Corrupt Kingdom

I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table, to give her the platform to voice her obvious disapproval with my actions. It’s not like I haven’t heard them before, but apparently, she’s determined to beat a dead horse.

“Ask whatever you’d like. But just be prepared for non-answers.”

She huffs. “Then what’s the damn point?”

I shrug. “You’ll never know unless you ask, right?”

Her face falls, and her eyes drop to the table. “I’m not even sure what more I can ask? Every time I do, you are evasive,” she says, sounding defeated. “I should continue to fight. If I stop, I’m complacent about this whole thing. And I’m not,” she basically shouts. “I should beg for my release. If I don’t, again . . . complacent. Can’t you understand that? Or are you so evil that you have no compassion for the fact that I have been stolen away from my friends and family . . . my life, and without any explanation aside from you have your reasons,” she imitates my voice, her face growing red under my watchful eye.

I want to tell her.

I might be a monster in her eyes, but this time, there are scarier things at play than me. It was all to save her. Then again, if it wasn’t for the poker tournament I had organized, she wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t where she’s concerned.

“I know that you want to tell me. It’s written all over your face,” she says, voice softening. “It’s clear to me that you’re not a bad guy, Cyrus. So just tell me.”

She’s lying. I know she is by the way she fidgets when she says the words. She doesn’t truly believe them. She is just saying what she thinks I want to hear. She’s smart not to believe it. I am the bad guy.

I may not have been the villain in her particular situation, but I am in everyone else’s. I am the man you fear. The one you lower your head to when you walk past me on the streets. The one you would never speak out against for fear you’ll lose your life. She isn’t wrong to doubt me. But fuck if it isn’t making me want to strangle her.

I stand from the chair, scraping my knee as I go.

“Fuck,” I yell out as the stitches rip open, and blood begins to seep through my pants.

“Oh, God, Cyrus.” She jumps up, rushing to my side.

“Stay away,” I warn, needing to get my anger under control. This is not her fault.

She only pointed out the truth, but for whatever reason, I don’t want to be that guy to her. I want her to trust me. And that is the dumbest thing of all.

The truth is, I don’t have the capacity to love her the way she deserves to be loved. I don’t even have the capacity to truly like her. So why does it matter how she feels about me? All of these thoughts going through my head are doing nothing to calm my anger.

“Cyrus,” she says, softly. Her hand comes up to my arm. “Let me take care of you.” Her eyes bore into mine, and all the anger quickly melts away. She helps set me back into the chair, then grabs a napkin and presses it to my bleeding thigh. “I’m going to need to stitch that again. Can you take your pants off for me?”

I raise a brow. I can’t help it. I am a man, after all.

She shakes her head. “Just take off your pants, Casanova,” she instructs.

As she walks away, I watch as the white dress swishes back and forth. She looks like an angel. My angel.

If only I had a soul worth saving.

27

Ivy

I can’t believe I have to do this again.

If he had just been less of a pain in the ass, he wouldn’t be back in this position right now, and I wouldn’t be forced to do something I’m not qualified to do. Concentrating, I work to re-stitch his leg, shaking my head the entire time at how careless he is.

The utter bullheadedness of this man makes me want to strangle him.

“Should I be concerned?” he asks, pulling my eyes upward to look at him. I don’t answer him. Instead, I narrow my eyes. “You’ve got such a death grip on that needle, and you’re not exactly being gentle.”

My fingers tighten. “I told you to be careful. You acted like an animal, and now here we are,” I snap. “You really need to see a doctor.” I lift my hand in the air. “When will that boat be coming back?”

“When I tell them too,” he answers.

“How do you know that? Do you have a phone with you?” Without realizing, I have leaned into him. His eyes widen, and I instantly hate that I’ve given that thought away.