I sniffle. “Whatever.”

It’s freeing, not living life with the sole purpose of pleasing him. I have no desire to impress him or seek his validation. That ship has long since sailed, and the only thing that’s worth my time is my own opinion.

“I started reading.” I can see his lopsided grin out of the corner of my eyes. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking at him properly. Or seeing my silent tears. “By myself,” he tacks on.

“Good for you,” I bite out.

It wasn’t like I was planning to go back to the good ol’ days when I’d read to him. Or talk to him like we’re the bestest of friends and sit in the middle of the field while he braids my hair.

I angle myself even farther away from him until my knees hit the door. Droplets of scorching tears fall onto my t-shirt as I force myself to stare out of the window to focus on the gloomy trees.

My nose chooses that moment to sniffle and give me away. Tension crackles in the air between us. “After everything that’s happened, you must feel—"

“I feel nothing.”

He makes a noise at the back of his throat that tells me he definitely believes me. “Then why are you crying?”

I whip my head to face him and meet his stare. “Fuck you.”

“Tell me how you feel.”

Like the pieces of my heart—of my life—I put back together after he left have shattered all over again. “That is no longer any of your concern.”

“It is my concern, and it will always be my concern. Now answer the damn question. How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

The car screeches to a halt on the side of the road. His calloused fingers grip my chin, so I don’t have a choice but to look at him. “Never lie to me.”

“Why?”

“Hit me, scream at me, fucking shoot me if it makes you feel better—at least I know that feeling. But you don’t keep your feelings in, and you sure as fuck don’t lie to me. Got it?”

“Fine.”

Slowly, he says, “I understand you’re confused about—"

Is he fucking kidding me?

“Confused?” I echo. “I’m not confused. I’m devastated. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I have every right to be! And I’m not going to apologize if that upsets you.”

“Good.”

I stare at him blankly. “Excuse me?”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing for your feelings.”

And yet, all my emotions have given me is more pain. “I wanted to feel less. Then I did. And I realized that feeling empty hurts more than feeling full.” Maybe the problem wasn’t having emotions. It was caring too much.

I hate that I care about Roman.

I hate that I’m not even sad that Marcus and Greg are dead.

I hate that I’m not more upset that I’ve been taken away from the only life I knew.

“It’ll get better,” he says, with too much certainty.

“I don’t believe you.”

The look Roman gives me is full of promise. “Question whatever you want, but don’t you question what I would do for you.”

I scoff. “Yeah, like leave? I believe that.”

“It’s late.” He puts the car back into drive and gets back on the road, effectively dismissing me. “You’re tired. You need rest.”

Here I thought we were almost getting somewhere. “That’s what you say to a toddler, Roman. I’m an adult—a woman.”

“You can’t even drink yet,” he mumbles under his breath.

My mouth opens and then closes. Asshole. He has a point, even though I’m furious about it. You know what? At least I’m not crying anymore. Nothing smart or snarky comes to mind, and the best move I have is to give him the cold shoulder. I lift my bound wrists and throw out, “Congratulations on the child abuse, then.”

His knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “Get used to it, because one day you’ll be begging for me to tie you up.”

Heat flushes my cheeks.

Actually, no. Fuck him. He can’t just barge back into my life and start with the innuendos. My bound hands unbuckle my seatbelt before he can realize what I’m doing. Just as my hands reach the door handle, a steel grip yanks half my body to face Roman and over the center console, yelping when his warm lap meets my face.

I grunt and huff frustratedly, attempting to wrestle out of his grip, but he holds me in place effortlessly. The handbrake digs into my ribs, and the angle he has me in makes my hips ache.

I thrash harder, the car swerving when I bump the wheel. Roman rights the car with a single hand, his other one moving from holding my bound arms to tangle in my hair, chuckling to himself as if almost dying amuses him.

“I like you feisty.” He tugs at my hair, but keeps me in place. “It makes me feel all…hot and bothered.”

My breath catches in my throat when my body’s awareness turns on, and suddenly, I really wish I didn’t stupidly think I might be able to escape. Something solid and hard, hidden beneath his jeans, presses against my shoulder, right by my face.

“Gross,” I squeal before stilling. I wish I did find it gross. I really wish I could. But the combination of our compromising position with the memory of his fingers inside me hours ago is still fresh in my mind. My body feels like I’m waiting for the main course after a satisfying appetizer.

He laughs. “Why’d you stop?”

“What?” The viciousness I was hoping for is nowhere to be found in my voice. Worse, I sound like the sixteen-year-old version of me who lost all reason when he was around.

His fingers curl tighter in my hair, moving my head around like he’s testing out his grip and my compliance. I try to jerk away or push against him, narrowly avoiding the wheel and very much touching the hard thing that I should not be thinking about.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles. “Keep moving around like that, and I’ll have to pull over.”

He lifts his hips so it’s pushed closer to my face. “Roman,” I warn.

“You tried doing something really fucking stupid. This is your punishment.”

Against my will, my body relaxes the second he starts massaging my scalp.

Traitor.

I wiggle around to throw his hand off, but stop breathing altogether when his dick twitches by my cheek, followed by his deep grunt.

“This Bella is so much more enjoyable,” he says, more to himself than to me. “We’re going to have so much fun together, you and I.”

I bite my tongue from the rush of heat throughout my body from his words. Anything I say will make him talk more, and the subtext of his comments might be the reason I implode.

Even though I don’t respond—not a grunt or a nod—he keeps blabbering about anything and everything. Current events, music, his exercise routine, and the latest bike models he has his eyes on.

My non-existent abs strain and my hands are asleep by the time the windy roads turn to gravel, the car tipping from side to side, vibrating and shuddering from the uneven terrain. My attempts at keeping still are proven useless as my body is jostled around in his lap. I’m stuck between a wheel and a hard place, with Roman holding me in a way that guarantees I hit the latter every time I’m bumped around.

The car stops, and he removes his hand from my head. I try to clamor away from him using my bound hands, reaching for the door handle before he can change his mind about letting me go.

“Ah-ah,” he taunts, grabbing my arm. “I hope you weren’t thinking of running.” The gravel in his voice sends my blood soaring.

Groaning, I try and fail to pull my arm back. “Did you think I would just stay with you?”

He drops his head to the side, a slow, saccharine smile spreading across his face. “I don’t think it, I know it.”

Looking out at the window behind me, I breathe in sharply. Indigo light covers our surroundings, casting an ominous glow onto the gnarled trees and overgrown greenery.

Familiar gray weathered boards stare back at me. Though the abandoned house looks completely different from the one in front of me, I remember coming here three years ago. Spider webs and mold no longer decorate the outside, the broken wooden planks are fixed, and the windows are exposed without any slats covering them. Insects buzz, cutting through the crisp morning air and my stupor as I stare at the house, then back at him.