Chapter 41
41
Victoria
I know he’s home before anyone says a word.
The door to my room is closed, but even tucked away, I can hear the voices from down below.
For as large a house as this is, it’s odd how voices travel.
Right now, I can clearly hear footsteps from downstairs.
Next is a car door slamming.
My nervous system fires into overdrive because I know it’s him.
I move to my door and place my ear against the wood. I can hear the low murmur of male voices in the foyer.
Slowly, I open my door. Not dramatically. A small crack, just enough to try to hear.
Unfortunately, my plan sucks, and I can’t hear anything.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m out of my room and on the second-floor landing.
I grip the banister, pulse jumping like I’m about to have a heart attack.
You are not going to hide on the stairwell like some pathetic woman. You are his wife, not his prisoner.
Actually, you’re both.
And you’re also his secret wife, let’s not forget that.
I roll my shoulders back, exhale once, and start down the staircase. Lorenzo steps into the foyer as I reach the bottom.
He looks exhausted, wrecked. He also happens to look devastatingly handsome and deadly. His dark shirt is rumpled, and the sleeves are shoved up. His gorgeous tattoos are on full display.
A part of me wants to ask him to remove his shirt so I can see just how far they go, but I bite back that desire. Nothing good will come from lusting after my asshole of a husband.
My gaze drops down, and I see his knuckles are scraped.
There’s also a faint smear of something red on his collar.
Dirt.
I’m sure it’s just dirt.
Red dirt…
Sure.
I don’t know any idiot who would believe that.
With a shake of my head, I lift my gaze. Lorenzo’s hair is a mess. It looks like he’s raked his fingers through it in an angry rage.
I need to pull my gaze away because looking at him does crazy things to my belly.
Two guards hover near the doorway, speaking in low voices. The moment they see me, their words die in their throats.
Cowards.
Lorenzo’s gaze finds me. It drags over me slowly, from the bare soles of my feet, up my leggings, to the oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder.
His mouth curves. “Look at this,” he drawls, dropping his keys into a dish on the console. “My dear wife coming down to greet me p>
“You should’ve stayed gone,” I shoot back, stepping off the last stair. “Maybe the world would be a better place p>
His eyes glitter, amused. “Missing me already p>
“Yes, like I miss food poisoning.” I plant myself at the edge of the foyer. “We need to talk p>
“Do we?” His voice stays lazy, but the tension in his shoulders tells a different story. He shrugs out of his jacket with the smoothness of a man who knows exactly how he looks when he moves. “I had such a nice drive imagining silence when I got home p>
“You blocked every phone,” I snap, ignoring the bait. “Your men won’t let me outside. I can’t step onto the grass without two human brick walls materializing out of nowhere like I’m a criminal. You cut me off from everyone p>
He drapes the jacket over the stair rail. “You make it sound dramatic p>
“It is dramatic,” I fire back, stepping closer. “You’ve turned my life into a hostage situation p>
His nostrils flare like my choice of words amuses him. “Your life’s been a hostage situation since you were born into that family. I just… relocated the leverage p>
“I’m what now?” I demand. “A pet you keep on a leash. A trophy you hide in a box p>
“Trophies get displayed.” He looks me up and down. “You’re on lockdown p>
“Why?” My voice rises despite myself. “Who am I going to run to? You’ve destroyed everything p>
“Exactly,” he replies as calmly as a man discussing the weather. “Which makes containment efficient p>
My jaw tightens so hard it aches. “You can’t just cut me off from my parents. From my friends. From my job p>
He barks a humorless laugh, and it ricochets off the marble like a gunshot disguised as amusement. “Your job? The one you hate. Your parents? You hate them too. And don’t say friends… We both know you don’t have any. I did you a favor p>
“You don’t get to decide what’s good for me.” Heat climbs my throat, turning my words sharp. “You don’t get to put guards on me like I’m a thing you’re afraid of misplacing p>
“I am afraid of misplacing you.” His eyes narrow. “I worked very hard to acquire you p>
Acquire.
The word makes my skin crawl. It also makes my stomach drop.
I take another step toward him, anger buzzing like a live wire. “You’re isolating me p>
“I’m protecting what I own,” he corrects, head tilting. “Two different words. Same result p>
“Seriously p>
He shrugs. “You married into my world p>
“I. Didn’t. Have. A. Choice. Or did you forget p>
“What was your other option? Your father was one deal away from selling you to the Jameson spawn p>
The memory of Grant Jameson’s dead eyes flickers through me. Lorenzo was not wrong. I’d managed to push back the relationship as far as I could, but it was only a matter of time.
“Don’t,” I grit out. “Don’t act like you’re some upgrade. You broke into my life like a wrecking ball, and now you’re standing in the rubble like you own the land p>
“I do own it,” he replies, completely unbothered. “Metaphorically. Legally. Financially.” His eyes flick to mine. “Emotionally, we can debate p>
Something in me snaps so loud I’m surprised no one hears it.
I shove him. Two hands flat against his chest, pushing hard.
He rocks back half a step, more surprised than moved.
He’s solid as stone.
Was he always this strong?
His brows lift like I’ve offered him a gift. Then slow amusement unfurls across his face.
“Well.” He glances down at my hands. “Look at you. Violence. I’m touched p>
“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” I spit, yanking my hands away. “You don’t get to joke p>
He chuckles low, and the sound curls around my spine. “You’re adorable when you think you have options p>
I shove him again. Harder. He lets me this time. Moves with it.
He’s acting like I’m a child throwing a tantrum, and he’s humoring me so I can tire myself out. The humiliation burns hot behind my eyes.
“Stop that,” I snarl.
“Stop what?” He spreads his arms, smirking. “Letting you touch me p>
“Stop acting like this is funny,” I fire back. “Like my life is some game you’re playing to entertain yourself p>
His gaze sharpens. Slowly, he steps into my space, crowding me backward. I stumble, my back hitting the wall. He plants one hand beside my head, close enough to trap me without actually touching me.
Then the other hand comes up to cage me in.
My heart beats so fast I think I might pass out.
We’re close. Too close. His breath brushes my cheek. It feels warm, but it also feels like it’s edged with something darker underneath.
His eyes are fixed on mine, unblinking.
“Funny”—he leans in a fraction—“is not the word I’d use for you p>
My fingers curl against my side.
I should be terrified.
I am terrified.
But that’s not the only thing cracking under my skin, and I hate myself for it.
My pulse is hammering everywhere: my throat, chest, low in my stomach. The air between us hums, charged, like the second before lightning strikes.
“Let me go,” I whisper, hating how thin it sounds. “You’re crowding me p>
“I’m barely touching you.” His eyes dip to my mouth and back up. “If you think this is crowded, you’re out of practice p>
Heat floods my cheeks. Anger. Shame. And shit… something else. Something worse.
“Move,” I rasp.
“Or what?” His voice drops into a low rumble. “You’ll shove me again? Scratch me this time? Maybe you’ll scream? Do you want me to make you scream?” The innuendo isn’t lost on me.
My lips part, and a thousand memories slam into me like waves.
The boathouse.
His hands on me.
The way he used to kiss me.
I hate my body for remembering, but I hate it more for wanting it. Wanting him.
Please don’t notice… but of course, I’m not that lucky because I know without any measure of doubt he notices. Of course he does.
His gaze flicks down for the barest second, taking in my flushed cheeks, the way my breathing isn’t steady, and the way my throat bobs when I swallow.
His smile comes slow.
It’s dark and knowing.
“Careful, Little Bird. You’re looking at me like you did before you realized I was bad for you p>
“You were always bad for me,” I whisper.
“Yet,” he hums, leaning closer, “here we are. Again. You pinned between me and a wall. History has a sick sense of humor p>
I can’t think. His presence fills the space, thick and suffocating.
Addictive.
He’s always been my weakness.
Time hasn’t changed anything.
He might be bigger now and more dangerous than the boy I knew, but he still has the same eyes.
The same mouth.
The same scent.
“Why are you doing this?” I breathe, but his expression doesn’t change.
“Because you left,” he answers, steady and lethal. “And I never did p>
His words don’t make sense. He did leave…
“What?” My voice cracks.
He watches my face. “You took the easy exit. Schools. College. All those pretty opportunities your last name buys.” His mouth twitches. “Meanwhile, I was left behind p>
“I didn’t know,” I choke out. “I asked. They told me you were gone p>
“They told you what they needed you to believe,” he cuts in, sharp.
Pain lances through my chest. “I tried p>
“Stop.” His eyes narrow. “You didn’t do anything. You left. Plain and simple p>
“I-I was trapped,” I whisper.
“And now you’re shocked you ended up in another locked room?” His voice is velvet-wrapped knives. “At least this one is free of your parents p>
Anger flares inside me. “And this is your payback. Great. You wreck my family’s world, drag me into your house, and call it a marriage because you want to watch me suffer p>
His mouth curves. “You make it sound romantic p>
“I hate you,” I spit.
“I know.” He watches me, studies really, then a smirk. “But you’re also doing an awful job of hiding what else you feel p>
I stiffen.
“Don’t,” I whisper because I don’t know what I’m asking him not to do—touch me, look at me.
His voice dips, quiet and cruel. “Don’t confuse my restraint with weakness p>
My breath catches.
“If I wanted to take what I want,” he continues, eyes locked on mine, “I would p>
My spine chills.
Then I force my chin up anyway because fear is not obedience, and I refuse to let him mistake it for surrender.
“Don’t confuse my fear with obedience.” I swallow hard.
His hand lifts slowly, like he’s going to touch my face, and my skin tingles in anticipation and horror.
Just when I think he will, he stops himself.
Footsteps pass down the hall.
“Car’s still outside. Vin’s waiting on a callback.” Rafe’s voice drifts around us.
Lorenzo doesn’t look away from me as he answers, voice flat. “Tell him to keep waiting p>
Rafe keeps moving without pausing.
Once the hall goes quiet again, Lorenzo steps back.
“Go to bed,” he orders, voice rougher now. “Find a hobby. Read something depressing. Don’t test the guards p>
“Or what?” I can’t stop pushing, and apparently, fear makes me reckless. “You’ll lock me in a tower? Take away my books? Chain me to the bed p>
“Careful,” he says. “Keep talking like that, and you’ll confuse us both p>
Heat flashes through me, mortifying and hot.
Luckily, he turns before he notices. I’m sure he would torture me with the fact that I’m clearly not myself right now.
“I have work to do,” he throws over his shoulder as he walks toward his study. “Try not to break anything while I’m gone.” Then he disappears.
I stay pressed to the wall for a long moment, lungs trying to remember how to work.
My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. I’m furious.
But most of all… I’m turned on.
I drag a hand down my face, cursing him silently. Cursing myself harder.
“Fantastic.” I push away from the wall. “Welcome to hell, Victoria. Population: you and your terrible taste in men p>
I stalk back up the stairs toward my room, each step a fight between my brain and my body.
He wants me contained.
He wants me quiet.
I slip into my room, shut the door, and lean against it, chest heaving.
That’s when I see it…
From across the space it sits on the dresser, taunting me…
A tiny pebble.
I stalk over, grab it and throw his damn rock across the room.
He thinks this cage will break me.
He thinks time and silence and locked doors will wear me down.
Maybe it would’ve years ago.
But not now. Not after everything.
Not after him.