Chapter Twenty-Two
Ember
When I wake up again, it’s to a cold, empty bed. I blink, filtering through my recent memories—the dining hall, greenhouse, and punishment.
A punishment and orgasm that put me straight to sleep.
I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but the fact that I fell asleep in Max’s arms is enough to rattle me.
I have a hard time sleeping even in my usual sleep/wake cycle, but to fall asleep after already waking up from my crash phase is a completely new experience.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Max says, appearing in the doorway. He checks the watch on his wrist. “You slept through the afternoon and evening. I erred yesterday in not feeding you before putting you to bed; that’s my bad. You’ve gone way too long without eating. I’m sorry for that.”
I wave a tired hand, reaching up to rub the sleep from my eyes. “I’m used to being half-starved. Keeps me sharp.”
As soon as the words are out, Max and I simultaneously stiffen.
Max’s lips thin and his jaw tenses, while I mentally flog myself for offering up information so freely.
My experience with Dagon isn’t Max’s problem or concern; it’s my own.
The day will come when I manage to find an effective way to save her and kill Dagon, but until then, I need to get back to him.
Which means I need to talk to Scarlett and see if I can press her for information.
“Breakfast’s already set on the table,” Max says quietly. He stares hard at me. “I hope you know, I am going to kill Dagon very slowly for what he did to you.”
“If you go after him prematurely, I’ll have to kill you,” I warn him. “Not even because of orders.”
Max’s brows furrow, but he doesn’t look at all concerned about my threat. Why isn’t he fucking concerned?
“Because of the leverage he has on you,” Max guesses slowly.
“Because he’s put systems in place to do whatever it is you’re desperate to keep him from doing in the event that he dies or disappears.
” He releases a long breath. “If you just fucking tell me, Ember, I’ll take care of it.
If you don’t, I’ll move forward with my plans. ”
“You can’t.” I sit up. “Get the idea of killing Dagon out of your head. Even if it were feasible, he’s not yours to kill.
” Dagon hasn’t spent the last five years torturing and abusing Max, he’s done it to me.
I deserve the satisfaction of watching the life drain out of his eyes.
Thinking of letting someone else have the pleasure is infuriating.
“We’ll talk about it once you’re ready to let me in on your secret. Don’t worry; I don’t have any plans to torture it out of you. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
“You say that with a lot of confidence for a man who kidnapped me and is holding me captive.”
“I say that as a man who understands a simple truth.”
“That truth being?”
“You’ve always been mine,” he says simply. “You’ll always be mine, as well.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I prefer committed. Enough of this argument; get up. Breakfast time.”
Breakfast turns out to be an elaborate spread of foods, ranging from traditional American pancakes, waffles, sausages, and literal mountains of bacon to French pastries and delicacies.
“Didn’t know what you’d like, so I had the chefs make a bit of everything.”
“A bit?” I repeat dubiously.
“Well, more of the things I like. I’m a growing boy, Flame. I eat a lot.”
“Obviously.” I cast a degrading glance over him. “Maybe you should ease up on that.”
Rather than taking offense, he grins and lifts his shirt, revealing a nearly blinding eight-pack. “Nah, I think I’m good. My body and bloodwork are all ideal, so I won’t be worrying about an early death just yet. Not from my eating habits, anyways.”
He watches as I take a seat and hungrily pull a bunch of different items onto my plate. I’m not too proud to refuse food when offered; food is the fuel I need to survive, and if Max doesn’t intend to deprive me of it, that’s his oversight. I’m far more dangerous when I’m well-fed and exercised.
“Can I use your gym?” I ask, putting a napkin on my lap.
“Sure,” he responds easily. “We can go before lunch—the guys are usually busy at that time.”
“Can I see Scarlett after breakfast?” I hate having to ask permission, but for now, my best bet is just to play the game. Fighting back might put me in the same position I experienced yesterday, and I don’t want to deal with that again.
“Why?” Max questions sharply. “To give her more shit?”
“To apologize,” I correct, pausing to gaze at him. I search his expression, finding a wealth of protectiveness and warning. For some insane reason, that pisses me off.
Jesus, is he pining after this girl? It kind of seems like it, even though his fixation on me has been made clear. Could he want both of us? To take Scarlett from Greyson and make a little harem?
No, he was happy at seeing the two of them together, and I sensed he’s protective of both of them. I don’t know why the idea of him being protective over a random woman pisses me off, but it does. He’s gone through extreme lengths to get me here, only to focus on another girl?
I try to calm myself down and point out my own irrationality, but I barely succeed, so my next words are sharp.
“Is that a problem?”
He seems to relax a bit. “Not if you’re being honest. I’ll text Greyson. Maybe she can come over after breakfast, keep you company while I go to a meeting.”
Perfect.
Greyson agrees to let Scarlett see me—the fact that this requires his permission is both ridiculous and insanely unfair, but it’s not my problem. She shows up at the door an hour after breakfast is cleared, appearing equal parts hesitant and excited. Max lets her in, then asks about Greg.
Shit, Greg. His dog. I haven’t seen him around since that first introduction—did Max give Greg to Scarlett for a while? It sounds like it. Why would he do that? Just because his dog was making me uncomfortable?
Is he that attuned to my needs?
“Alright, ladies,” Max says. “I have a meeting to haul ass to. Ember, play nice, or yesterday will look like a slap on the wrist.”
He winks, gives me a dazzling smile that makes my jaw clench, and then strolls right out. Leaving me alone with Scarlett, who watches me with a gaze filled with one part curiosity and one part caution.
“You have dog hair on your jeans,” I say to break the ice.
She glances down and grimaces. “Actually, that’s probably cat hair. I have a black cat—Lucifer, though I call him Luci. He likes rubbing his body all over me.”
My lips quirk. “I like cats.” They’re so… regal and ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck’, it’s impossible not to adore them. I remember always wanting a cat.
“I’ll have to bring him sometime,” Scarlett says. She gazes around the living room. “Why is Max’s place still a bachelor pad?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Because he furnished it?”
“What I mean is, why haven’t you started changing it up to fit your personality? It’s your place too, now. I redid my entire place with Greyson.”
My eyes narrow. “He let you do that?”
“He encouraged me to. Whatever makes me feel most comfortable.”
Huh. Maybe the whole captor/captive thing does work for them… but I know it’ll never work for me. I’m meant to be free, and I’ve lived far too much of my life caged. And, before I can attain freedom, I still have some pesky killing of a tyrant to do.
“Sorry about pressing you yesterday,” I say, forcing myself not to add on, though examining your insecurities and the causes of them couldn’t hurt.
Scarlett lifts a shoulder, shifting from foot to foot. “It’s fine. I can’t blame you for having questions. I’ll answer whichever of them I can.”
What’s the best way to get out of here? Instead, I go with, “Why do you think Max would let me decorate this place?”
She meets my eyes. “Because he cares about you.”
I resist the urge to laugh out loud at that. He doesn’t care about me; he wants to control me.
Right?
“How would any packages I order even get here?” I ask, frowning. “The gates look uncrossable.”
“They’re crossed all the time by guys who have the clearance,” Scarlett says lightly. “The compound has several huge PO boxes reserved in a nearby town; they pick up deliveries from there every day.”
“Huh.” I decide to switch topics before she can grow suspicious. “I saw the greenhouse. Your plants… that one hybrid is fucking fantastic. Does it really recycle oxygen three times faster than most other plants?”
Scarlett’s eyes brighten and she walks forward, joining me on the couch. Then, she dives into a long, winding lecture about botany and editing the genetics of plants. I listen with mild interest, but really, I’m searching for any other clues she drops.
At the end, though, she lets a bombshell slide.
“The greenhouse was almost destroyed when we were attacked a couple months back. Max saved my life. Grey and I were still on bad terms then, and Max became super protective of me.” She leans forward and says in a conspiratorial whisper, “Cain actually threatened Grey with giving me to Max, and I think he was open to it.”
“Is that so?” I drawl. The urge to wrap my hands around Scarlett’s neck and squeeze is nearly overwhelming, but I hold myself back. I already speculated that Max was interested in her; she just confirmed it. It shouldn’t matter.
It shouldn’t make me feel anything.
But it does. I refuse to think the emotion that lights me with anger is jealousy; it’s not. I’m mad because of Max’s lack of consideration. Bringing me here when he’s hung up on a taken woman? Talking about a future, a life together, while pining after the girl that got away?
If I felt any guilt at the thought of killing him before, it evaporates now.