Lover (Betrothed 3)

He moved his eyes to my legs and slowly lifted his gaze up my body. The arousal in his look was unmistakable, his intention clear as day. He wanted to claim me as his own, turn me into a slave.

I was going to be sick. “Please don’t do this…”

“I was a gentleman and gave you a way out.”

“No, you’re not a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. “Hades will come for me. He’ll slaughter you and everyone you know.”

“I hope he does. But even if that day comes, it’s gonna take him a long time to hunt me down. If he knew where I was, he would’ve killed me a long time ago.”

I tried to control my breathing, but it was becoming more labored. My throat started to itch; my eyes began to water. I couldn’t keep up my strong resilience, not when I felt so helpless and alone. Crying and begging wouldn’t save me, but I felt the impulsive need to break down.

“I’m sorry about this,” he whispered. “I really am.”

The tears started. I pulled my body tighter, trying to be as small as possible.

He rose to his feet and pulled off his shirt. “Resist me, and I’ll hurt you.”

Now, I sobbed. Sobbed because there was nothing I could do. If Hades knew what was happening to me, he would kill himself just to make the pain stop. If my mother knew what was happening to me, she would never recover. I was tempted to take that gun just so I could keep my dignity. No one would judge me if I took the easy way out.

But if I did…I would never see Hades again.

And Hades would have to live with my blood on his hands.

I had to live…just in case he did find me.

When I closed my eyes, I decided not to open them again, not until this was over.

3

Hades

I sat on the couch in my bedroom. I’d been sitting there for so long that the darkness had crept in the windows and brought my room into shadow. I hadn’t gotten up to flick on the lights. I hadn’t even gotten a drink.

Scotch wouldn’t help.

My phone was gripped in my hand, waiting for information from my men. They were following every lead possible, torturing any man who might possibly know where Maddox could be. Every phone call I’d received led nowhere.

We had no idea where he was.

No idea where my wife was.

It’d been three days since she disappeared, three days that she’d been subjected to cruelty. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. I was so sick to my stomach I threw up a couple times. All I could think about was what he was doing to her.

That I didn’t save her.

I wished we’d never met. I wished she married someone else. If she had, none of this would have happened.

I was supposed to keep her safe, but all this was happening because of me.

I closed my eyes and rubbed my temple, feeling physical pain everywhere. My muscles were sore from running around, my head pounded because I hadn’t eaten, and my neck was tight from my face being constantly tilted toward the ground.

But my pain couldn’t possibly compare to hers.

My bedroom door opened, and I didn’t bother to look at who it was. It was probably Damien, there to deliver bad news.

A deep voice I recognized erupted across the room. “Helena told me to walk inside.”

It took me a moment to raise my chin and look at him. I could recognize that voice anywhere, because I’d been listening to it since I was a child. When my eyes landed on his face, they narrowed. I knew who it was, but it took me a moment to believe what I was seeing.

Ash stepped farther into my bedroom, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“Why are you here?” Reestablishing a relationship with him was at the bottom of my priorities. Alive or dead, I couldn’t care less. The one person in the world who actually mattered to me was missing. I couldn’t sleep in my bed, not when I had no idea where she was sleeping, when I had no idea how she was being treated.

Ash took a seat beside me, leaving several inches of space between us. With his elbows on his knees, he stared straight ahead. “Damien called me.”

I didn’t see why. “You didn’t need to come all the way down here.”

“Thought I could help.”

“Why would you want to help me?” I shouldn’t be so spiteful, but I was too depressed to care about my behavior.

“You know why.”

“I really don’t. You made it clear that you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. And I certainly don’t hate your wife. We’re a family…and I’m here for you.”

It was ironic that my brother was sitting beside me, that he’d dropped his venom and put aside our differences. I couldn’t get him to give me a chance whatsoever, and now he was there, being a brother, being a friend. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”