Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)

“Don’t wait up, kids,” Leon says, throwing a set of keys in the air and catching it.

“You’ve got protection?” Ian asks.

I assume he’s not referring to condoms.

Ruben pulls away his jacket to show the gun in his waistband.

On their way out, Ruben winks as he catches my eye. I look away, not caring to interpret that gesture. He seems set on getting a rise out of me.

Ian takes a flashlight from the shelf and turns off the kitchen light. I wait on the deck while he switches off the lamps and locks up. He kills the fire and pours water over the coals. After taking the last rifle leaning against the tree, he aims the flashlight at the path and motions for me follow. He points the light to the left and right as we walk, scouting for wild animals and snakes.

At his bungalow, he checks the interior before letting me in and locks the rifle in a safe in his closet. He pockets the key and unbuckles his belt.

“Come here,” he says, crooking his finger at me.

I do no such thing.

I turn for the bathroom. I haven’t even reached the door before he’s behind me. Gripping me around the waist, he turns me around and pushes me against the wood. It happens so fast, I have to grab his shoulders to keep my balance. The man staring at me is not the kind lover or the man everyone fears. Right now, he’s a mixture of the two, and my body reacts to both sides of him. I’m simultaneously frightened and turned on.

He stares down at me as if he’s about to rip me to pieces, yet his voice is soft. “If you want us to be exclusive, you only have to say so.”

I won’t say it. In my book it goes without saying. I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to have to ask. I’ve got nothing against open relationships. They’re just not my thing. Yes, I love sex, and I need a lot of sex to be satisfied, but I don’t sleep with just anyone. When I do, I consider my acts of passion sacred, no matter how perverse or twisted. If exclusivity isn’t a natural, mutual desire, he’s not worth it.

Anyway, “It’s not like we’re in a relationship.”

He searches my eyes. “We could be.”

I can’t even go there. Rationally, I understand I have no right to be jealous if I’m not prepared to be in a relationship with him, but it’s a matter of heart versus mind. My heart can’t accept that he’d fuck someone else, and my mind can’t accept we’re even talking about a relationship when I’m a bird caught in his cage. He’ll take me out and parade me around when the situation suits him, but he’ll keep my wings clipped to ensure I can’t fly away. Even the animals on his farm have more freedom than me. At least they’re allowed to roam around.

He drags his palms up my sides under the T-shirt, burning a path over my skin. “It’s not in your interest to be hardheaded, Cas. It’s not going to win you anything. You’ve got to fight at least a little for what you want.”

I slam my palms down hard, pushing him away. “What do you know about me, huh?” My voice escalates with anger. “I’ve fought for all my goddamn life.”

I’ve fought to live from the day I was born. It’s been an ongoing battle. I’ve fought for acceptance, for not being hated by women like Mariette and judged by men like my ex-boyfriends for my healthy sex appetite. I’ve fought to not lose the farm and lost it anyway. I’ve fought not to be a prisoner, and here I am. I didn’t ask for any of it.

I shove him again, harder this time. “Get away from me.”

As I make to duck under his arm, he grabs my biceps and backs me up to the door.

“That’s not what I meant,” he grits out.

I turn my head away. “I don’t care what you meant.”

Gripping my chin, he forces me to face him. “You do care. Say it.”

“In your dreams.”

He shakes me softly. “Why is this so damn hard for you to admit?”

“If it’s so easy, go ahead. Tell me you care.”

He drags a thumb over my lips, following the action with his gaze. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“No,” I whisper. “I’d be free.”

“You’d be in prison,” he says with a tight jaw. “That’s not an option I’ll ever allow.”

“No?” I give a wry laugh. “This is just a different kind of prison.”

“Fuck.” He lets me go and kicks the door so hard it rattles in the frame.

I give a start, moving sideways and flattening myself against the wood until the handle digs into my back.

He tilts his face to the ceiling and drags both hands over his head. When he looks back at me, his expression is cool and his composure controlled. “You’re right. I have no right to make demands on you.”