Chapter 22
Twenty -Two
“The moment I think I can escape is the moment I realize it was just a dream.” — Aria Boschett.
Iwake with a jolt. My limbs feel heavy, like someone poured cement into my veins.
My head throbs with a low, steady pulse.
When I glance around, every survival instinct inside me snaps awake.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the room, revealing Boston’s glittering harbor.
Sunlight skims across the water like a thousand fractured diamonds…
but the beauty does nothing to comfort me.
If anything, it tightens the fear coiling in my chest. This isn’t my aunt’s house.
Polished grey walls and cold, minimalist furniture.
On one feature wall, a striking sketch of a horse dominating the space—bold and untamed, staring back at me—it all screams Cyan MacBrady.
I try to sit up. It takes too much effort.
My body feels sluggish, my mind foggy. How did I get here?
There’s a vague memory clinging to my mind, a murkiness I can’t outrun.
A shadow of someone awful and their unwanted breath on my neck.
But the moment I try to grasp it, the memory dissolves, slippery as smoke.
The door clicks open, my head snaps toward the sound, and there he is.
Cyan. He fills the doorway, a water bottle in one hand.
A workout towel slung over his shoulder.
He steps inside and sets the bottle on the dresser before dragging the towel across his sweat-slicked torso.
His vest clings to him, damp, outlining every rugged ridge of muscle.
His sweatpants hang low on his hips, teasing the sharp V cutting down into, I gulp as heat curls low in my stomach.
My fingers itch with the desperate desire to touch.
The man is my blackmailer, my stalker and my captor, and yet my body has…
a magnetic pull to the man ruining my life”.
He looks at me with that intense expression, one part hunger, one part possession, and maybe concern. “You’re awake, Dove. I was starting to worry you’d sleep the day away.”
“Where the hell am I? What did you do to me?”
“You’re still in Boston. This is my home.”
“Your—what? How did I get here? And don’t for a second think I missed that you didn’t answer my second question. What did you do to me?” I enunciate every word.
He hits me with one of his side grins. “We own The Towers. No one gets in or out without my say-so. Not to worry, Aria. You’re safe here.”
“I’m not safe. I’m trapped.”
A muscle flickers in his jaw. “Semantics,” he answers before peeling off his vest, muscles flexing. The discarded fabric drops onto the table, and only then do I see what it lands beside.
The gun stands out, highlighted, the white fabric framing it like a spotlight.
A rush of fragmented memories slams into me.
Leo’s weight…crushing me, his breath, in my ear my hands comes up to my swollen cheek.
His hands touching. The pop of a gunshot…
him falling, all the blood and Cyan stood over him like the reaper of death.
A razor-wire panic tears through my chest—Cyan’s voice.
Then the syringe… my world tilting into darkness after his betrayal.
My hand flies to my arm, fingertips brushing the tender spot where the needle went in. He let Collin drug me. “Yo-u son of a bitch… you…you drugged me.” Just like last night I can’t get air into my lungs fast enough as panic starts to take control.
Cyan moves in an instant. He’s on me, his arms locked around me, hard muscle and heat pinning me to his chest. His scent, mixed with salt and sweat, floods my senses, my cheek pressed to his bare skin. “Breathe, Aria… You’re safe.”
The word safe detonates inside me. I shove him, my palms flat against his chest. My fist slams against him, another blow following, and another, anything to make him feel even a fraction of what’s clawing through me.
Cyan takes it. But the panic is too much.
I try to pull away from him, my vision blurring, my chest locking tight, and before I can fold in on myself—Cyan’s arms are back around me, dragging me against him.
His grip, unyielding. I can’t breathe… I can’t think…
and the worst part is that being held by him almost feels like safety.