Chapter 21
Power was an interesting thing. It rose in me now, spurring me forward and stomping down the timid, scared woman Gage had molded with his thirst for domination. I clutched the manila folder—the source of my salvation—in one hand and knocked on his door.
No answer.
I pounded harder, using enough force to bruise my knuckles. The bastard was going to face me. After everything he’d put me through, he owed me that much.
“Open the door, Gage! I know you’re in there!
” Another few seconds of blatant knuckle abuse passed, and I finally yanked on the handle, surprised when it turned.
The evening shadows darkened his foyer, but not so much as to hide the destruction of his home.
I halted, stunned as the scene in front of me gave an alarming visual.
Overturned furniture littered the space, picture frames had been knocked from the walls, and glass was strewn across the hardwood floor.
My sneakers crunched on a piece of lightbulb as I took a cautious step into the living room.
The area opened into the kitchen, which didn’t look much better.
Several dishes lay in pieces, and one of the cabinets had a gaping hole in the dark wood.
“Gage?” Silence greeted me—an unsettling void that raised the hair at my nape. The urge to flee was strong. I was stupid for coming, especially after what he’d done the night before, but I wanted to shove what Ian had found down his throat and see him cower for a change.
A quick scan of the dining room revealed empty space.
After finding the same in his bedroom, I moved on from the sight of his bed—from the memory of the night we’d spent there—and stopped at the basement’s entrance.
The door stood wide open, like a cavernous mouth inviting me into the bowls of hell.
I flicked on the light to chase the darkness away, and then questioned my sanity as I descended the stairs.
The basement didn’t fair much better than the rest of his house.
His collection of whips and paddles were scattered across the floor, and the St. Andrew’s cross had been torn from the wall.
“Go home, Kayla.”
I clenched my jaw and closed the distance between us. Looking down, I realized two things: he was still wearing the same clothes from the previous evening, and this was the first time Gage Channing had ever sat at my feet. He kept his head bowed toward the bottle of rum clutched between his hands.
“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve said this.” I threw the folder at his feet. “You’ll find enough evidence in there to send you to jail for a long time.”
“What evidence?”
“Proof of your embezzlement. How ironic that you blackmailed me for doing what you’re guilty of yourself.
” I let out a bitter laugh. “Isn’t this a tidy little circle we’ve got here?
You steal from your clients, I steal from you.
He blackmails you, you blackmail me.” I gritted my teeth.
“If I didn’t have Eve to think about, I might find some humor in it all. ”
“Why are you here, Kayla?”
“The rules have changed.” I paced a few steps before stopping in front of him again. “I’m here to call a truce. End our contract, pay for Eve’s care, and I’ll consider us even.”
“Fine. You can go now.” He tipped the bottle back and took a swig.
“That’s all you have to say?” A tremor laced my voice. Dammit, I’d wanted so much to remain calm, just as cold and detached as him. He was more of a master at cold and calculating than he was a “Master” in anything else. “Look at me, Gage.”
He raised his eyes, and I reached up and unhooked the buttons of my jacket.
I stood before him without makeup, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt because anything else hurt too much.
My fingers disappeared under the hem, and I inched it up, removing my clothes and watching his reaction as I revealed the welts and bruises he’d left behind.
He took another swig, and something in his expression shifted from indifferent to pained as his gaze wandered over my body. My breasts and bottom had taken the brunt of his rage, but every inch of me showed evidence of his cruelty.
“Is this why you’re hiding in that bottle? Did your conscience finally claw its way out of the grave?” I wouldn’t look away or back down. I wanted…no, I needed him to acknowledge the line he’d crossed. I tapped my foot and waited. “Dammit, say something!”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?”
“Are you?”
He sprung to his feet, so unexpectedly that I jerked back.
“I’ll never be sorry for fucking you in front of him.
” He hurtled the bottle against the wall, and the sound of shattering glass competed with the warning going off in my head.
I shrank away as he advanced, but he grabbed me anyway.
His hands dug into the bruises and welts.
“I’d do it again and again until he gouged his fucking eyes out. ”
“Let go, you’re hurting me!”
“Then stop me.” He caught me in his vise-like embrace, and his mouth crashed onto mine, his tongue infusing my taste buds with the bitterness of rum. I struggled until every ounce of strength seeped from my bones. Finally giving in, I sagged against him and submitted my mouth.
He tangled his hands in my hair and tilted my head back, and I was helpless against the lure of him, split down the middle between logic and need.
With a groan, he pushed me away and staggered back a few feet. “Go home, before I fuck you again, and no amount of crying or begging will stop me.”
“Why are you holding back now?” My voice cracked. “What’s so different?”
He collapsed to the floor and buried his head in his hands, and he said nothing.
I told myself I hadn’t glimpsed a seed of remorse in his expression, that he was an ice cube underneath all that anger, incapable of feeling anything real.
Problem was…I didn’t believe it. I’d been ready to let his actions shatter whatever I might have felt for him, but then I’d walked into his disaster zone and seen the image of a broken man.
“If there’s a speck of humanity in you, Gage”—I reached up and removed the collar—“you’ll do the right thing.”
The thin strip of leather drifted to the floor, and still, he said nothing. I dressed, and his silence followed me up the stairs and out the door.