“Do what?”

“Tie me up. Have you always done that to women?”

He moves his head from mine when I look up to see his face. He gives a nod and then turns his eyes to me.

“Why?”

“Control.”

“Will you talk to me about it?” I quietly ask, and his vulnerable words take me back when he admits, “I’ve never talked to anyone about it before.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s painful.” And I can see it written in the lines of his face.

I run my hand along his jaw, urging him to look at me when I ask, “Do you think you could tell me? Help me understand you better.”

The green in his eyes is bright, brighter than usual, a sign of the unshed tears that threaten him.

“Come closer to me,” he says and I do, nuzzling my head in the dip of the center of his chest. I listen to his heartbeat for a few seconds before he starts to speak. “My father used to travel a lot when I was younger. He always made sure I knew I was the man of the house and that it was my job as a man to take care of my mum. I always did. When I was fifteen, my dad had come here to the States on business. My mother was in the den, reading, while I was watching a movie in my parents’ room. The door was open, so I was able to see her curled up in my father’s old, leather chair he liked so much. She would always complain about how hideous it looked, but when he’d leave, it’s where she would always sit and read. She loved it but for some reason got a kick out of nagging my father about it.”

I laugh under my breath, and murmur, “Funny.”

“She was,” he responds. “She had so much life in her and never let the stresses get her down.” He takes a pause, and I can feel the muscles in his arms flex around me before he continues. “That night, I had fallen asleep on their bed when I heard a loud commotion that woke me up. My mother’s screams were terrifying, and when I lifted my head to look out into the den, I saw a man with a gun pointed to her head.”

That was the last thing I ever expected him to say, and when I look up, his jaw grinds down. Declan lowers his head to look at me, and I see the shame in his eyes as he says, “I was a coward.”

Shaking my head, I ask, “Why?”

“Because when I saw that gun, I crawled and hid under the bed.”

“Declan . . .”

“I could still see them though. My mum was crying and begging for her life while I did nothing to protect her. I didn’t even try to help her,” he reveals as tears rim his eyes. “I just laid there like a pussy, too scared to move, and watched as that man pulled the trigger and shot my mother in the head.”

“Jesus.”

Declan’s face is tight as he tries to keep his pain under control, but the glimmer of a tear finds its way down his face. I reach up and run my thumb along the wet trail as he watches me, and then out of nowhere, I feel the heat of my own tear as it falls. I realize in that moment that we share a similar pain. Both of our parents were murdered, taken away from us, and we never had a choice in the matter.

“I’m so sorry,” my heart whispers, because I genuinely feel his ache.

“That was my mum,” his voice cracks, “and I did nothing.”

“You were just a kid.”

He shakes his head, unwilling to accept that as an excuse, and I know enough to realize that no one would be able to convince him otherwise, so I don’t try.

“My father blames me for her death. He always has.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” I state firmly. “What if you had run to protect her and you were the one who got shot? Your mother would have suffered, mourning the loss of her only child. It’s a morbid thought, I know, but which would you prefer? A life of mourning or a quick death?”

He cradles my face in his hands, and I see his throat flex as he takes a hard swallow before he finally speaks, his voice holding only notes of seriousness, “I need control. I need to know that I hold the power so that nothing happens without my say. And with you, I’ve never felt like I needed that control more.”

I slip my hands over his as they remain on my face. “Things are going to happen, Declan. That’s the shit part of life, that we don’t get a say in anything.” The reality of these words prick at my heart, knowing the ugly truth all too well. “The world will never ask us what we want. It doesn’t care what we want. Bad things are going to happen, but it’ll never stop this world from spinning. And what happened to your mother . . . that had nothing to do with you.”

“I can rationalize that, but it feels like a lie,” he tells me.

“And what about your dad?”

“He reminds me every chance he gets that I’ll never be enough. That I failed as a man. So I’ve spent my whole life busting my ass to prove him wrong. But you were right.”

“About what?”

“What you said at the hotel that night. That I hate the name that owns me. You’re right. The fact that I fell right into my father’s business and didn’t create my own success, it’s just another piece of arson for him to use on me.”

“But Lotus is all yours. Your father doesn’t have a hand in it,” I remind him.

“He doesn’t need his hand in it to own entitlement. It shares the McKinnon name.”

“I need to tell you something,” I say, wanting him to be privy to the information I just found out about his dad. “Your father is looking to possibly invest with my husband’s company. Bennett is going to New York to meet with him and I’m going too.”

“When?”

“Later next week.”

I can tell that he’s pissed with the idea of mixing business with Bennett, and understandably so. He pulls me into his arms, tucking my head under his chin as he sits back, and lets go of a heavy sigh. “I want you far away from that man,” he grits.

“I know, but I also know him and what he’s capable of.”

His arms are tense around me as I nestle my head against his hard chest. “It fucking kills me to sit at home and wonder if he’s laying a hand on you. Do you have any idea what that does to me? I feel like a worthless bastard for sending you back to him.”

“Don’t. You’re not.”

He takes my hand and pulls it up to his lips and kisses the bandage around my wrist, before looking at me, saying, “I’m a bastard for this.”

“I should have told you when you blindfolded me that I was feeling panicky.”

“I need you to always be honest with me, especially during sex. It worries me that I could be hurting you.”

When I nod my head, he leans down and gives me a tender kiss, sucking gently on my bottom lip before pulling away. He keeps his head close, nose against mine, and with my eyes still closed, he breathes in a low rasp, “I love you.”

The tremolo of my heart excites me, to know that he’s feeling this way, but it also hurts, because he’s become someone I like. I hate that I’m about to destroy this person for my own benefit, but it needs to be done. I almost feel guilty knowing that he’s having these feelings for me that I don’t share, but that’s part of the game. That’s part of revenge. I’ve never felt bad for Bennett, but Declan is a good guy. It’s a shame that I have to do this to him, but I do.

I open my eyes and look into his, running my fingers behind his neck and up into his hair, giving the sentiment in return, only mine is laced in candied poison when I say, “I love you too.”

THE ABRASIONS ON my wrists healed quickly. Luckily Bennett had left for Miami the morning after my freak out, so I was able to hide my wrists from him for that one night by simply wearing one of his long-sleeved t-shirts and telling him that I was feeling sick. We always have sex before he goes out of town, but because he thought I wasn’t feeling well, I was able to keep the scabs hidden from him as we just cuddled together in bed.

I spent the few days he was gone with Declan. He continues to grow closer to me, opening up more and telling me about what it was like for him to grow up after his mother had died. His father treated him like a piece of shit, always belittling him, giving him a sense of worthlessness that he now overcompensates for in his aggressions.