13. Robin
ROBIN
The ropes bite into my wrists. Not enough to cut off circulation. Not enough to actually hurt. Just enough to remind me I’m not going anywhere.
I sag back against the thin cot, panting. My muscles are already burning from the fight I knew I wasn’t going to win. Still, it was worth it.
Across the room, Cruz turns away from me. He adjusts his waistband.
Ha. His dick is hard. I felt it against me when he was on top of me.
Heat crawls up my spine before I can stop it. My stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
Some twisted and inappropriate part of me liked it. Liked the weight of him. The pressure. The heat.
Liked the way he felt—
I shut the thought down.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He’s my captor.
He just tied me to a bed.
He’s part of whatever nightmare I’ve walked into.
My pulse stutters.
He’s still turned away, shoulders tense. Good. That means I’m not imagining it. He’s attracted to me.
I can use that. I’ve done it before.
I shift slightly against the restraints, drawing his attention back to me.
“Are you going to tell me why?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Figures.
“You can be honest with me,” I add. “It’s not like I can do anything about it.”
He turns back toward me. I can’t help eyeing his crotch. The bulge is still there. My cheeks burn, but I don’t look away. I want him to know I see it.
Another kind of tension fills the room now. Different from before. Sharper. More dangerous.
Silence for a few moments. Then—
“I need to hurt you.”
The words land like a punch to my chest. “Uh…what?”
“I need to make it look real,” he says. “Bruises. Blood.”
I gulp. “Why?”
“So your family cooperates.”
I gulp again.
“They need to see proof,” he continues. “Photographic proof. That you’ve been beaten.”
I stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
I shake my head sharply. “No. You’re not that guy.”
Anger flashes in his eyes. “You have no idea what kind of guy I am.”
“Yeah,” I shoot back. “I do.”
His expression hardens. “We barely know each other.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
I hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “You didn’t touch me like Zabala did. You apologized. You hesitated just now.”
His jaw clenches. “That doesn’t make me a good man.”
“No,” I say quietly. “But it means you’re not like them.”
He takes a step closer, narrows his eyes. “You’re making assumptions that could get you hurt.”
I let out a slow breath. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
He cocks his head. “What does that mean?”
I hesitate for half a second. Not because I don’t want to say it but because once I do, I can’t take it back.
“This… This isn’t the first time I’ve been kidnapped.”