“Yeah,” I drawl, despite the pulse building in my throat. This man is getting to me. The initial damage he caused by mentioning my home is eating away at my defenses to leave me vulnerable. “I heard. So stop wasting both our time. I need to get this food outside.”
It’s a mistake to admit how far I intruded upon Luther’s privacy. The truth could come back to bite me. Hard. But the longer this man stares at me, his questionable intent putting me on edge, the more unsettled I become.
I want to believe the feigned sincerity in those eyes. I’d give anything to fall headfirst into his offer for help. If only it wasn’t a sickening game.
“You need to trust me.” He makes another cautionary glance toward both doorways, then approaches another step.
He’s so close the gentle scent of his woodsy cologne burns a trail down my throat to scorch my lungs.
He leans in, his gaze never leaving mine as he murmurs, “I know your brother.”
My heart stops, the harsh stab of déjà vu assailing me.
With effortless precision he attacks. Without physical connection. With barely audible words.
I have two brothers. Both of them the most caring, brilliant men in the world, and having this asshole use either one of them against me is despicable.
“Stop it.” I keep backtracking, needing to maintain the distance between us. I can’t let him push me into my past. I can’t fall into that trap. “Leave me alone.”
I stalk to the far cupboards and retrieve a packet of wafers. If I don’t get outside with food Luther will punish me, and despite his heavy hand being less painful than the thoughts of my family, I won’t open myself up to any more torture than I’ve already received in the last twenty-four hours.
“Listen to me.” Luca’s heavy footsteps approach, his presence closing in at my back, his hands clasping the counter on either side of my waist.
He traps me.
Cages me.
“I know you, Penny. I know how long you’ve been missing and that your brother never stopped looking for you until he thought he had evidence of your death.”
His words whisper into my ears. The message is pure torture.
There are so many aspects to fixate on. Too many facets to assail me.
My brother stopped looking? Which brother? What evidence? Was it the tooth Luther extracted from my mouth without sedation? Or the fist-fulls of hair that have been ripped from my head over the unending months?
No.
It’s all lies. All make-believe.
I don’t have siblings. I don’t have a past.
I suck in breath after breath, trying to ignore how he keeps goading me into a game I’m not equipped to handle. He’s deliberately pushing my buttons. This man is merely violating me with mental manipulation instead of physical.
Fuck him.
Fuck. Him.
I swing around to face my tormentor, his body so close, those eyes holding mine. I glare, and glare, and glare some more, but all he does is stare right back. There’s still no smirk. He’s devoid of the toxicity that usually forewarns of an impending strike.
All he gives me is stony silence while he traps me in the cage of his arms.
“You’ve got the wrong woman.” I raise my chin, strengthening my resolve. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but it’s not me.”
I rebuild my mental walls, frantically attempting to make them stronger and stronger as he remains a brutal force in front of me.
I have no family.
No weaknesses.
No vulnerabilities.
There’s only here and now. There’s only Luther and this unending hell.
“I know you’re scared.” He gentles his voice, the delicate sweep of his breath brushing my lips. “But I know who you are. There’s no mistaking it.”
His softness is foreign. The look in his eyes is, too. Everything about him screams of sanctuary, but it’s all a trick. A twisted, manipulative strategy.
“Stop it.” I glance away. Each inhale is pained, the air filling my lungs carrying tiny thorns to pluck me from the inside out. “Leave me alone.”
He’s triggering my hope and there’s nothing more dangerous to my stability. My hands shake from the internal battle of optimism and reality. I have to harden myself, to remember all the things I’ve endured and how the living nightmare never ends. There’s no savior. No peace to come.
There’re only beatings. And rape. And eventually, the peace of death.
“He lives in Portland,” he continues to stoke my insanity, making my pulse spike. “I’ve been working with him.”
“Stop.” I squeeze my hands into fists, digging my nails into skin. He’s filling my head, suffocating me with lies. I don’t want to drown. Not from this. Not from longing.
It’s too much.
My lungs squeeze.
My heart hurts.
“He’s been dating—”
“Stop,” I scream, my hand lashing out to slap across his cheek. “Stop.”