Anger born from all the shit in my past washed over me.

It was hot and black and toxic.

I lost sight of the girl I was with. The girl called Gemma who had strength and safety in her veins, and instead saw every badness, sadness, and pain I’d endured.

Every woman and man who’d thought they’d owned me.

No.

Not anymore.

My anger switched to violence.

My pace switched from manic to murderous.

“God. Oh, God. Oh my...shiiiitt.” The girl beneath me detonated.

Her pussy fisted me, milked me, rippled and stroked.

She shoved me out of the darkness and into the splintering light.

“Oh, fuuuuck—” My stomach tightened, my balls pulled up, and an orgasm gathered, full of reminders that every release since I was twelve had been blank and infertile. Courtesy of the Storymaker. My master. My hell.

On the cusp of bliss, memories tried to steal me.

My mind flickered with Fables, with my family, with the blood-soaked end that I’d reaped.

I was falling, losing, tumbling back into the past.

But then...just before I turned rogue and killed everything breathing around me, the girl who forgave me for things that should never be forgiven, moved.

Her head twisted to the side. Her lips kissed my fist that was planted on the floor by her cheek.

I had no idea why she’d kissed me. Why she’d dropped her guard. Why she’d done something so...nice when I was being so cruel.

Her gentleness, her sweetness, her wonderful, courageous forgiveness.

It broke me.

It shoved me over the edge into a splintering, shattering release.

I punched into her, over and over, jerking and grunting as pulses of heat shot up my cock and into her.

Again and again.

Eradicating some of the filth from me to her.

Christening her into my twisted world.

Ensuring what I said was true.

She was mine.

Not just for tonight.

Not just for tomorrow.

But for every single day of my sorry existence.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I HAD A DREAM.

A dream where soft fingers trailed through my hair, gentle kisses pressed on my temples, and a warm blanket cocooned my naked body.

I dreamed those soft fingers and gentle kisses gathered me close and held me tight, all while I slipped from aware to unaware.

Whispers invaded the night. Whispers that weren’t just whispers. Whispers that had the power to conjure images in my head, paint a story I never wanted to see, and force me to endure a different kind of life to my blessed one.

There was a boy. Lots of boys. There was a girl. Lots of girls. They all lived in a gilded prison and were only allowed out to play when monsters paid for their company.

They slept with joined hands. They ate with bare fingers. Their tears and blood had blended so often, they were no longer just one but all.

Family.

Married by circumstance, adopted by survival, and forged with unbreakable bonds.

My dream swirled with blacks and grays, revealing a circle of children, waxy skinned and haunted eyed, clinging to each other as the door opened to select another for playtime.

No.

I didn’t want to see.

I didn’t want to know.

This wasn’t a dream but a nightmare.

“I’ll go in your place,” a boy murmured. A boy with long dark hair and darker eyes. “I’ll protect you.”

I thrashed. I tried to scream. Didn’t the boy know not to offer? Not to sacrifice himself to the monster?

Don’t!

The boy squeezed the other boy’s hand, looking once at his family of broken members.

And then, he walked out the door.

Blood cascaded from the ceiling.

No, stop!

Children’s screams filled my ears.

Stop!

I couldn’t take the agony.

I threw myself against the wall of sleep.

“No!” I woke up gasping.

For a moment, I was lost.

My bearings were wrong; my location made no sense.

Then I recognized the ceiling of my trusty Jeep, the stain from an old owner on the door panel, the comforting scent of adventure and pine air freshener.

Shoving myself upright, a blanket tumbled from my shoulders as I switched from lying to sitting. Snatching the vibrant orange fleece that I packed for emergencies—that’d somehow ended up draped over my nakedness—I sucked in another breath.

My captor sat on the other side of the Jeep, his feet planted, knees up, elbows dangling with hands linked in the air. His position was exposing. I saw right between his legs. I studied his scarred cock, the soft sack of his useless testicles, the hair of a man who hadn’t shaved in years.

For a horrible heartbeat, I forgot the past few days. My mind erased the imprisonment, the erotic servitude, the mind-bending sex in the rain. All I saw was a man hiding from a new dawn in my car. I saw him without prior opinions and assessed him as a stranger instead of my enemy, and my arms ached to wrap around him.

I wanted to fill the hollowness in his eyes with happiness. I wanted to be the reason those stern lips smiled. I wanted to hear him laugh. To experience joy and peace because I honestly didn’t think he’d ever been acquainted.

You kissed his hand last night.

You let him into more than just your body, Gem.

I flinched, recalling my moment of weakness. The overwhelming rightness of him inside me, smothering me with his body, driving into me as if I was the only thing that would save him.

Leaning forward, he narrowed his gaze, his attention falling to my exposed breasts.

Heat ignited between us. Familiar need and unfamiliar connection.

In my hazy state between sleep and awake, I gasped in shock.

He’s the man I described on that stupid online dating profile.

Looking for: A man who’s dominant and dangerous. A man who knows how to grant pleasure. A man who knows how to cook and clean. A man who...is a man. A man who will sweep me off my feet but allow me to fly free, all while he makes me come alive beneath his tongue.

Too bad he’s ripped off my wings and stuffed me in a cage instead.

If our circumstances were different—if we’d met in normal ways—I suspected I would never have let him go. I would’ve fallen head over heels. I would’ve threaded my fortune and future with his without a backward glance.

Something inside me knew that.

It was terrifyingly black and white.

I didn’t know why I knew but whenever I looked at him, everyone else paled. First, it’d been because he threatened my life. Now, it was because he threatened everything.

He was pain.

Pain in my heart, my soul, the very core of my common sense.

He stiffened as we stared at each other, waiting for someone to strike. Distrust and unease laced between us, just as strong as our chemistry and desire.

Just because he rivalled any other male I’d met, didn’t mean I willingly accepted the strangeness happening between us.

I still wanted to run.

I would still do everything in my power to be free.

“Did you sleep?” I tipped up my chin, my hands balled in the fleece.

If our eyes weren’t locked, I would’ve missed the tightening of his shoulders. The flare of his nostrils. The flicker of fear in his soul.

In this instance, he wasn’t so easy to read. He was cryptic and coarse, throwing a question back instead of an answer. “Do you always wake so violently?”

I swallowed back my nightmare. He already knew too much about me. He didn’t need to know my mind had spun stories, inserting this scarred, angry man into the agonising role of a child beaten into servitude. “Only when I’m in the company of my jailer.”