Sonnet Ellison
The bathwater was hot enough to turn my skin pink, which was exactly what I needed after what Vega had done to me against that dining table.
My body was struggling to recover from the intimate abuse it had been taking for the last week.
My thighs ached, and every time I felt the pain, I remembered his hands, his mouth, and that deep voice telling me to take what he gave me.
Vega’s dick should’ve come with a warning label, and even though I was tired of feeling trapped, I wasn’t too stupid to appreciate my situation.
I was hiding in a presidential suite with a man who looked good enough to make bad decisions feel justified, and that same man could make me forget my own name with just his hands on my body.
Still, pleasure didn’t erase reality. It distracted me for a while, but it didn’t fix the part of me that feared my free will being taken from me. I loved how Vega protected me. I loved how he touched me, talked to me, fed me, held me, and made me feel chosen in ways I had never felt before.
But every now and then, my trauma found a way to surface.
I had spent years without a real home, so the first place I had built for myself meant everything to me.
My condo wasn’t just walls and furniture.
It was proof that I had survived to create something that was mine, that no one else could control or take from me.
Then I lost it. I lost my routine. I lost what I had created because no one had given it to me. Vega made this hotel suite warmer than it should’ve been, but it still wasn’t mine. That was the part I couldn’t explain without sounding ungrateful.
I sank deeper into the water and stared at the steam rising around me.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew Roman was still alive.
I knew leaving this suite could put me right back in danger.
I knew Vega had already watched Lowe almost die because of this mess, and that had changed something in him.
But knowing why a cage existed didn’t make the bars any more tolerable.
Eventually, the water cooled, and I forced myself to get out.
I dried off and rubbed sweet-smelling shea butter into my skin.
I slipped into a cute little lounge set with tiny shorts and a matching sports bra.
The shorts barely covered anything, and the top left my stomach out.
Vega loved my slightly pudgy stomach for reasons I still didn’t understand.
That man slept on it whenever he got the chance, kissed it randomly, and grabbed it with the kind of possessiveness that made me stop hating it so much.
I was fixing my hair in the mirror when I heard the suite door open.
My hunger pangs eased. Vega had asked if I wanted to ride with him to visit Lowe and pick up some food, but after he had bent me over that table and left me floating in another dimension, the only thing I wanted was a bath and silence.
I stepped out of the bathroom and headed through the bedroom. Then I heard a voice that almost made my soul leave my body.
“This is niiiiice!! It ain’t got no roaches or nuthin’!”
I ran out of the bedroom and into the living room, screaming.
Dior stood near the door with one hand on his hip, fresh haircut, deep waves shining under the suite lights, and a crisp lining.
His face was done, makeup blended perfectly, lashes full, lips glossy, and his cropped short-sleeved tee showed just enough skin.
He had on denim shorts, Gucci slides, and a matching bag tucked under his arm.
“Dior!”
He screamed too, throwing his arms open. “Bitch!”
I ran straight into him.
He caught me and rocked us both, squeezing me so hard I almost cried on impact.
“Oh my God,” I said into his shoulder. “Oh my God. I’ve missed you so much!”
Over Dior’s shoulder, I saw Vega standing by the door with bags of food in both hands and a smile on his face.
Vega lifted a brow, still smiling. “Am I forgiven now?”
“Yes!” I said immediately, then turned back to Dior and hugged him again.
Vega shut the door with his foot and carried the food toward the table.
Dior pulled back from our hug and pointed at Vega. “First of all, this nigga is rude as fuck.”
I gasped as my eyes darted to Vega. “What did you do?!”
Vega set the food on the table. “He a lie. I spoke.”
“You called my name, told me to get in the car, and spent the rest of the ride looking like we were on our way to a drive by.”
I laughed through my tears.
Vega uttered. “You talked enough for both of us.”
“I saw something on TV that you supposed to tell kidnappers all about you so they’ll feel some compassion and not kill you.”
“I told you I was bringing you to see Sonnet.”
“I don’t trust you, nigga!” Then he looked at me, asking, “Is he a nigga?”
I started cracking up as Vega shook his head at Dior’s dramatics.
“Dior,” I said, still laughing.
“No, I’m serious. His hair curly as hell and I can see that light skin under all those tattoos.”
Vega muttered under his breath, “Mi stai già dando sui nervi. (You’re already getting on my nerves).”
Dior’s hand flew to his throat. “Oop.” Then he stared at Vega, swooning.
Vega cut his eyes toward him. “Don’t.”
“No, because why did that eat?” Dior fanned himself with one hand. “Not Mr. Kidnapper speaking Italian. I’m sat.”
“Chill,” Vega warned.
Dior looked at me. “How am I supposed to be cool when he’s mean, multilingual, and fine. That’s a setup.”
I covered my mouth, laughing.
Vega gave him a hard stare that had made men fold before.
“Dior,” I warned.
“What? I’m grieving being a boy right now.”
Vega pointed at me. “You need to put on some clothes.”
Dior whipped his head toward him, offended. “Excuse you. Don’t direct that energy at me. The farthest thing I like is anything feminine. She could walk out here in a leaf, and I’d still be focused on your beard.”
I choked.
Vega glared at him, and Dior stared back, unbothered.
I stepped between them, still laughing. “You’re going to have to get comfortable with my gay male bestie.”
Vega’s eyes moved from Dior to me. “That’s the only kind of nigga I’m letting around you outside of my family, so we good.”
Dior clutched his imaginary pearls. “Letting? Oh, he’s controlling.”
“He is,” I said.
Vega looked at me. “You ain’t supposed to agree that fast.”
Dior leaned closer to me. “And you’re glowing. I know glow. That’s not moisturizer.”
I lightly grabbed Dior’s wrist, telling him, “Come sit down.”
“Your food, baby,” Vega reminded me.
Dior almost broke his neck, whipping his eyes towards me. “Baby?!”
I ignored Dior and told Vega, “I’ll eat in a minute.” Now, I was too excited to feed my hunger pangs.
I dragged Dior to the couch and pulled him down beside me. Vega watched us for a second, and he smiled with satisfaction.
“I’ll be in the bedroom,” he said. “Y’all catch up.”
I looked up at him. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I know.” His eyes held mine. “But you need this.”
Then he walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.
The second the door clicked shut, Dior grabbed both my hands. “Girl!”
“I know!”
“No, because the tea is hotter in person.” He pointed toward the bedroom. “That man is fine as hell, rude as fuck, and built like he got a beef with shirts. I’m gagged. I’m concerned, but I’m gagged.”
I fell back against the couch, laughing while swooning. “He is fine, right?”
“Fine?” Dior leaned closer. “Sonnet, that nigga got a felony aura, and those eyes… Mother sees the vision.”
“Dior!” I giggled.
“He got that toxic combination. Very much problematic. Very much don’t call the police but call the fucking police!”
I laughed harder, wiping under my eyes because I was crying with laughter. “I missed you so much.”
He smiled genuinely. “I missed you too.”
I leaned into him, and he pulled me close. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t the target or the woman Vega was trying to keep alive. I was just Sonnet again, sitting beside the one person who had known me before my life turned into blood, secrets, and men with guns.
Dior rubbed my arm. “Now talk. Don’t skip shit. I need the full report.”
So, I told him. I told him about seeing Roman kill Donovan.
I told him about Vega kidnapping me, and how hate for Vega had turned into something I still didn’t know how to explain without sounding crazy.
I told him about the house, the shooting, Lowe getting hit, the hospital, the hotel, and how I was tired of being loved inside rooms I couldn’t leave.
Then I told him I wasn’t a virgin anymore.
Dior stared at me. Then he looked toward the bedroom door. “You better not be.”
“Dior!”
“Be so for real. You been locked up with that man for over a month, and he look like that? Girl, I would’ve been disappointed in you.”
I shoved his arm. “You’re so annoying.”
“And you’re no longer pure. That’s growth.”
“Shut up,” I giggled.
“No, because I know you. You probably gave him a speech first. You probably had terms and conditions.”
“I did not.”
He gave me a look.
I sighed. “I swear.”
“That’s not on brand for you. He’s changing you already.” He gave me a joking judgmental smirk, then he eyed me sternly. “Was he good to you?”
“Yes,” I said, blushing. “He was.”
“Good.” Dior nodded once. “Because if he had you in here crying behind some trash sex after all this trauma, I was gonna have to fight him, and I do not have the body mass for that shit.”
I laughed again, but it didn’t last long. “Despite the circumstances, he’s been good to me. But I just still don’t know how to be okay.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I love him,” I admitted. “And I know that sounds insane. I know how it started. I know what he did. But I love him, Dior. He makes me feel safe. He makes me feel wanted. He sees me in ways nobody ever did.”
Dior nodded slowly.
“But I’m tired,” I said. “I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of locked doors. I’m tired of people getting hurt because of me.”
Dior’s eyes got glossy. “Come here.”
I leaned into him, and he wrapped both arms around me. “You’re not wrong for wanting your life back. And you’re not wrong for loving him either. Two things can be true.”
I swallowed hard.
“But he gotta remember something,” Dior said. “Saving you don’t mean he gets to control every move you make. Protection can turn into a cage real quick, and you already survived too much to live in another one.”
“He’s trying.”
“I believe that,” Dior said. “That’s why I haven’t read him for filth yet.”
“You still might.”
“Oh, absolutely. I’m just waiting on my spirit to release me.”