Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Imogene
I stared at the blades of the ceiling fan, my eyes growing blurry as I watched each hypnotic circle. I’d have given anything for even a minute of rest. But despite my utter exhaustion, sleep still evaded me. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was that cell-like closet Gideon slept in.
As much as I wanted to hate him for deceiving me in such a hurtful way, it was becoming increasingly difficult. The more I learned about what he’d endured, the more I saw how it still tormented him, the harder it became to hold on to that anger.
Unsure I could stomach spending another sleepless night staring at the ceiling, I threw the duvet off me and slipped out of the bedroom, hoping to distract myself with a movie or a book.
Everything was eerily quiet as I padded down the stairs, making me wonder if Gideon was even here. I hadn’t so much as heard his footsteps in the hallway since his abrupt departure earlier.
But as I turned the corner into the kitchen and found the French doors open to the terrace, I came to an abrupt stop.
It wasn’t just the fact that Gideon stood shirtless on the terrace, his head bowed, his muscular arms corded as he leaned against the railing.
It was all the scars marring his body.
I’d seen them before.
But this was the first time I saw them knowing he was Samuel, the reality of everything he’d endured staring back at me. He’d told me the stories. I’d even stumbled upon where he slept. But this… This was when it all truly sunk in. His past was no longer an abstract notion, a horror story he told to justify his actions.
It was real.
Sensing my presence, he straightened and faced me, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. Yet he made no move toward me.
On a hard swallow, I took a slow step in his direction, then another, the ocean breeze causing a chill to trickle down my spine.
I was no longer thinking. Just feeling.
Maybe this was what I should have done all along.
When I was mere inches away, I timidly raised my hand, stopping just short of a jagged scar along his abdomen.
Answering the question on my face, he nodded his permission.
With trembling fingers, I brushed them along the same scar he’d pressed my hand against when he first allowed me to see this side of him.
What was going through his mind back then? He may have lied to me about how these scars came to be, but he still shared this piece of himself.
A piece that must have brought forward horrific memories.
Yet he still allowed me to see them.
“How?” I asked in a shaky voice, desperate to know the provenance of each and every mark on his body. To truly understand the depths of his torment.
He didn’t say anything right away, just stared at me, his eyes clouded with turmoil. Then he blew out a sigh, his head giving a subtle bob of acceptance.
“A knife slashed me during one of the many fights I was forced to be in,” he finally said, his voice thick with unease. It was a shift from the normally confident man I thought him to be.
But it wasn’t weakness I heard, even if his words weren’t as steady and determined as normal.
Instead, all I heard was the strength he had no choice but to exhibit every day in order to survive.
“When it was either kill or be killed,” he added.
I briefly squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing back the tears wanting to fall. But if he could withstand such brutality day after day, I could endure hearing about it, regardless of how much it made me want to scream at the unfairness of it all.
Holding his gaze, I gradually leaned down and touched a soft kiss to the mark.
He closed his eyes, releasing a shuttering breath at the feel of my lips on him. But he didn’t push me away. Instead, he ran a light hand along the curve of my face.
Straightening, I traced my fingers over the dozens of additional scars dotting his chest, stopping on the puckered skin on his left bicep.
“And here?”
“We all had numbers tattooed on our arms. When I escaped, one of the first things I did was cut it off. I’d rather have an angry scar than feel like I belonged to anyone.”
I pinched my lips together to stop my chin from quivering, every word he spoke making my insides twist and hatred grow. But that wouldn’t change what happened to him. Instead, I gave him the only thing I could — my acceptance and understanding.
Leaning closer, I touched another tender kiss to his scar, hoping my gesture would tell him what words alone never could.
“ Imogene,” he exhaled, his voice barely audible, as if my name simply slipped out unexpectedly.
It was so soft. So gentle.
When he uttered my name in the past, it was more akin to a growl. Not right now.
Right now, the man with me was Samuel.
At least, what was left of him.
“And here?” I peered into his stormy gaze, caressing the angry patch of skin by his collarbone.
“That was the one mark I didn’t lie to you about. It is a burn mark.”
“But it’s not from a car accident, is it?”
He slowly shook his head. I wasn’t sure what I expected him to tell me, but I never could have prepared myself for the truth.
“Blow torch.”
A sob ripped from my throat, and Gideon — Samuel, whoever he was — pulled me against him, comforting me as I struggled to come to terms with the ugly truth of what he endured, all because of the men he once considered friends.
Because of the man I considered a friend, too.
All so they could become even richer. Was Samuel’s life really worth that much to them?
Pulling my head from his chest, I shifted my attention to the jagged mark running from his ribcage to his hipbone.
“And this?” I ran my finger along the angry blemish.
I sensed I knew exactly what it was from, but I needed to hear it from him.
“I got that when some asshole funeral director patched me up after I was shot by my best friend. But instead of being the good Samaritan I thought he was, the only reason he helped me was so he could sell me for top dollar to a bunch of traffickers, who would make me fight in death matches they broadcast on the dark web.”
“I…” I grappled to find the words I needed.
I didn’t think any words existed that could convey just how much my heart ached for him. This man had been through hell. Yet he managed to survive. Managed to not give up when it would have been so easy for him to do just that.
Without thinking about the consequences, I grabbed his cheeks and slammed my mouth against his. He stiffened, his hands going to my wrists, as if about to push me away. But he didn’t. Not yet.
Instead, we remained in this place, our lips locked in limbo between advance and retreat.
There were a thousand reasons this was a horrible idea.
But there were just as many reasons it may be a good idea, too.
I didn’t know. But right now, that didn’t matter. I didn’t care about the lies. Didn’t care about the lives he’d taken. Didn’t care that I could lose him all over again. All I did care about was right now.
Having a small taste of Samuel again.
Even if it was the last time.
With a low groan, he moved his hands along my arms and down my back, his touch igniting every nerve with electricity. I melted against him as he pulled me closer, his lips pressed hungrily against mine. He coaxed my mouth open, his tongue swiping against mine in a dance of dominance and surrender that reminded me so damn much of Samuel I couldn’t help but release a sob.
He tore away, his concerned eyes scanning me. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” My reply came out as a breathless whisper. I curled my fingers around his nape, forcing his lips back to mine. “You’re the only thing that makes it not hurt.”
“Imogene,” he exhaled before crushing his lips back against mine, stealing my breath and taking it as his own.
And I gave it willingly. I’d give him anything he wanted in order to erase the past. To give him the clean slate he desperately deserved.
“I knew you were a bad idea,” he rasped out as he left rough kisses along my jawline, dipping his head into the crook of my neck.
“Why?” I panted.
The feel of his scruff beard and hands roughly exploring my body caused my heartbeat to accelerate, hunger building inside me.
“Because I knew once I had a taste of you again, I’d want more.”
His teeth nipped at my skin as he ground his hips against me, his erection hard and thick, even through his shorts.
“That I’d want all of you. That nothing would ever satisfy me again.”
“Then have me,” I whimpered.
He paused, not moving for several heartbeats as his eyes locked with mine.
Something about the way he peered at me made me think he was about to turn me down. Tell me this wasn’t a good idea.
Instead, he slammed his lips against mine, his mouth never breaking from mine as he swooped me into his arms and carried me all the way back into my bedroom.
His bedroom.
“Are you sure about this, Imogene?” he asked once he set me on my feet in front of the bed. “This won’t change my plans.”
“I don’t care about that right now.” I pressed my hand to his cheek, and he closed his eyes, melting into my touch. “All I care about is you.” I lifted myself onto my toes, brushing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Feeling you.” Reaching for the bottom of my t-shirt, I lifted it over my head. “Loving you.”
Groaning, he yanked me against him, not even a whisper separating us. Then he crashed his mouth against mine, his tongue tangling with mine as he led me the few feet toward the bed, gently laying me on top of the soft mattress and crawling between my legs.
His hips rocked slow, sensual circles against me as he explored my body with his hands, lowering his mouth toward my exposed breast. My heart raced with anticipation, and I braced to feel his lips on me, his teeth on my nipple. Something .
But I never did. Instead, I noticed his attention focus on something other than my breast.
My tattoo.
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as his fingers traced the familiar pattern, like he once did nearly every day before I’d branded my skin with a permanent reminder of our love.
Dipping his head toward it, he kissed the symbol, his touch so soft and gentle it made me cry.
“Samuel.”
His name hung heavy in the room as he slowly lifted his eyes to mine. It took me several seconds to realize my slip of the tongue.
Once I did, I rushed out, “I’m sorry. Gideon, I?—”
He covered my mouth, cutting off my apology with a deep, yet brief kiss.
“Say it again,” he pleaded, his lips hovering over mine.
“What?”
“My name. Please, Imogene. Let me hear you say my name again. My real name.”
The raw need in his voice nearly broke me. I’d do anything to wash away his memories. To remind him of who he was. This man was Samuel Tate, regardless of what he believed. I felt it since the beginning. I still felt it now. Those bastards may have tried to take his life. But they didn’t take his soul. It was still here. And I’d do everything in my power to bring it back.
“Samuel,” I murmured, his name on my lips like a determined prayer. A hopeful benediction. An unwavering promise.
He wrapped his arms around my torso, clinging to me as if I were a life preserver and he was being tossed around a tumultuous ocean.
“Again.”
I cradled his face in my hands, forcing his eyes to mine. “Samuel.”
“Again.”
I inched my mouth toward his. “Your name is Samuel Tate. You were, and still are, the love of my fucking life.”
He released a shivering breath, a single tear falling down his cheek as he basked in my words. Then he claimed my mouth, pouring every single emotion he’d experienced over the past five years into the kiss. Fear. Betrayal. Despair. Desolation. Rage. But mixed within all of that was love.
I’d like to think it was this love that helped him survive.
That brought him back to me.
He ran a hand along the contours of my frame, his fingers tracing the delicate tattoo as if no time had passed since the last time he’d done this precise thing. But he didn’t linger for too long, straightening as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my shorts, a single brow arched in question.
But there was no question in my mind. I wanted this. Needed this. Needed to feel him again.
“Please, Samuel. Make love to me.”