Page 55 of Ruined

"We're not giving her to him," I say, the words coming out more forcefully than intended.

Damiano turns, studying me with new interest. "No," he agrees after a moment. "We're not. But I need to understand why you're so certain about this, Noah."

I struggle to find words that won't reveal too much. "Ivan wants her for more than her music. You've seen how he looks at her. And you know what he does to women. What he'll do to her." I pause, forcing myself to meet Damiano's gaze. "I can't let that happen."

"Can't?" Damiano repeats, his eyebrow raising slightly. "Or won't?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I'm not ready to address.

"Does it matter?" I finally ask.

Damiano returns to his desk, sitting down with the deliberate movements of a man weighing lives in his hands. "It might. Seventy-two hours isn't much time to prepare for war, Noah. Not unless we're absolutely certain it's worth it."

"It's worth it," I say, the words coming out harder than I intended. I take a breath, steadying myself.

"What's the plan?" I ask, scanning the documents.

I stay in the bedroom after Noah leaves, my back pressed against the headboard, knees pulled tight to my chest. The sheets still smell like him. I push them away.

I don't want to face Matteo. His knowing smirk would be too much right now. He'd make some crude comment about Noah and me, and I might actually slap him. Better to stay here, locked away with my thoughts. My shameful, confusing thoughts.

What was I thinking?

I wasn't thinking. That's the problem. My body took over, responding to Noah like he was oxygen and I was drowning. The way his hands felt on my skin, the weight of him covering me, the sounds he made when?—

No. I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars. This can't happen again.

Noah Rivera isn't just some guy I met at a bar. He's my kidnapper. He's dangerous. He kills people. And here I am, falling into bed with him.

I laugh bitterly. My father would be horrified. The perfect Evelyn Anderson, trained since childhood to be disciplined and controlled, throwing herself at a man who took her against her will. But maybe that's exactly why I did it—to finally break free from the cage my father built around me.

Only to land in another cage. Noah's cage.

I reach for my violin case at the foot of the bed, running my fingers along its familiar edges. At least this is still mine. The only thing that truly is.

My body aches in places I've forgotten about. It's been a long time since I've been with anyone. David was my last and that ended over a year ago. He was safe. Predictable. Nothing like Noah.

Noah probably does this all the time. Takes women to bed, makes them feel like they're the only one who's ever mattered, then discards them. I'm just another conquest. A convenient body to amuse himself with while he's keeping me prisoner.

So why did it feel so different? The way he looked at me, touched me, like he was memorizing every inch...

It doesn't matter. It was just sex. My body wanted release from the stress, the fear, the uncertainty. That's all it was. Biology. Chemistry. Nothing more.

I hear Matteo moving around in the living room, the sound of the TV, his footsteps. He'll be waiting for me to emerge, ready with his teasing comments and knowing glances.

He can wait forever for all I care.

I pull the sheets back up, hating how I inhale deeply when Noah's scent surrounds me again. This won't happen again. I won't let it.

When Noah returns I'll be cold. Distant. I'll remind him that I'm his prisoner, not his lover.

No matter what my traitorous body wants.

I must have fallen asleep, curled up with my thoughts. The sound of the bedroom door opening startles me awake. Noah stands in the doorframe, his broad shoulders nearly filling the space. The room has grown dark with evening shadows and his face is half-hidden in the dimness.

"You hungry?" His voice is neutral, carefully stripped of emotion.

I sit up, pulling the sheet around me like armor. My hair falls in tangles around my face and I push it back, trying to look composed. Like I haven't spent hours overthinking what happened between us.

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