Buttons and Shame (Buttons 4)

“Get my money, Tristan.” Cane placed his hands on my shoulders and guided me to the front door. “I know you’re good for it—but you better not prove me wrong.” He guided me outside the front doors and to the sunlight that hit my face.

I stopped in my tracks and closed my eyes, wanting to weep at the feeling I’d missed so much. If I kept my eyes closed, I truly felt free. The air smelled like fresh flowers from a field, and I could recognize the salt from the sea air.

Just an instant of joy—but it was everything.

Cane grabbed me by the elbow. “Move.”

The harshness of his voice brought me back to reality. I wasn’t free at all, but being loaned out to a man who had a business deal with Tristan. Tristan said I was to be returned in thirty-one days.

In thirty-one days, I would be back in that hellhole.

Cane continued to touch me even though I didn’t need his guidance. I could see the car right in front of us, and there was nowhere for me to run—unless I jumped off the cliff and into the ocean. And even if I did, I would forfeit my best friend’s life. “Don’t touch me.” I freed myself and kept three feet between us, my hands gripping the jacket like it was the nicest thing I’d ever had. I would trade everything in my bank account just to stay covered like this. I didn’t have any shoes, but the jacket was long enough to cover my ass and the backs of my thighs.

Cane watched me coldly, no longer looking different from the other men. His green eyes weren’t innocent, and his clenched jaw hid his irritation. He could have easily grabbed me by the back of the neck and thrown me to the ground, but he didn’t.

It actually made him seem like a good guy.

He got to the car first and opened the passenger door for me. The windows were tinted completely black so no one would see me inside once the doors were locked. Similar to a shadow blocking out the sun, he stood there like a black cloud.

I didn’t glance back at the house where I’d been held captive. I didn’t want to look at Tristan’s face ever again, that strong, crooked nose or any other part of his ugly face. Sweat would drip from his forehead and splatter on my face when he fucked me like I was a prostitute in a brothel. My nightmare had been short-lived, but I was seriously screwed up in the head now. If I ever escaped, I would need a serious amount of therapy to set me straight.

I got into the passenger seat and relished the sound of the closing door. Finally, I was out of Tristan’s reach. He couldn’t shove his cock down my throat and force me to swallow his come as he pointed a loaded gun to my forehead. He couldn’t stab me with a butter knife as he forced me to watch him have dinner while I starved. Cane was a criminal, but he was a much better alternative to the psychopath I left behind.

Cane got into the car and started the engine. It roared to life and vibrated with power.

I didn’t look out the window. I just wanted him to drive, to get me the hell out of there. I tightened my arms over my chest and tried not to shiver. A flood of tears burned behind my eyes because I was relieved to leave that nightmare behind. I was scared of where I was going, but I was more scared to stay. I refused to let my tears fall in front of Cane. I quickly learned that men loved to watch me hurt. They loved to see me suffer and beg for mercy. It got them hard in their jeans.

So I kept all the rage packed deep inside my chest.

Cane finally hit the gas and drove away.

Thank god.

I positioned my body and looked out the window, seeing the beautiful Mediterranean that I always wished I could witness. Now I was looking at it—as a slave. My safety belt wasn’t on because I didn’t care about my safety. If Cane smashed into a building and killed us both, I’d consider myself to be lucky.

Damn lucky.

We walked into the hotel room where he’d been staying. Judging by his suitcase in the corner and the t-shirt that hung over the back of the chair, he’d been there for a few days. It was a nice place, definitely luxurious and expensive.

I knew he was wealthy. I could tell just by the way he moved. Once I became a prisoner, I’d learned to watch people for clues to their behaviors. It was a survivor strategy that I quickly picked up on.