Page 70 of Cry, Little Dove

“And you shouldn’t, either. I don’t want you anywhere near the dark web or the people I deal with.” He takes a scalpel from the operating cart and presses the handle into my hand. “Time to open your present, darlin’.

“I—what?”

“You wanna be my partner, don’t you?”

More than anything, I think.Is this a test to prove my loyalty?

“You want me to cut Nate?”

“Not just cut him. This is about revenge. Doesn’t he deserve some payback? This asshole ruined your life, little dove,” Cain purrs, his voice dark as velvet, seductive as the devil himself.

Revenge.

Perverse excitement slithers through my chest, winding around my ribs like a treacherous serpent.

Payback.

Tears flow from Nate’s pleading eyes as they ping-pong between the scalpel and my face. I huff. That’s the most genuine emotion he’s ever shown me. The cracked, rose-tinted glasses I used to view him through shatter entirely.

He’s not that handsome. Maybe a lukewarm 4 on a good day, and today is not a good day for him. He isn’t particularly funny or charming, either, and he sucks big time at conversations. Every word leaving his mouth is only about him. Hanging out with him always felt like a chore he reluctantly agreed to, and the sex wasn’t even mediocre. I always had to finish myself off while he rolled over to sleep.

Why did I ever put up with Nate? Just because he was the first guy to pay more than minimal attention to me?

Cain has shown me what I’ve been missing. What Ideserve.

I deserve a man who makes an effort. A man who loves me for who I am, all my flaws and my strengths included. A man who commits to me, and you can’t commit much more than fucking kidnapping me and holding me prisoner. A man who won’t make fun of my fantasies and cares about my pleasure.

A man whocares about me,full stop.

Cain’s body presses hot and hard against my back. His large frame curves around me while his fingers draw along my neck, gathering my hair and sweeping it over my shoulder. He kisses the side of my throat, a graze of his teeth coaxing a low moan from me.

“I don’t know about this, Cain,” I murmur.

What a stupid lie. It’s not that I don’t want revenge. I do.

Fuck, I want Nate to suffer so badly.

When he stole my savings, I often laid awake, fantasizing what I’d do if I ever found his lying ass. Many of those made-up scenarios included a baseball bat and his knees or a pair of bricks taken to his small, wrinkly balls. Imagining his pain while I smashed them was always my favorite part. But even if I got the chance to enact my revenge, I wasn’t sure I had it in me, such brutality.

My whole life, I considered myself a good person, and good people don’t hurt others. When good people get hurt, they forgive and turn the other cheek. Good people don’t hold grudges or imagine crushing their ex’s testicles.

It’s easier to push aside my socially programmed morals when it comes to Cain. I haven’t actually seen him kill so far, which allows a certain level of compartmentalization. And though his callous sadism frightens me, it turns me on equally as much.

A heady rush of adrenaline bursts through me.

Cain is a monster, but he ismymonster. Now, he wants to turn me into a monster, too. He wants to shape me in his image. It’s a one-way street into the darkness, and if I set a foot on this path beside him, I know I will never see the light again.

Cain’s tongue slides over the shell of my ear. “You fought so hard to make it, didn’t you, Erica? You tried desperately to get away from the stigma of your folks’ addictions. All you wanted to prove is that an innocent little girl from the foster system ain’t doomed to repeat her parents’ mistakes.”

My breath hitches. I never told anyone about my past. As soon as I left the orphanage, I put that horrible part of my life behind me and vowed to erase it from my memory as best I could.

Cain continues whispering, his voice soft and warm. “Child Protective Services took you after your mom OD’d and your dad—high as a fucking kite himself—lost his shit when he found her dead in the bedroom. He smashed up your place until neighbors called the police. You probably don’t even remember. You were barely 2 years old.”

His words cut deep, but they don’t wound me. I feel lighter with every word leaving his lips. It’s like he’s carving out the pressure inside my chest, cutting away the growth of shame on my heart to finally let it beat unburdened.

“Where did you hear about this?” I ask.

“The personal data of random citizens is surprisingly cheap. Finding out more about you was the first thing I did aftercorrectingyour medical files.”

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