Chapter Eight
T hree blocks from Serge's house, Aubrey's tight control slipped. He squeezed her hand. All the way home, he refused to let go.
He shifted, still holding her hand, fearing that if he let go, he would lose her forever. She approached him but seemed ready to flee. She was uncertain about what she wanted, but he understood what she needed.
He had a second chance with her. He knew how to make her feel better.
The way she behaved only made him more possessive. She responded to him, sitting in his car, silent and fearful. She was afraid of her reaction to him. Scared to discover where it would lead, yet eager to touch him.
He understood why.
Seeing his desires reflected at him was a powerful aphrodisiac. He had always held himself back. With every woman, every date, and every one-night stand, he went through the motions, hiding himself from them. He only went out with them for one reason, and that was to alleviate the pressure.
Aubrey was young enough that her attraction to him came unbridled. That was dangerous for a man like him.
"Bree," he said.
She yanked her hand, but he held on tight. "What?"
"We're almost there." He used the heel of his hand to shift down as he approached his driveway.
All she had to do was wait until he could get his hands on her again. He'd make her feel better, more secure about what was happening between them. She was doing everything right, giving him everything he needed. Almost perfection when it came to what he craved the most.
He needed something more than good sex.
He needed to match the woman.
She would need what he could give her. Thrive off it. Think she'd die without him.
He had to slow down. She wasn't ready for the truth. He'd scare her. She wasn't ready. Nor was she going to understand. Hell, he hadn't understood what drove him each day to seek out the pain, the control, the need to fucking feel.
It was as if his body had desires and needs of its own. He could only distract himself for so long. Eventually, he had to give in to the demons inside of him.
He'd gone clean for a time, throwing himself into a business that grew bigger than he'd ever imagined. Yet, his success wasn't enough. It was never enough.
He no longer found satisfaction in adding another contract, expanding his client list, or acquiring more real estate. While his progress pleased him for a moment, beneath the surface, he craved something deeper.
Always hungry.
Heading to the gym the other night and stepping into the ring felt like throwing fire at a man like him. He reached up, pressed the remote garage door opener, and drove slowly into the darkened garage. He had to check himself before he frightened Aubrey further or, worse, hurt her beyond what he could fix.
He shut off the engine and pressed against the seat. Aubrey sat silently beside him. He rolled his head along the headrest and looked at her. Her nervousness pleased him. He looked forward to teaching her, showing her she could trust him. Only him.
"I'm going to take you inside. I don't want you to leave or close yourself off from me until I'm done talking." He swallowed over the tightening of his chest. "Can you do that for me?"
"You talk in riddles." She glared. "You were mad, yet you brought me to your house. I only wanted to make sure you were okay after showing up at my house bleeding and hurt."
"I'm fine."
She tucked a strand of her honey blonde hair behind her ear. "I don't know what you want from me."
"Nothing will happen between us that you don't want to happen." He lifted her hand, which he still held, to his lips. "Can you trust me?"
Her eyes rounded, flashing an even darker hazel color at him as she shook her head. He grinned, welcoming her honesty.
"Then, I'll teach you how to trust me," he murmured.
"You're so different than anyone I know." She quivered. "There's something dangerous about you that scares me."
"Yet, you're here."
"I'm here," she whispered. "I don't understand why."
"I do, and I'll show you."
She lowered her gaze to their linked hands. "I feel like I'm going to die."
"You won't die."
"It was a figure of speech. I'm being dramatic." She wrinkled her nose. "I just find it hard to think or catch my breath around you."
He waited, letting her speak about her worries. Part of what he needed to do included having patience with her—something he struggled with.
She trembled, not from a deep new desire over the idea of being with him. She was flat-out scared. He dropped her hand.
She hugged herself as if keeping her distance would protect her. He looked away. It would do no good if he let her continue in that state.
"Get out of the car, Bree." He opened his door and climbed out.
When she failed to join him, he marched to the other side of the car, swung the door open, unlatched her seat belt, and stood back. "Out."
He gave her no room to argue or protest. If she wanted to see what they could have together, if she wanted to discover what he could give her, if she wanted to push him—he'd push back, and fucking enjoy every second.
She climbed out and stood beside him. "Serge? I don't think I can do this."
"You can." He pivoted and led the way to the back door, expecting her to follow.
She proved him right by ducking under his arm and entering the kitchen ahead of him. He flipped on the light and waited while she studied the room to get her bearings.
Until he brought her inside his home, he had never realized how little time he spent there. He slept there but ate at the office or with clients. The monstrosity was merely a place to sleep and work out in the weight room.
The neighborhood and his belongings meant nothing to him. Most days, he wanted to walk away and return to the streets, where people understood and accepted him. Two years ago, he'd tried to go cold turkey and give it all up. He handed the keys to his brother and walked away from it all. He'd disappeared for three weeks, not knowing where he had gone or where he had stopped. He drank to excess and woke up underneath a tarp, reeking of whiskey and sporting bruises all over his face and knuckles.
Aubrey gave him a reason not to go back. Somehow, some way, he would find a way to make her understand what kind of person he was, and he hoped that he was right about her.
If he were wrong, he'd destroy her.
He only needed some time to teach her. If not, he'd lose her—and that was something he wasn't willing to face.
He'd given up on finding someone to accept him. For him, Aubrey was his last chance to believe he could form a relationship with anyone. There was something special about her.
But he had to start over, slow down, and allow her to become so deeply attached to what he could do for her that leaving him would never be a choice.
"Come with me." He walked through the kitchen and into the hallway.
At the other end of the house, he opened his office. Keeping the lights off, he sat down on the leather couch beneath the windows. With a bit of moonlight streaming into the room, he'd be able to see her face while giving her the added security of hiding in the darkness if she wished.
The darkness had saved him for years.
He snagged her hand and pulled her down onto his lap. She stiffened, and he tightened his hold. "Relax. I need you to listen to what I have to say. After I'm done, I'll answer all your questions."
"Easy for you to say," she mumbled. "You're the one calling all the shots."
For the first time all week, he chuckled. The tension left him, and the hilarity he found in the situation seemed to anger Aubrey and put her on firmer ground. He clamped his hand on her hip, preventing her from getting up.
"You have no idea." He pulled her head toward him with his other hand and pressed his lips against her hair. "No fucking clue."
"Then tell me," she whispered. "I won't tell anyone."
"No one would believe you anyway." He sighed heavily. "Or, they would, but it doesn't matter. It's who I am, and if someone wants to use it against me, more power to them. They won't succeed."
She shivered. He tucked her against his chest and placed his chin on the top of her head. He liked that position. She seemed small and fragile.
"I still won't tell." She planted her hand against his chest. "I'm not the kind of person who shares with others, so there's no reason to gossip about you."
"That's good," he murmured.
Several minutes passed. He found he wasn't in such a hurry to provide background as much as he wanted to hold her. Because he couldn't see her face or read how she fed off his emotions, he wanted to enjoy the calm before revealing the truth to her.
A little at a time.
"Last week when I showed up at your house and you took care of my face, I'd come from boxing." He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "There's this place where I grew up that caters to street kids and adults. There's always someone willing to step onto the mat and take punches. I went there."
Her head came up, and she looked at him. "Did you lose?"
He stared into the room, not seeing anything specific. "No. I didn't lose."
She stiffened. "God, what did the other person look like?"
"Broken nose. A couple of broken ribs," he said. "That's what you need to know about me. I'm capable of hurting others and not feeling a pang of remorse. My desire to hurt others never goes away, but I manage it. I have control of myself. I would never hurt you."
"You're warning me," she whispered.
He nodded without saying anything more. The truth was right in front of her, she'd learn how to deal with him. To accept him. If she was strong enough to admit to herself that she needed him, including the darkness that resided in him.