Chapter 23 Challenging Control
CHALLENGING CONTROL
The cab ride back to my apartment was more like a countdown.
Every red light was a mercy that also felt like a threat.
Every turn through familiar streets tightened something in my chest until I forced myself to breathe.
I stared out of the window, watching the city blur past, trying to convince myself that I had done the right thing.
Bo had told me to play along. To be clever.
To gather information and to stay close.
But playing along required steadiness, and I was beginning to realize that I did not possess nearly as much of it as I had thought. Certainly not enough to play this good girl game by walking freely into my own prison.
Oblivion unsettled me in ways that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way my pulse betrayed me around him. That was the real danger. Not the power. Not the threats.
The pull.
I wanted to lie and blame it all on some kind of spell he must be casting, but deep down, I knew the truth.
That, for some insane reason that went far beyond attraction, I was starting to feel something for him.
Something dangerous and forbidden. Something foolish and utterly reckless.
Which was the true reason I had run from him, and which was why I would keep running.
Which meant that by the time the cab stopped outside my building, I had almost convinced myself that running was not cowardice but strategy.
It was self-preservation. If I disappeared for long enough, if I could stay hidden just until Bo found me, then he could take me to this other Enforcer.
To this secure sanctuary he spoke of, where, perhaps, this would all tilt back in my favor.
All I needed was time.
Inside my apartment, the silence pressed in around me.
I moved quickly, too quickly, pulling a suitcase from beneath my bed and throwing it open on the mattress.
Clothes were dragged from hangers without thought, shoved inside in uneven folds.
Toiletries swept from the bathroom shelf into a wash bag. My laptop. Charger. Passport.
I didn’t have a plan beyond that of leaving, nor did I know where I would go. I just knew I couldn’t stay. But then halfway through stuffing a sweater into the case, a knock sounded at the door.
My heart stopped.
For one hopeful, desperate second, I thought it might be Bo. I crossed the apartment quickly, convinced it would be him, and opened the door without checking.
Unfortunately, I was wrong… very, very wrong.
It wasn’t Bo.
It was him.
Oblivion stood on the threshold as though he had always belonged there, one hand resting casually in the pocket of his coat, the other at his side. His expression was calm and composed, but his eyes held something darker, almost weary.
“You’re starting to make this a habit,” he said evenly, and the air left my lungs in a rush.
I moved instinctively to close the door, but his hand shot out, palm bracing firmly against it.
The wood hit resistance with a dull thud, and for a split second, we stood there, tension stretched between us.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
It wasn’t loud, but then again, it didn’t need to be.
He stepped forward, not aggressively, but with the unshakable certainty of someone who had already decided how this would go. I stumbled back as he entered, and he closed the door behind him slowly, the click of the lock echoing far too loudly in my small space.
He folded his arms across his chest and regarded me with the slight raise of his brow.
As for me, I panicked.
I didn’t think. I just turned and bolted toward the bedroom, but I barely made it two steps before his hand closed around my wrist and pulled me back. His other arm came around my waist, holding me firmly against him, stealing the air from my lungs.
“Let me go!” I struggled, twisting against his grip despite how pointless it was.
His strength was undeniable as he remained unmoving, even while I fought against him with all the force I could muster.
But then, I wasn’t surprised, not when I could feel every hard ridge of his muscles beneath the fabric of his clothes, making me question if there was a single part of him that was soft.
Well, if there was, it certainly wasn’t between the junction of his thighs, that was for damn sure!
The hard line of his body against my back betrayed just how little distance existed between us as he kept me anchored to his chest.
“Not until you calm down,” he replied, his voice a low whisper against my ear.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he added, more firmly this time as I tried one last time to fight against him.
That impressive imprint of his manhood dug even harder against my back had me questioning if having me squirming against him was actually turning him on.
“I don’t care!” I shouted in response.
“But I do,” he replied, rumbling the words out in clear displeasure at the idea.
However, instead of questioning why, I thrashed again, yet his hold did not tighten painfully as I thought it would. No, it simply adjusted, anchoring me without bruising and without cruelty.
“Drop the pretenses,” I snapped, my breath coming unevenly.
“If you’re here, it means I’m your prisoner,” I argued, unwilling to let go of the fight. He exhaled slowly, and I felt the movement against my back.
“If that is what you prefer to call it, then yes. For now, you are,” he said at last, and the blunt honesty stole the fight from my lungs for a fraction of a second.
“So, stop running, Eliza,” he ordered softly, and I went still at the sound of his gentle tone. Or perhaps it was the way he said my name like that, like a lover would say it against naked skin.
“Let me go,” I said again, but this time my voice was quieter, causing him to sigh before finally granting me my wish.
The sudden absence of his arms nearly unbalanced me, and I whipped around to face him, backing away until the edge of the kitchen counter pressed into my spine. He remained where he was, hands loose at his sides now, watching me as though I were something fragile and volatile all at once.
“So, what’s the plan?” I demanded, folding my arms tightly across myself.
“Drag me out of here kicking and screaming?” I asked bitterly. But a faint, humorless curve touched his mouth at that.
“I could quite easily put you over my shoulder and carry you out of this building… forcefully,” he replied evenly, adding this last word as a clear threat.
“I’ll scream,” I threatened in return, but he just shrugged his large, muscular shoulders.
“Go ahead,” he said, and the calm certainty in his tone made my stomach twist.
“No one else will hear it, and those who do will see precisely what I wish them to. Be careful not to assume you know what I’m capable of, Eliza,” he continued, and I swallowed hard because of it.
“My new jailer,” I muttered, making him grin unapologetically.
“Call me what you wish, but this is happening, either way. Now, you may come peacefully, or I will simply take you. The choice remains yours,” he said without heat, and for some reason, that made it all the more frightening.
The ease with which he spoke of being able to steal me away from my world without a trace, well… it was the stuff of nightmares.
My jaw tightened and, for a fleeting second, I considered making him prove it, just to spite him. Instead, I pushed off the counter and strode toward the door with as much defiance as I could muster.
His arm lifted smoothly, palm bracing against the wall beside the frame, blocking my path without touching me.
“Ah, not so fast, little mortal,” he said softly, and I hated the shiver it sent through me.
“I suggest you pack a bag,” he added, and my whole body went rigid, the implication settling heavily in my stomach. Packing a bag meant he wasn’t planning on letting me go anytime soon.
“Fine!” I snapped, the word clipped enough to make others flinch, but not Oblivion. Not the man who seemed to be enjoying this new turn of events. As if he could now drop all pretenses and move right along to playing jailor.
I bent, snatched up my handbag from the counter, and without looking at him, I turned and marched toward my bedroom, dropping it on my bed with a huff.
But then, when I heard his footsteps behind me, I spun abruptly and threw my hand out to stop him, only to collide squarely with his chest.
Solid.
Unyielding.
And clearly, the impact startled me more than it did him.
His gaze dropped to where my palm rested flat against his shirt, and for a second, neither of us moved.
Heat rushed to my face, and I withdrew my hand quickly, almost gingerly, as though I had touched something that might burn right through me.
“You’re not following me,” I stated, attempting authority I didn’t quite feel. He looked at me steadily, something restrained simmering just beneath the surface.
“Forgive me if my trust has its limits,” he replied, voice cool but edged now.
And there it was again… Not anger. Not frustration… But disappointment.
Something that struck deeper than I expected.
“I…I…” I stammered, unsure of what to say. However, he didn’t suffer the same infliction as I did, as he knew exactly what to say.
“We were having coffee,” he continued, quieter but no less firm.
“And you walked away.”
I flinched before I could stop myself, hating the regret in his tone. So, after a few tense moments of silence, I released a deep sigh and told him,
“If you want me to pack a bag, I’ll do it, but I want to do it privately,” I insisted, lifting my chin, but he clearly had other ideas.
“No,” he stated firmly, making me roll my eyes and argue,
“What do you think I’m going to do? Jump out of my window from five floors up? Sprout wings or fashion a knotted rope out of my sheets?”
“It’s not you learning to fly that concerns me,” he said smoothly.
“It’s that you’ve already proven you’re quite capable of disappearing in other ways.”