Chapter 40
Forty
Blair
As my orgasm rocked through me, my body shook before going limp, and I collapsed on Enzo like dead weight.
Enzo lifted me off him, flipped me onto my back, and climbed over me. Within seconds, he was moving inside me again, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs as he drove into me.
The intensity didn’t last long.
His body tensed, and he came apart. I watched his face, loving how it squeezed together before long breaths sputtered out of him in uneven bursts.
His weight settled over me as we struggled to catch our breath.
When he finally pulled out of me, it was slow, and I squeezed my eyes shut, a deep ache spreading through me at the sudden emptiness.
I rolled off the mattress, the sheet in tow, and went to the bathroom.
Enzo followed me. He grabbed a towel from the hook beside the shower, pulling it snugly around me, and squeezed it tight.
I held it there while he opened the linen closet, grabbed another towel, and tied it around his waist.
“Blair,” he said, his voice thick as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, “did you play any part in the assassination attempts against my father or the president?”
I snorted, and a frown creased his brow.
“You think I shot them?” I finished toweling off the last drops of water and reached for the vanity to get the clothes I’d taken from his closet.
“It’s obvious you didn’t shoot them.”
I couldn’t get dressed fast enough. The second his sweats were snug around my waist, I grabbed the shirt and threw it on as I walked out of the bathroom.
Enzo was behind me again.
He clamped his hand around my waist, stopping me in my tracks when I reached the sitting room. I’d planned to leave his wing, to leave the mansion, and get the hell out of here.
That plan went to hell when I allowed him to guide me away from the door to the couch. He sat beside me, leaving a cushion between us. The expression on his gorgeous face shifted from concern to dismay when he noticed my tear-streaked face.
Shit. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
The irritation in his voice dropped a decibel.
“Blair,” he said with a composed manner I’d never expected from him, “I need you to tell me everything about you.” Desperation laced that sentence as he scooted closer.
“This goes deeper than you simply being my Fawn.” He shook his head, and a quick grimace flashed across his face, like this conversation was going to kill him as much as me if it didn’t go well.
“I chose you as my Fawn, yet you remain a complete enigma to me.”
Sighing, I turned away, unable to look at him. This was why I’d never felt at home anywhere.
I kept too many secrets.
And secrets never led to trust.
Could I trust Enzo with my secrets?
He was manipulative and cunning.
But deep down, I felt like I trusted him more than I trusted anyone. But that was now.
What would happen when he got bored with me?
My secrets weren’t safe with someone temporary. It was too risky.
He sighed again, like he’d tried the gentle approach, and now that it hadn’t worked, he’d go with a harsher one.
And that was exactly what he did.
“Hush, little baby, don’t—”
I lunged at him, scraping my nails against his skin to stop his singing. “Don’t you fucking dare!”
His mouth clamped shut as I jabbed my finger in his face.
More salty tears streamed down my face, stinging my eyes and trickling down my nose and into my mouth.
“Then tell me, damn it!” he roared, temper flaring as his patience evaporated.
“Why are you so scared to open up? How many of my secrets are you privy to, hmm, Blair?” He used his hand to indicate the room.
“You’re in my fucking house!” He pounded his palm against his chest. “That’s against every fucking rule in not only my book but my family’s!
I give and give and give, but you offer me absolutely nothing! ”
“I gave you myself!” I screamed, rising and charging toward the door.
Enzo was faster, sidestepping me to cut off my path, and blocked me from leaving. He pressed his hand against my chest, pushing me back until my spine met the wall.
His rough hands felt surprisingly gentle as he cradled my face, his expression softening again. “Blair, I’m begging you, to help us both. Please share your demons with me. I swear on my life, I’ll take them down, one after another, until you’re no longer in pain.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, a desperate attempt to hold back more oncoming tears, and shook my head. “They’re not pretty.”
“Blair, pretty stories have never interested me. The morbid and dark have always held a certain allure for me, my Fawn. Give me your soul, and I swear to you, I’ll always keep you safe.”
“Until you’re done with me. Until you’re sick of me as your Fawn. Then I’ll end up jumping out of a window or going to some insane asylum.”
He flinched, the harsh truth of my words striking him. “Okay, first off, Ashley isn’t in an insane asylum now. She became a nun.”
I stilled. “Really?”
“Don’t believe everything Daphne tells you.
But something to believe from her is that, yes, I am different with you than I’ve ever been with any of my Fawns.
Yes, you mean so much more to me than they did.
Does it make me sound shitty? Probably. But if that’s the worst shit I say all day, then so be it.
” His hands rested on my cheeks as he stared into my eyes.
“You’re so much more than a Fawn to me, Blair. ”
“Then who am I?” I whispered.
“You’re the one I’d burn everything down for.”
I looked away, speechless.
“But I’m only willing to do that if you tell me what I need to know.”
He stepped back, offering me his hand, and I took it, allowing him to walk me back to the couch.
I tucked my legs under me, resting my back against the armrest, and closed my eyes. Drawing in a long breath, I was ready to spill my demons and surrender to the darkness haunting me.
“What do you want to know?” I asked in a shaky voice.
“How old are you?” His immediate question surprised me.
I’d expected it to be something more serious.
Something that cut me open deeper.
“I don’t know,” I said, embarrassed by my answer. “My official records say twenty-two, so that’s what I use. I was born at home. How old are you?”
“Twenty-two. My public records and mother can corroborate this.”
I cracked an easy smile.
“How’d you escape your father’s cult?”
I glanced away, wishing I’d never agreed to this.
“Hey.” Enzo kept his tone soft. “I promise, I’m the last person to judge you.”
I didn’t answer him.
“All right.” He ran his hands through his still-damp hair. “Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me about his cult.”
Enzo was smart in his interrogation technique. This was easier to start with than what I’d done.
I cleared my throat once, twice, three times because the words felt glued there. “My father started the cult when I was a baby. Somehow, he and my mother convinced people through the power of my father’s words that he was some holy prophet when, in fact, he was the opposite.”
“How was he the opposite?” Enzo asked.
“He killed followers who tried to leave or those he suspected had become disloyal, then buried them on the compound.” My gaze drifted away from him to the record player. “Sometimes he’d give me a shovel and force me to help him pile the dirt over them.”
Enzo reached out to clamp my chin in his palm and slowly drew my gaze back to him.
“As I got older, he got worse,” I continued. “More violent. A few members managed to escape and went to the police. Someone tipped him off that the feds were coming to raid the compound. And …”
My mouth shut, and I could no longer speak.
Enzo grabbed both my hands in his, holding them together in front of us.
“And then what, Blair?” he asked lowly.
“And then we all had to burn.”
And in an instant, my mind went back there.
“Into the chapel! Into the chapel!” my father yelled, waving his arms and rushing us toward the small building like we were cattle and a storm was brewing.
His followers crammed through the narrow entrance, and the old wood creaked under our feet. I stepped in with the others, near the back, where I always stayed, and watched him through a crack between standing bodies.
My father stood at the nave, barefoot, dressed in a white tunic and loose pants that brushed his ankles.
My mother stepped to his side, wearing a cream skirt and white blouse—her Sunday best, even though it was only Wednesday.
“Everyone,” he said, spreading his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, “it’s time for judgment day, time for you to prove your faith, to prove our devotion.”
I didn’t know what devotion they were proving. I tuned out most of my father’s speeches. There were only so many times you could hear a man refer to himself as the Divine and Lord before wanting to scream out that it was all fake.
Instead of looking at him, my gaze drifted around the old chapel.
It was small with rows of narrow pews lined in front of the altar. The main entrance was behind us. The double wooden doors were the only way in and out unless you counted windows.
“Today is the day we die. We’ll burn for our beliefs to take us to where our faith leads.
You will stay in here, in the chapel, where we give ourselves to our faith.
” He peered over at my mother and rested his hand on her shoulder.
“The Higher Beings have instructed me to go to my office and do this. My wife will be joining the Divine in our final moments while you stay here, my followers.”
I rolled my eyes at how much he loved referring to himself in the third person.
My mother nodded, which led to others around me doing the same.
I scratched my head, staring at my father, unnerved, as a pain formed in my chest. Something about this felt wrong.
I heard something move behind me and looked over my shoulder to see the doors shut. When I heard a loud bang, I knew someone had dragged the wooden crossbar across the outside of the doors, locking us in.