Demand (22 page)

“He didn't tell me this. Why are you?”

“Because I've seen how stubborn you are. If you think the answer to protecting him is leaving, you will go at your own risk. And that answer is not the correct one. Kayden is well insulated, virtually without weakness.”

“Except you just told me that I am the one unknown he's allowed into his world, and yours. I'm a weakness.”

“Holy fuck, that is
not
what I just said.”

“It's a fact.”

“It is not a fact, Ella.” His phone starts to ring. “We're not done with this conversation.” He answers his call and has an exchange in Italian, and by the time it's over we're at the castle gate, watching it open. “That was Kayden,” he says. “He and Sasha are out of the palace and headed here now.” Lights flicker behind us, and I twist around to spy not one but two motorcycles. “Matteo and Carlo,” Adriel supplies before I can ask.

I face forward as Adriel pulls inside the castle gates, plotting my escape from the cavalry. While appreciated, they will ask questions that I don't want to answer right now. My hand goes to the door handle beside me, and once the Rolls-Royce halts in front of the porch, I pull it, exiting to the driveway. By the time the two motorcycles park behind us, I'm already up the stairs with my key in my hand. I pause at the security panel, punch in a code, and unlock the door, entering the foyer.

There I shut the door, lifting the skirt of Sasha's dress to run to the security panel for our tower. Once I've keyed in the code I wait for the door to lift and scoot under it the instant I can fit. I immediately punch the button to seal myself inside, lifting the skirt of my gown again to walk to the stairs.

“Ella.”

At the sound of Adriel's voice, I whirl around to find he has snuck under the door. “What are you doing, Adriel?”

He walks toward me, stopping toe-to-toe. “It's ‘come to Jesus' time, Ella. He claimed you tonight, which, considering he's been alone with his demons a very long time, got a lot of attention. And if his woman can't trust him to protect her, why will anyone else trust him to protect them?”

“I do trust him. I just don't trust me. I don't know me.”

“Fear is a demon, and you no longer have the luxury of it winning. You're strong enough not to let it. Is it better if you get your memory back? Hell yes. But if you don't, we'll deal with it. Because that's what we do, and because that's what he does. Deal with it.

“Now. I'm leaving before he gets here. Don't make me have to come kick your ass.” He turns and walks to the door and punches the button, leaving me momentarily shell-shocked.

“You're an asshole,” I say, emotions balling in my chest and belly.

He faces me. “And your point is?”

“Thank you.”

His lips curve and he gives me a quick nod before ducking under the door. I punch the button to seal it behind him, and, lifting my dress, I hurry up the stairs, his words heavy on my mind.

He's right. Fear can't be the winner here, and it is, or I wouldn't still be suppressing things. I have to own my past; it can't own me. If I don't fear it, I can remember it. If I don't hide from the pain I have to relive, I can remember it. I'm going to go to our room, grab my journal, my ballet slippers, and whatever else feels right, and instead of hoping I remember, I
will
.

But when I hit the top step, the dimly lit tower stops me in my tracks, an icy sensation overcoming me. Like I'm being watched. Like I'm not alone. And while I know it's the spooky way this hallway always affects me, without a conscious decision to do so, my purse, or rather Sasha's purse I've claimed as mine, is unzipped, my hand covering Annie. I scan all visible areas. The hall at my right toward the spare bedroom. The also dimly lit living area directly across from me, and finally toward our room. Everything appears fine.

Of course it's fine. We have security, and damn it, I'm jumpy again because of Niccolo. I just lectured myself about fear, and he's still on my mind. And that man.
He
is at the root of this.

No, I amend.
I
am the problem because I'm letting him win again. Every day I let him stay nameless, he wins. I look down at Annie and have the gut-wrenching memory of my mother in her hospital bed. Oh the irony of me insisting that everything is better remembered, when I want to keep remembering her smile, but not her death.

I stick Annie back in the purse and head toward the bedroom, where apparently I left in such a hurry that the door is cracked open, the heat from the fireplace spreading into the hallway. Entering the room, I have an urge to look down the hall I just traveled, and refuse to give in. Then I change my mind. Isn't a refusal to look behind me my problem? I face the hallway, stare down the emptiness, and sigh in relief. I faced one fear, and I will face them all.

Shutting the bedroom door, I seal in the warmth and kick off Sasha's painful high heels. I lean against the door, leaving the lights off, the glow of the fireplace illuminating the room. Unbidden, a tingle of unease slides through me. Did I turn the lights out when I left? No. I don't think so. I didn't. My brow furrows. But maybe they weren't on in the first place? Or Marabella was up here? Or . . . am I having blackouts I don't even remember? It's a scary thought, and it's simply unacceptable if I am. I have to remember everything. Now. It's time, but the silence in my head and the room are damning.

Shoving off of the door, I walk to the foot of the bed, setting my purse on it. Glancing down at my deep cleavage, I unzip the dress, rejecting it as nothing I would ever choose, and step out of it. The lacy black bra, panties, and thigh-highs I chose for Kayden can stay. Facing the bed, I press my hands against the mattress, letting my head fall forward, my now-darker brown hair shielding my face. I've accepted it as part of me, but I reject the weak person in my flashbacks. She
isn't
me. There is something I'm missing. My gaze catches on my naked wrist. The Hawk's bracelet belongs on the arm of someone strong and brave, and hiding from my past is neither of those things.

Straightening, I turn and step to the center of the thick pile rug in front of the fireplace. Shutting my eyes, I will that part of me that has started to remember things to blossom and become a full exploration of my past. And so I wait. And wait. And stand there doing more waiting. Frustrated, I shove my fingers through my hair. I need a trigger. An idea hits me, and I walk to the bed and grab my phone from my purse, searching for a music app. Finally, I download “Take Me to Church,” a song that reminds me of
him
, and not in a good way, and set it to replay over and over. Leaving my phone on the bed, I return to the center of the carpet again, and close my eyes, praying that the lyrics speak to me.

Take me to church. I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.

And they do. They knife through me in a jumbled explosion of images and emotions, attacking me, but none that solidify to one thing or one feeling. But my knees tremble as if in warning, and I suddenly wish that I had wine. Lots of wine, and until this moment I didn't remember that I like wine. Why am I thinking of it now?

“Take me to church,” I whisper. “Come on. Take me to church.”

Suddenly, I'm back in his home, in his room and my room? No. That place, with that man, was never home. I never had a room, and I hate his room. But I have to go there to get back to here. I know that. The word
wine
comes back into my head, and I realize it wasn't a random thought. I had wine the night I seem to want to visit. Expensive wine with an expensive dinner. I drank to forget, yet I want to remember now. I drank to get through what I knew would come later, after we left the restaurant. I drank because I wanted to leave him, but it wasn't time yet. I was working on how and when. I know why. Or I did then, but I don't know now. Nothing comes to me and I let the song permeate my thoughts again.

“Take me to church,” I whisper as it plays. “I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.”

His bedroom comes into view. I can't see it yet, but I am there. It is chilly. He always likes it chilly, but then, I'm usually naked and he is not. There is the woodsy scent that clings to his skin and hair. I hate woodsy so fucking much. And then I see the life-sized statue in the corner of a tiger, which is so a part of him. It's about power, control, and a willingness to do anything to defeat his enemies. Like I have to be willing to do anything to defeat him.

I open my eyes and stare into the fire without really seeing it, two thoughts in my mind. I was planning to stand against him long before the night I'd pulled that gun. And someone must know that statue. Encouraged, I shut my eyes again.

The taste of sweet rosé wine lingers on my tongue, melding with the bitterness of being naked while he is dressed in one of his favorite gray suits. It's expensive, like everything he likes, including the dress I'm no longer wearing that he bought me. I hate his suit and I hate that dress, but even more, I hate the way my nipples tighten when he stares at them, like he does now. He thinks he arouses me. Sometimes he does, and that makes me confused, after what he has done to me. Maybe . . . it's just survival.

I inhale and open my eyes, my knees trembling harder now. I hate this. I hate
him
, but I need to know why he was my survival. I force myself to shut my eyes again and go back to that moment.

And the fact that I do, that I can, is both comforting and uncomfortable. I am on my knees now, my hands on the carpet in front of me. He's above me, and I can feel him staring down at me. I'm aware of not wanting to do this, of pretending to be submissive, but I can't understand why. I hate this. Why am I allowing it? He squats beside me and his hand flattens on my back between my shoulder blades. My skin crawls, and every part of me wants to get up, to knock him away. But there's a reason I don't, and it's not fear, though I know he would hurt me. I know he has hurt others.

“Ella.”

I blink and Kayden is squatting in front of me, and I'm somehow on my knees, his hands under my hair, warm on the skin of my neck. His jacket is gone, his tie loose, his hair is a sexy rumpled mess, and he is beautiful. He is right in ways that other man is wrong, and a calmness fills me that wasn't there moments before. I reach up and grab his wrists. “I'm glad you're here, and I'm glad I'm here. Even if it meant I had to go through
him
to get to you.”

“Niccolo?”

“No, it's not him. I heard the man's voice in a flashback where he met with Niccolo, but
he
is not Niccolo. But this song makes me remember him, and I'm facing it and him. I'm going to—”

He tilts my face to his. “Are you telling me you're in your underwear, trying to relive what he did to you?”

“I have to.”

“No, you don't. I told you. Some things are meant to be forgotten.” He scans the room and his gaze lands on the bed. He starts to get up, and I grab him.

“What are you doing?”

“Turning this fucking song off.”

“No! It was working. I need to do this. For us. For you. For me.”

“I don't care if you ever fucking remember him.”

“I
have
to remember him. The time bomb that is my mind will haunt us both, and I don't want that.”

“It's only a time bomb because you say it is.”

“In my gut, I am certain that we need to know who that man is—and tonight is all about taking control. You said that yourself.
We're
taking control, and we're doing it together. So take it with me now. Help me go to those bad places and face them. Re-create what this song is to me.”

He stares down at me, the seconds ticking by like hours, his expression unreadable, until I can't take it anymore. “Kayden—”

“Why are you on your knees?” he demands.

“I was acting out the flashback.”

“Tell me about that memory,” he orders softly.

“Do you really want to hear this?”

“Yes,” he insists. “I absolutely do, but only if you want to tell me.”

“I don't even want this part of me to exist—but if I don't tell you, I can't ask you to help me face it.” I inhale and let it out. “He made me undress while he did not. That's how he operated. He wanted me to be exposed and vulnerable. Once I was naked, he ordered me to my knees and stood above me, watching me.”

“What did you feel?”

“At that point, I knew he was dangerous. I played submissive to survive, while I was plotting an escape. I think . . . I did escape.”

“What did you feel, Ella?”

“Dread.”

His hands come down on my shoulders and he stands, taking me with him. “Whoever he is doesn't matter. I know Adriel told you about Evil Eye. I know you doubted me—”

“No. No, that's not it. I was worried about you. I wanted—I want—to protect you.”

“There are many things I want from you, Ella, but protection's not one of them.” He cups my face. “He doesn't own you. He doesn't own your past. He damn sure doesn't own me. And he doesn't even get to own this song.” He turns me, placing my back to his chest, his lips near my ear. “You said I could have everything. Now I'm going to take it.”