Chapter 10
GEMMA
Ispend three days thinking about that kiss.
The way his hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair, gripping just enough to tilt my head where he wanted it. The way his mouth moved against mine, firm and present, showing me what it felt like to be held without being trapped.
And the way he stopped.
That's what I keep coming back to. The moment when he pulled away, breathing hard, forehead pressed against mine. He wanted me. I could feel it in the tension of his body, the rough edge of his voice, the way his hands shook when he let me go. He wanted me, and he stopped anyway.
Craig never stopped. Craig took what he wanted when he wanted it, and if I wasn't in the mood, that was a problem for me, not him. He never asked permission. He never checked in. He never looked at me after and asked if I was okay.
Will did all of those things in the space of five minutes, and then he walked away because the timing wasn't right.
I'm not afraid of my desires anymore. That's what I realize on day two, staring at the ceiling while the morning light creeps across the walls. The shame that used to wrap around my wanting like a stranglehold has loosened its grip.
I spent years believing that what I needed made me damaged, that my submission was a flaw to be exploited rather than a gift to be honored.
Will showed me otherwise. The Forge showed me otherwise.
The research I've done, the conversations we've had, the way he looks at me like I'm strong instead of broken—all of it has chipped away at the lies Craig planted in my head.
The wanting doesn't scare me anymore. Trusting the wrong person with it does.
But Will stopped. Will asked permission.
Will has done nothing but show me respect from the moment I walked through that door.
He's been patient when I needed patience and honest when I needed honesty and steady when I needed something solid to hold onto.
He's earned my trust in a thousand small ways, and I've been too scared to notice.
And then, finally, I decide.
I'm going to claim this part of myself. I'm going to stop letting Craig's shadow define what I'm allowed to want. And when I'm ready, I'm going to give that part of myself to Will. Not because I'm broken and looking for someone to fix me. Because I'm healing, and I want to heal with him.
But first, I need to close the door on Craig for good.
I open my laptop and start typing. The words come faster than I expect, pouring out in a rush of anger and grief and four years of silence finally breaking.
Craig,
You made me believe I was broken. You took something beautiful in me and twisted it until I couldn't recognize it anymore. You convinced me that my desires were shameful, that my needs made me weak, that the only person who could ever accept the real me was you.
Maybe you believe your own bullshit. Maybe you really think you were a good Dom and I was just broken. I don't care anymore. You were wrong, and I'm done letting your version of me be the truth.
I missed my parents' funeral. I let you convince me not to go. I lost four years of my life because I believed what you told me about myself. I walked around in a fog of shame and fear and self-hatred—and I let you put it there, piece by piece, until I couldn't remember who I was before you.
But here's what you didn't count on: I remembered. I got in my car and I drove away, and I found people who saw what I'd almost forgotten. Not broken. Not damaged. Not the desperate, pathetic thing you tried to turn me into.
Strong. Worthy. Capable of being loved without being destroyed.
You don't get to have me anymore. You don't get to define me. You don't get to win.
I'm done being afraid of you.
Gemma
I read it twice, then close the laptop without sending. The message isn't for him. It's for me. A declaration, written down so I can look at it whenever I start to forget.
The next step is harder.
I pull out the business card Cole gave me—a Portland attorney who handles divorces, restraining orders and messy domestic situations.
One of Shaw's contacts, someone the Brotherhood trusts.
I've been carrying the card in my pocket for days, taking it out and looking at it before putting it away again.
This time, I dial the number.
The conversation takes twenty minutes. The lawyer, a woman named Diana Reese, is brisk and professional without being cold.
She asks questions I don't want to answer, and I answer them anyway.
The text messages. The flowers. The documented history of complaints.
By the time I hang up, we have an appointment scheduled for next week, and she's already drafting the petition.
Taking action feels like oxygen after drowning. For the first time since I arrived, I feel like I'm moving forward instead of treading water.
There's one more thing I need to do.
Cole's in the kitchen when I come downstairs, making dinner with the careful attention he brings to everything. Pasta sauce simmers on the stove, filling the house with the smell of garlic and tomatoes. He looks up when I enter, and something in my expression makes him set down the wooden spoon.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." I pull out a chair and sit at the kitchen table. "I need to tell you something. The truth. All of it."
He turns off the burner and comes to sit across from me. His face is guarded, bracing for impact.
I tell him everything.
Not the clinical version, the one I've parceled out in careful pieces over the past few weeks. The real version.
The small criticisms that escalated to constant control.
The isolation from everyone I loved. The way he convinced me my family didn't understand me like he did.
The nights I cried myself to sleep. The mornings I couldn't get out of bed.
The time he took my phone, my keys, and my clothes and told me I'd get them back when I learned to ask permission.
The apologies that always came with blame.
The way he used my desires against me, made me feel like what I wanted in the bedroom was proof I deserved to be treated badly everywhere else.
Cole's hands curl into fists on the table. "Gemma—"
"Let me finish." My voice doesn't waver. "I need to say all of it."
He nods, jaw tight, and I keep going.
The safewords he taught me to use and then punished me for using. The aftercare he never provided. The hollow, crushing emptiness that followed every intimate encounter—the drop I thought was normal because I didn't know any better.
By the time I finish, I'm crying and Cole's gone completely still—the kind of still that comes before an explosion.
Cole reaches across the table and takes my hands. His grip is fierce, but gentle, and his eyes are red-rimmed and raw.
"I'm going to kill him." His voice shakes. "I'm going to drive to Seattle and I'm going to put my hands around his throat and I'm going to watch the light go out of his eyes."
"No, you're not."
"Gemma—"
"No." I squeeze his hands, holding him in place. "You're not going to throw your life away for him. He's not worth it. And I need you here. I need my brother, not a vigilante who's going to end up in prison."
"He deserves to die for what he did to you."
"Maybe he does. But that's not your call to make.
And it's not what I need." I hold his gaze, keeping my voice even though my heart is pounding.
"What I need is for you to be here. To support me while I file the restraining order and rebuild my life.
To let me handle this my way, with the law and with the Brotherhood backing me up. Can you do that?"
Cole is silent for a long moment. His jaw works, and the war plays out behind his eyes—the part of him that wants to protect me through violence fighting against the part that knows I'm right.
"Will said the same thing," he finally admits. "When the background check came back. He talked me down."
"Will's a smart man."
"He's in love with you." Cole says it flatly, like a statement of fact.
The words hit me sideways. "What?"
"You didn't know?" He almost laughs. "Jesus, Gem. The man can't take his eyes off you. He nearly took my head off when I suggested you might be better off somewhere else."
"That doesn't mean—"
"Yeah. It does." Cole's voice softens. "And unless I'm wrong, you feel the same way."
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Because he's not wrong.
"I think I do," I finally say. "I think I have for a while, even before I let myself admit it."
Cole nods slowly, processing this. "He's my best friend. And you're my sister." He meets my eyes. "If he hurts you, I'll kill him."
"He won't hurt me."
"No, he won't." Cole's mouth curves slightly. "But I'm still your brother. Warning him is my job."
We sit in silence for a while, the pasta sauce cooling on the stove, the evening light fading through the windows. Eventually Cole stands, pulls me into a hug, and holds me for a long time without saying anything.
When he lets go, his eyes are clearer. "I'm proud of you," he says. "For getting out. For telling me. For being strong enough to do this your way."
"I learned from watching Will." The words come out before I can stop them. "The way he leads. It's not about control. It's about protecting without smothering. Giving people room to make their own choices while making sure they know you've got their back."
"Yeah. That's Will." Cole shakes his head. "Look at you, getting all philosophical."
"Shut up."
"There she is." He grins. "Welcome back, Gem."
I smile, and for the first time in years, it feels real.
That night, I drive to Will's house.
I've never been in it before. It's a small craftsman on a quiet street near the water, the kind of house that looks lived-in without being cluttered. A motorcycle sits in the driveway, and the porch light glows warm against the darkness.