Chapter 9
nine
-Serena-
I didn't sleep for the entire flight back to Vegas, and neither did Set, but he didn't come back near me for the whole flight.
I don't blame him, though. I hurt him. It doesn't take a genius to see that.
I'll just have to find a way to fix things eventually. Because now I'm certain, there’s no getting away from him. I’m his, no matter what that means.
My knee still hurts, and at one point, the flight attendant brought me an Advil, which I didn't request but gladly took. At least I can walk better now. I even managed to make it to the bathroom on my own.
Mr. Cat is a traitor. He stayed with Set the whole flight, even though I called him several times. I bet that stroked Set’s ego. Now, not only does my body betray me around my mobster, but so does my cat.
As soon as we land, Set hands me a phone so I can text the homeowner, just like told me to. The man has everything figured out. And I mean everything, because by the time we get to his penthouse, Mr. Cat has his own bowl of food and litter box.
I don't even want to ask how those got there because I don't want to know what he’ll expect in return for his kindness. But I do appreciate the gesture. And for a second, I wonder if easing up on him might not be the worst idea.
That's only for a second. The thought dies as soon as I take a turn to my old bedroom and I see his head shaking as a no.
"You’re under my watch from now on. No more screwing things up.
Next time you try to run away, I will fucking kill you," he growls, sensing that he let his guard down too much with me.
"The only reason I haven't done it yet is that I know all this change messed with your head.
But that still doesn't excuse what you did. "
"I got scared," I admit, meeting his eyes, not sure myself anymore why I ran away.
"You got scared." He snarls, and I can see his calm washing away as his fists clench like they’ve suddenly turned into weapons.
"I fucking trusted you, and you broke it.
I fucking opened up to you, and you broke that too.
I fucking gave you my whole world, and you threw that away.
And you're going to pay for that for a long fucking time. "
It's only then I realize how much damage I've done. I know I've hurt him, I don’t need him to say it. I fucked up—bad. Still, I can't apologize again because either he doesn't trust me, or he doesn't care. Truth is, I wouldn't trust me, either.
I'm just about to step into his bedroom when I hear him growl behind me, a dangerous intonation in the sound: "You considered yourself to be my toy. I'll show you what being just a toy really feels like."
A cold chill runs down my spine, making the hair on my neck stand on end and my breath to quicken. All I can do is wait in the corner of his room like a kid who just messed up, and is waiting for punishment.
He follows me in and stares me down for a second, but except for that, he ignores me completely and starts unbuttoning his shirt with unrushed moves.
The dark tattoos peeking out from beneath make me lightheaded like they hold some kind of spell over me.
I swear he looks even hotter than the last time I was here, and that’s not something easy to pull off.
He doesn't stop undressing until he's down to just his boxers. Only then does his gaze land on my body, and, in the blink of an eye, he’s next to me. "Raise your hands," he says, grabbing the hem of my dress and yanking it over my head until I'm completely naked.
I feel so fucking exposed that I want to cover myself. But I don’t, even though his hungry eyes drag over every inch of me, making my skin erupt in goosebumps.
I expect him to do something to me. And even though I’m sure I don’t want him to touch me... the fact that he doesn’t kind of pisses me off.
As if to make it worse, he pulls out one of his shirts from a shelf and starts dressing me by slipping it over my head.
He’s so unpredictable, I can never anticipate his next move. And that messes with my mind at the ultimate level.
Last time I was in his bedroom, I had doubts about whether I really wanted him or not. No doubts now. Now I'm just fucking wet, especially after that little stunt he pulled on the plane.
"Get in bed," he orders, and I happily oblige, snuggling between the sheets, just glad to be in a bed again—even if it's Set's.
After turning off the light, he joins me, slinging a heavy arm around my waist and drawing me toward him like I'm his damn stuffed animal. I really never know what to expect from him–or from myself lately. My body’s restless beneath the sheets, hyper-aware of his presence, as if it’s preparing to endure some kind of blissful torment.
But the real torment comes in just a couple of minutes.
Everything goes numb, and his breath deepens, which tells me he's fallen asleep.
I’ve never seen him fall asleep so fast; like he's been restless for too long and finally found some peace.
Since I'm tired too, I let my eyes close, and for some strange reason, I don't feel anxious, despite everything that happened up til today. I feel at peace, like things are the way they were supposed to be, even if I'm here against my will, again.
I don't even know how long we slept. It’s probably close to midday, and I have a feeling Set didn’t move just so he wouldn’t wake me.
I stay in bed for another hour, and he still doesn't move. It's only when I get up to go to the bathroom that he starts stirring, but I manage to take a shower before he's fully awake.
"Coffee?" I ask, hoping it’s a good enough excuse to get out of the bedroom before he calls me back to bed, because, to be honest, I won't be able to resist him.
Not sure I even want to resist him.
"I’m gonna hit the shower first," he says, sliding out from beneath the sheets, lazily stretching his arms like he’s showing off his pristine condition.
Damn him and his perfect body.
"I'll be in the kitchen." I slip away before he can slip in another word and start making coffee for both of us.
Luckily, I still remember how the espresso machine works, and by the time he’s out of the shower, our steaming mugs are waiting for us.
There's an awkward tension between us. Like, with the first thing I say, I might make him snap. And I’m not wrong to think that. "I haven't seen the guards around," I say, noting how eerily quiet the apartment is today.
"Are you planning on running again?" he asks, arching an eyebrow as he sips his coffee.
"No," I say, somewhat repentant—and I mean it.
"I don't let my people in the penthouse anymore, except for the maid, but she announces herself when she comes. I figured you wouldn’t want to be surrounded by my men."
"I don't. Thank you. I was only asking to know if I should find a robe." I add, since the T-shirt he gave me is a little too see-through to be walking around like that.
I was expecting some witty line about me not wearing clothes at all or something to get on my nerves. Instead, he seems to be distracted by something else. "How's the leg?" He looks at me with the same coldness he's showed ever since I came back.
"It's better." I step from behind the kitchen island so he can see it. I took the bandage off in the shower and I haven't put a new one on yet.
"Don't cover it for a few hours. It needs to breathe." That’s the last thing he says before walking off to the living room to look over some papers.
I know he’s not much of a talker but I’m starting to think I prefer arguing with him to this weird silence. Never thought that him ignoring me could hit me that hard.
Still wrapped up in work, he orders food for both of us. Just in time, I was starting to get hungry, and I don't think he trusts my cooking skills too much. Not that he’d have any reason to. I don’t trust them either.
After we finish eating, I ask him if I can go to my old bedroom and grab some clothes since I can't wear the same shirt for the rest of my life. I leave the second part out and get his approval, even if it comes with a small grunt.
It feels a little strange going back to my old wardrobe, seeing a part of myself I'd been missing—even though it wasn’t really mine to begin with. Still, I was getting sick and tired, constantly feeling like I missed this place.
I throw on a pair of leggings, a different oversized shirt, and a bra. Set didn't mention any kind of plans for today, so I’m about to see what’s on TV because if I don't keep myself busy, I’ll end up saying something stupid sooner or later.
But just as I’m heading back to the living room, I realize Set has company.
As I walk down the hallway, I catch sight of the man visiting. I don't get close, but there’s something about him that’s strangely familiar.
Is he related to Set?
His body posture, height, and defined muscles make the two almost impossible to tell apart, except for the hair color. His face is strikingly handsome, too—chiseled jaw, sharp nose, platinum blond hair swept back, though messier than Set’s.
The closer I get, the more certain I am that they’re probably brothers.
The man in front of me seems even more dangerous than my mobster—which honestly should be a record.
His eyes aren't even slightly calm. They’re straight damn mad, like he’s as unpredictable as a snake.
That alone makes me pivot back to the bedroom.
I don't get far though before I hear my name.
But it isn't someone calling me. The two are talking about me, and judging by the edge in Set's voice, he’s not pleased.