Chapter 32 Slade #2
I tune out the rest of what the announcer says as a guard escorts Thea offstage. I waste no time, following them out as he guides her to a room.
“Thea,” I whisper once we’re in the hall.
She ignores me.
The guard turns around toward me, and I nearly growl at him. He keys into a room, but I stop him. “There’s no need. Take her cuffs. We’re leaving.”
He nods and bends down, unlocking her cuffs at her feet, scoops up the chains, then stands to unlock her wrists. He moves down the hallway and disappears through another door, leaving us both standing in the hall, silent.
Thea stares ahead at the wall, and I shift. “We need to go.”
She ignores me, crossing her arms.
“Thea. We need to leave.”
Another door with an escorted girl opens, and she’s shut inside.
Thea stares after the guard walking away, and when she turns back, a tear falls from her lashes. “You promised,” she whispers.
I open my mouth, then shut it, opting to grab her arms instead. “We’re leaving.”
“Well, you paid for me, so I guess I’m at your service.”
“Thea,” I growl. “Let’s go.” I pull her toward me, and she bumps into me with a thump. Her red lingerie grazes my suit, and her eyes flick upward, sharp and … judgmental.
I drag her. Did she really think I was going to leave her for another man to use?
She doesn’t fight me, but she doesn’t make it easy as I tug her along the hallway and key into the elevator. We ride in silence until we hit the parking garage. My driver was summoned the moment Thea stepped on stage, so he waits with the limo door open.
“Sir, how was your evening?”
Thea issues him a fake smile and shucks off my grip before she dives into the car.
I nod at him and follow her. What do I say? How do I make this right?
I look at her, seated beside me, and suddenly I’m angry she’s angry. How can she not want to be with me?
Our driver takes off, and as soon as the car lurches forward, she reaches out to stabilize herself, except she notices the tiny jar of dandelions in the illuminated beverage station.
I placed them in the cup holder—what’s meant for thousand-dollar glasses of wine has a jar full of weeds in them. For her.
Always for her.
She freezes, staring at the jar. More tears swell and drop from her eyes. Hell, I hate it. “Why did you bid on me, Slade? There are so many girls locked in that prison who need a reprieve from the assault and demand on their bodies, and you couldn’t give that to them, could you?”
There isn’t a right answer. Could I? Yes. Did every fiber of my being rebel against letting anything happen to the woman—
“Why, Slade?”
“I had to.”
She shakes her head, plucking the bunch of dandelions from the jar with such force that the tops lose a few of their puffy seeds. She shakes them in her fist as more choked sobs rip from her. The tip of her nose is cherry red, and I focus there, trying not to snap.
“They hate me. They think I’ve left them out to dry. I’m the one person who’s gotten out of that hellhole and I’m such a coward that I didn’t do more!”
“You can’t do more, Thea. I’m watched. Everything is under Echelon Vanguard’s watchful eye.
This isn’t a fraternity you can remove yourself from.
This is life and death. It’s not a crime family brotherhood, or an equal partnership where there’s give and take.
This is a deal with the devil—you sell your soul.
I sold my soul! I’m doing what I can to help, to work undercover as much as possible to manipulate things, but …
it’s complicated now. So, don’t ask me to leave you. Don’t. I couldn’t, can’t, won’t.”
“But why?!”
“Because I love you, damn it!” I yell. “Because I could never forgive myself if Graves or that perverted cartel member got their hands on you.”
“Is that some sort of obsessive, possessive thing?” She pulls down the curls around her face, allowing them to stretch and spring up. Then she fidgets with the clip holding half her hair back.
“What? No. Thea, please.”
“I can’t right now, Slade. I asked you …
You promised not to bid on me. The guilt was already eating me alive.
You see this?” She points to her bruised ribs, and I reach out gently to touch them with the pads of my fingertips, but she jerks away.
I huff out an irritated growl. “I don’t blame them for this.
Juliette was right. I shouldn’t be able to just waltz back in there like I hadn’t received special treatment. ”
I snort, shifting the frames on my sweaty face.
“You think Juliette would’ve given the rest of the girls a second thought?
If I’d grabbed her from the Culling that night, saved her, do you think she would be tormented over the girls back there?
Not for one damn minute, Thea. She’d run with it, she’d remain silent in fear for her life, and she’d do whatever was required of her to stay safe.
You’re feeling guilty for surviving, for getting out, when most others wouldn’t, and I love you for it.
But damn it, please don’t hate me because I love you.
Please don’t hate me for doing what comes the most natural for me—protecting you. ”
The rigid lines in her creased brow soften, her eyes shifting into something more tender. “I don’t hate you, Slade. I could never.”
“Do you trust me?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Despite you ignoring your promise not to bid on me? I … yes.”
“Then we need to bide our time, but I think when it’s right—”
“Time? We don’t have time, Slade. Those girls look rough: skinny, used, broken. There won’t be time before the Eight decide they aren’t worth housing anymore, and they’ll Cull them only to bring in new girls. The cycle will repeat. We can’t let that happen. Let me help, let me—”
“No.”
Her eyes bore into mine, and she doesn’t flinch. “Let me, Slade. I will be your—”
“This isn’t up for discussion.” I clench my jaw, knowing what she’s going to say. “There isn’t another position on the Eight available to go through the Severing.”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest and avoids looking at me for the rest of the ride.
The limo turns onto the lake road, slowly approaching the lake house, and the high-alert panic coursing through my veins seeps away. She’s home. We’re home.
When we pull up to the front doors, they open, and Edmond and Stefan shove their way out of them. Red sauce is spilled over Stefan’s white chef coat, and he pulls Edmond’s suit jacket from the back, propelling himself forward first.
Thea wipes at her face and bounds out of the car. Stefan wraps her in a large hug, and Edmond jumps in and strong-arms them both.
I get out and walk past the cuddle session, moving through the doors, hungry and frustrated—no, pissed off. They follow, laughing, while Stefan says he’s finishing dinner, and Edmond tells her he’s freshly pressed her favorite pajamas.
I divert to the dining room, prepared to sit in my seat and wait for my meal like a grouchy ass.
I haven’t eaten since the news she’d been pulled back to EV, haven’t been able to stomach anything.
So, I’m starving, but the nausea is just as bad.
It’s a mixed bag of leftover panic, consuming dread, and worse outcomes swimming in my mind.
Thea walks ahead, I’m assuming to change, and I round the long table and pull out the chair at the head. I stare at the threshold, my back molars grinding.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, slouched down and irritated, but my mind wanders, and I’m startled by Thea rounding the dining room door.
Only she hasn’t changed. She’s still in the red lingerie, with makeup still caked on her face.
It’s the color of deep crimson with a satin sheen that catches the low dining room light.
The bra is nearly all sheer mesh, and the bottoms are just as bad, low on her hips.
She’s got a box of Frosted Flakes under one arm and two bowls with spoons in the other. She attempts to raise them to show me with a grin before spinning and shutting the dining room door.
“Figured you wouldn’t want to wait until Stefan was done with his seven-course meal. I heard your stomach growling all the way here.” She sets the bowls on the table and grabs the brand-new box from under her arm. “Stole this from the pantry before Stefan could see me. Want some?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What are you doing? Why haven’t you changed?”
She smirks but doesn’t answer. Instead, she opens the box, wrestles with the plastic bag inside, and finally, when she gets it open, she pours two large bowls.
“You told me I needed to learn how to dance …” She slides the bowl of cereal toward me, then steps backward, holding my gaze.
“You bid on me tonight. It’s only fair you get a show Congressman. ”
“Thea … What—”
“Nuh-uh, Congressman DuPont.” She brings her index finger to her lips, pursing them gently. “Shh. It’s time for silence. You can do that. Can’t you?”
My eyes widen at her sultry tone, and I can’t help but sit up straighter when she slides a hand up the side of her neck, tilting it back to allow her fingers to brush her jaw.
Her lashes flutter before closing, and while there’s no music, I can’t help but think she’s conjuring some in her head as she sways her hips.
It’s slow and hesitant at first, but then her hips dip side to side.
Her hands move down over her stomach, and I can’t help but imagine the feel of her from the couch those weeks ago.
She touches her ribs and waist, her fingers curling around the hem of her bottom lingerie and twisting with a slight tease.
My mouth is dry, and the cereal in front of me forgotten. Actually—I shove the bowl out of my way with my forearm as I lean forward, doing my best to stay in my seat.
Hell. What is happening? What is she doing to me?
Her eyes flicker to mine, and she studies my face, her gaze dipping to where my jaw is clenched, then to where my right hand is choking the chair arm.
At that, she tugs her lower lip into her mouth and turns, arching her back and unclipping the portion of her hair pulled back.
She lets it down, shaking it. The curls brush against her bare back, and it makes my lungs forget how to breathe.
“Is this okay, Congressman?”
“Damn it, Thea.”
She glances over her shoulder, and the provocative smirk on her lips dies into a frown. She sighs and turns away from me, looking at the wall. “You’re right. I’m no good at this.”
What? “Then why am I one second away from making a mess of you?”
She turns around, looking at me with a burning that begs, that demands.
Her chest rises and falls faster. When one strap slips off her shoulder, my own breaths become suffocating.
I revel in her vulnerability and power working side by side, rendering me undone.
I don’t want to stand, don’t want to move, yet all I want to do is reach for her.
Her hips roll again, and I trace all her curves.
When she slowly dips into a crouch, moving on her hands and knees, I want to destroy something.
“Should I crawl to you?” Her eyes are wide and eager.
No.
I snap.
Standing, the chair crashes behind me, the crack of wood splitting the hushed silence as it hits the floor, but I don’t look back, nor do I care. I stalk toward her, and she freezes, moving to sit back on her heels and looking up as I approach. Her lips part, as if she’s about to say something.
I can barely think. Her hips. Her mouth. Her.
When I reach her, I wrap a hand around her jaw enough to tilt her face to mine. My fingers flex around the edge of her cheek, thumb brushing her mouth as she blinks up at me.
My entire body shakes. My chest is tight—this must be what a heart attack feels like because my body is warm and wired. Alive with a coiling that makes me want to do the wrong things. Be the wrong person. So delicate, so beautiful. Like a dandelion. One huff, I could shatter her.
I pull her up. “Thea, you crawl for no one.”