The Boss (Men of Hidden Justice 1)

“You are in pain.”

“I’m scared.”

He lifted my chin, staring into my watery eyes. “I know,” he said softly. “You are being very brave, Evelyn. You have a lot of inner strength.” He smiled, wiping the tears on my cheeks. “You will need it over the next while.”

“My dad—my dad called me Evie, not Evelyn. He said it was too big a name for someone so small.”

A ghost of a smile played on his mouth. “Evie,” he repeated. “Your father was correct. It suits you. Is that what your friends called you?”

“No, just him. You–you can call me that if you want,” I offered, with no idea why I was doing so.

He nodded. “I will.”

I swallowed my nerves, fingering the sleeve of his coat. The fabric was soft under my fingers, and the feeling soothed me. “What is going to happen now?”

His gaze took in my nervous handling of his coat. He shook his head, prying my fingers from the material. “Nothing bad. You’ll settle into your new life, and I’ll help you. You will find you are not alone in this.”

“If I can’t?” I dared to ask.

His dark eyes looked almost sad as he mulled over my question. “Then we will decide the next step.”

“I’m so confused. My head aches and I hurt everywhere.” A sob escaped my mouth. “I’m getting your coat dirty.”

The last sentence came out of nowhere, ending on a high whimper. He looked startled then frowned.

“Do you expect to be punished for that?”

“Yes.”

“It will not happen. You will never be struck again. I swear it.” He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “I don’t care about my coat. I’ll have it cleaned or get another. I care that you are warm and dry.”

“Why?”

He only smiled.

Then the car slowed, and he glanced out the window. The tint was so dark I couldn’t see anything but dim lights.

“We’re almost there. When we arrive, you don’t ask questions. You don’t fight. I expect you to show respect and act like a lady. Do you understand?”

A tremor ran through my body. “Yes.”

I was surprised when his large hand covered mine. “I won’t leave you alone, unless needed. I will help you through the evening. I know you’re hurt and exhausted. I promise you, Evie, you will not be mistreated. You will never be mistreated under my protection. By me or anyone else. But I need your promise you will do as I ask.”

His eyes were serious, his touch gentle, and his voice low. In that moment, he was only a man reassuring me. Despite what I had witnessed and what I knew he was capable of, my fear lessened at his promise. Hearing him call me Evie somehow helped to relax me.

“I will.”

He squeezed my hand. “Good girl.”

Those two words brought me inexplicable comfort. The odd sensation of wanting to please him surprised me.

I should be terrified. I had no idea where we were or what was going to happen next. I had only his word—that of a stranger—and yet, my fear had diminished since we left the warehouse.

Why, I had no idea.

When the car stopped, Matteo helped me out and escorted me up the steps. The house was large and grand, and I felt overwhelmed again. I looked around at the darkness behind me, nothing familiar, no streetlights to illuminate the area.

“You cannot run, Evie.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I replied, shocked to realize the words were true.

“Good. Come with me.” Matteo headed up the stairs, and I followed, gasping when I stumbled. Matteo’s arm shot out, steadying me. He didn’t stop, sweeping me up into his embrace and climbing the steps. I felt astonishingly safe in his arms. The rational side of my brain reminded me I had watched him murder people, yet I felt no anxiety being close to him.

Did I really believe his promises?

Could I trust this man, or had my mind already decided he was the lesser of two evils? I had heard of Stockholm syndrome—was that what this was?

Inside, he climbed another huge staircase to the second floor. He set me on my feet in a spacious bedroom, sliding his coat off my shoulders. Then he urged me toward a door.

“The bathroom is there. Have a shower and clean up. I will return with Geo.”

“My clothes…”

“My robe is on the back of the door. Clothes will come soon.”

“O–okay,” I whispered.

“You can do this, Evie. I have faith in you.”

I could only nod. I had no choice.

The bathroom was large and opulent, with a step-in marble tub and a massive, double-headed shower. The floor was warm under my feet and the towels thick and luxurious when I touched them. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and grimaced. I had a large bruise on one side of my face, and my light-brown hair was matted with blood from where I had hit my head. My face was pale, my blue eyes standing out against my ashen skin. I looked drawn and terrified. There was no other way to describe it. I undressed, not surprised to see other bruises forming on my skin from Blaine’s rough treatment. A few faded bruises were still showing from other times he had hit me. It felt surreal to think that the man whom I had watched murder people had touched me with greater care than the man who had professed to love me ever did. Even earlier in our relationship, Blaine’s hold had always been too tight, and he often left marks during sex.