Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(53)

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 f*cking 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.