Chapter Twelve
Anya
The next morning, there’s no sex. But my body feels like it’s been rewired overnight—every nerve tuned to him. I shouldn’t crave him, shouldn’t be thinking of the grip of his hands on my hips, the way he murmured good girl against my throat just before he fucked me.
I shouldn’t want any of it.
But God, I’m officially broken.
He’s broken me.
Because I’m starting to crave everything—
his filthy words,
his sick obsession,
his violent protectiveness,
and the soft, completely out-of-place aftercare that comes after he drags me through hell. No one warned me about that part.
In New York, Cassian Morelli is a devil. A walking death sentence.
But last night, after he fucked me in a dressing room where his staff could’ve heard, where anyone could’ve walked in… he carried me like I was a fragile doll afterwards.
Then he ran a bath, washed my hair, massaged my shoulders until I melted against him like a traitor. He’d manhandled me like a slut in the dressing room, but after, he kissed me and took care of me like I was his.
And now, morning light pours through his penthouse windows, and I find half the city practically dumped at my feet. Boxes upon boxes of clothes, jewelry, and shoes.
I’m not stupid.
I know what being kept by a Morelli brother means… a nightmare.
They don’t take no for an answer.
They bulldoze through anyone in their way.
They kill without flinching—and no one can do a damn thing about it.
And yet—
No one has ever spoiled me like this.
Or pampered me like this.
Or understood my body like Cassian does, like he studied every inch and memorized it.
And that… is a huge problem, because suddenly, I’m dreading the end of the week.
Despite all the panic and confusion knotted inside my chest, I have to leave. Cassian Morelli will always be just a chapter in my life—an adventure that could’ve gone horribly, violently wrong.
But I’ll leave, find a job, and start over with someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who doesn’t kill over me. Someone who will never make me feel what Cassian makes me feel.
But he’ll be safe.
He won’t cage me.
And most of all—
I’ll be alive.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thoughts, trying to focus on my plate of pasta. Cassian is already finished with his.
“What’s the thing you fear the most?” he asks, wiping red sauce from his lips.
I narrow my eyes. “You answer first.”
His gaze barely flickers. “Losing you.”
I roll my eyes so hard I almost see my brain. “You know, subtlety exists, Cassian. This performative obsession thing has an expiration date. Your kind always gets bored eventually.”
“You think you’re a toy to me?” he blanches.
What else could I possibly be to him? A fuck-toy. The stripper he’s officially turned into a slut. A fleeting obsession before he sets his eyes on someone else. And like the idiot I am, I hyper-focus on the moments he’s gentle with me, and my heart flutters for a man who could crush me with his boots without a second thought.
“Of course I am,” I shrug. “One day, you’ll get sick of me or find someone else to fixate on.”
“You have no idea what you are to me. There was no one before you, and there will be no one else during you. And don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, that ‘during you’ is a lifetime. There will be no after you.”
I swallow, but it still scratches on the way down. I don’t mention the elephant in the room—for a week—because I feel like it would set him off.
He gestures at me. “Your turn.”
“My biggest fear?” I murmur.
“Mm.”
“Not having control over my life. I’ve been… powerless for so long. I can’t live like that anymore.”
I hope he gets the message. No matter how my stupid heart clenches at his uncharacteristic sweetness, or how my cunt weeps like it’s written in his name, he will always be the man who took my choice away. My power away. Even if it’s just for a week.
Cassian stands up. “Get up,” he orders.
Have I pissed him off?
“Why?” I ask, furrowing my brows.
“You’re learning how to take control.”
“What does that even mean, Cassian—”
“We’re going to the shooting range.” He fetches his car keys.
“I never said—”
“It wasn’t a question, Anya.”
Of course it wasn’t. Nothing with him ever is.
He’s dangerous and unstable. But he’s the only person who’s ever looked at me like I deserve to be protected. Like I deserve power. Ironically, he’s the one who took my power and control away. He’s a mess of contradictions, and so am I.
Cassian drives with one hand resting on my thigh, his thumb stroking maddening circles through my jeans. We pull up to a building that looks like a concrete box. No windows. A single steel door. With his hand wrapped around my neck, he leads me inside.
A man behind a counter with buzzed hair sees Cassian and straightens immediately. “Mr. Cassian, sir. We have the stall ready for you, just as you requested. Complete privacy.”
“Good,” Cassian says, his voice dropping an octave—the one that makes people scurry. “No one comes in. No one comes near the door. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”
He leads me past rows of empty stalls to one at the very end. He opens it for me—too chivalrous for the man I know him to be. The space is small, sound-dampened, with a table in the middle holding a sleek, black handgun and a box of ammunition.
He picks up the gun, handling it like it’s part of him. “This is a Glock 19. Simple and reliable. No safety, which means you don’t get to hesitate. You either mean it, or you don’t.”
He stands behind me, pressing fully against my back. He puts the gun in my hands.
“Like this,” he murmurs, breath warm against my ear. His arms cage me as he adjusts my grip. “Firm grip. Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m afraid.”
“There is no need to fear when I’m next to you, little doll. Now, feet apart. Shoulder-width. Bend your knees a little.”
I shuffle my feet, trying to mimic him, but my body feels clumsy, foreign.
He chuckles. “No. Not like that.” He nudges my right foot further out with the toe of his polished shoe. “There. Better. Now, look down the sight. See the target?”
The paper silhouette hangs at the end of the lane. “I see it.”
“Good. Breathe in,” he commands. “And when you breathe out, slowly pull the trigger.”
I try. I really do. I take a breath, but his proximity is a distraction. The clean, spicy scent of his cologne. The sheer size of him looming over me. The low vibration of his voice in my ear. It’s all I can focus on.
The gun roars. My arm jerks wildly. The bullet goes somewhere into the ceiling. I flinch, dropping the gun onto the table.
“Fuck,” I whisper, mortified.
He just picks it up like I almost didn’t get us killed. “No. You’re thinking too much. Stop trying so hard. Stop thinking.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes, Anya. Do it.”
I squeeze them shut. The darkness is a relief.
“Now, just feel,” he says. “Remember yesterday? Remember how your cunt felt around my cock?”
A blush creeps up my neck. I don’t think I can ever get used to his dirty mouth. Before him, I was vanilla. Missionary was my favorite position; I preferred the lights off. My sex drive wasn’t high. He changed my brain chemistry. Is that even possible?
“You were trembling, just like now. But it wasn’t from fear, was it?” he taunts. I want to wither away from embarrassment.
My eyes are still closed as he hands me the weapon.
“Feel it in your hand. It’s just an object. It has no power. You do.”
I nod, but inside, I’m still petrified. This man might just be training his demise, and he doesn’t even see it.
“Cassian—” I start.
“Breathe in,” he commands, ignoring me. “And when you breathe out, think about my mouth on yours. Think about how I tasted. And squeeze.”
I inhale. The memory of his kiss floods my senses, and as I exhale, I squeeze the trigger.
“Open your eyes,” he says.
I do. A neat hole is in the center of the target's chest. Pride washes over me, mixed with genuine fear. Because now that I’ve learned this… what’s stopping me from putting a bullet in Cassian’s chest if he refuses to let me go? The thought makes me queasy.
“Again,” he whispers.
As I raise the gun, his hands slide from my arms, tracing the curve of my waist. He lifts my shirt, and a gasp escapes me as the cool air hits my bare stomach and breasts. I hadn’t worn a bra today—apparently the wrong choice.
He licks a slow, hot stripe up my neck. My grip on the gun falters.
“Keep your arms up,” he commands. “Aim.”
I force my eyes to the target, hyper-aware of his every move. He taps my clit once. I press the trigger.
The shot is perfect, right next to the last, tearing a new hole in the paper man’s heart.
“Good girl. See? You just need the right motivation.”
We do it again and again. He pinches my nipples, rolling them between his fingers until I’m whimpering. Whispers of filth in my ear, but he doesn’t touch me where I desperately want him to.
By the time the magazine is empty, I’m panting, flushed, covered in a sheen of sweat.
“Please,” I whisper. I have a weapon in my hands, but my own body is far more dangerous and uncontrollable. “Please, Cassian. Fuck me.”
He takes the gun from my trembling hands, placing it on the table. A small, cruel smile plays on his lips.
“No,” he says. “I don’t think I will.”
“What? Why?”
“Because yesterday, you said we were just good for sex. So as punishment,” he continues, “you don’t get to be fucked. You only get the teasing.”
Oh, how the tables have turned.