Promise to Keep (Vow To Protect 2)

I reach out to pull her toward me, but she shrugs from my grasp. I close the distance between us then, pressing her into the nearest wall. If she won’t let me touch her, then at the very least, she’ll hear me. “You should come to me if you have something to sort out. We are husband and wife. I should be the person you want to fall back on.”

She lifts her chin, her jaw clenches. “And I might if you weren’t so determined to keep me locked up like a goddamn prisoner. I’m a human being. I made a mistake, and I apologized. I thought you’d forgiven me, but now it seems like you are using this pregnancy as a way to punish me for leaving in the first place.”

I slam my hand into the wall above her head, igniting a throb along my palm, and keep my eyes locked with hers. “Do you have any idea what the council—the society—will do to keep my heir from coming into the world? I’m not keeping you locked up as a punishment, but a kindness. For protection.”

“That song still sounds eerily familiar. It doesn’t matter, though. I still want to see Rose. There are things I need to talk to another woman about that I can’t say to you.” Then with her teeth clenched, she adds, “Please.”

“Andrea is another woman,” I say, grasping at straws now.

“Andrea isn’t in any shape to be talking to anyone except a therapist or an arms dealer. She definitely won’t want to talk to me about my pregnancy.”

Neither of us speaks again, and a tense silence stretches taut. A tear slips silently down her cheek, and it’s another punch to the chest. Dammit. Hurting her is the last thing I want to do, but I also won’t allow her to jeopardize herself or our baby. So I pull out the big guns. “I can’t let you leave the penthouse, not while they are riding me so hard about Sal and his disappearance. Not when his family is seeking revenge. On top of that, we’ll have to answer questions about your father sooner or later.”

Her forehead crumples, and her shoulders slump. Pushing the guilt button wasn’t kind of me, but I’ve never been a nice man. If being a dick means it keeps her safe, then I’ll do what I have to every single time.

Then as if realizing my manipulation, her gaze turns hard, and she shoves at my chest. She’s not strong enough to move me, not by a long shot, but her fists will leave bruises on my chest from the effort.

“Let me go,” she complains, still trying to shove me away from her. “I can’t believe you brought up my father, brought up Sal, to make me feel bad enough that I’ll give in to your demands. What is wrong with you?”

There isn’t enough time in the world to go into that much detail. Instead, I lean in closer, caging her in with my elbows until our faces line up. “The sooner you realize I’ll stop at nothing to keep you safe, the easier this will be. Even if it means keeping you safe from yourself. Fighting is useless because it won’t change anything.”

Her arm sweeps up to push at me again, and in the process, she knocks something off the nearby table. It shatters to the floor around our feet.

A wracking exhale shudders out of her, and she stares over my bicep to inspect the table and the mess. When I think she’s about to duck down to clean it up, she leans farther and grabs another object, this time hurling it to the floor close to my feet.

I raise an eyebrow and watch her closely. “Feel better?”

She scowls, her eyelashes still wet from her tears. “What, you’re the only one who can throw a hissy fit and destroy everything?”

“No, but if you make me, I’ll restrain you until you calm down. Hurt me all you like, but if you do anything to hurt yourself, you’ll regret it.”

Her chin hikes up, and as she stares into my eyes, another piece of glass hits the floor in a crystalline clatter. “I have no intention of hurting myself. Why would I, when it’s so much more fun to hurt you…at least…when you finally let go of yourself and let me.”

Her barbs sink deep, drawing blood. My penchant for pain has never been something I regret, but with her, so perfect and beautiful, it feels wrong, out of tune with the symphony her body creates with mine. The pain I crave is a discordant harmony that isn’t meant to be played alongside it.

She moves her arm again, but this time, I catch her wrist and twist it behind her back, then the other to match. With both of her hands secured in one of my own, I press her into the wall, trapping both her hands and mine at the small of her back. “What are you doing?” she whispers, her tone no longer laced with the venom she’s been spitting for the past several minutes.