Page 18 of Entangled
“Good morning, princess, or should I say evening?” He said in a way of greeting, and it took but a moment before I realized his voice was the same I’d heard when I was being kidnapped from my bed.
A sadness hit my chest at the way he said princess. I had been too out of it when he’d called me that the first time, but now hearing it come from his lips only reminded me of my father.
It was what he’d always called me and nobody had used that nickname for me since.
“Evening?” I asked, ignoring the nostalgic sadness in my chest, my voice hoarser than I expected it to be.
“You’ve slept the entire day away. Sleeping like the dead,” he replied. “You didn’t even stir when the housekeeper knocked on your door for meals.”
My stomach grumbled in response, making me well aware of how hungry I currently was.
My drugged state, lack of peaceful sleep, and stress had caused me to go into a long overdue sleep that trumped needing to feed myself. I hadn’t felt this recharged in my life.
“Is it already past dinner time?” I asked, almost afraid to feel any more vulnerable in his presence. I’d gone without food for extended periods of time before, thanks to my husband’s negative opinion about my figure. So I wasn’t sure what toexpect in response to my question, fully prepared to go to bed hungry.
“I’m afraid so. The cook has gone home for the night,” he replied. My face fell, and I could tell by the expression of pity on his face that he caught it. I internally berated myself for showing him my vulnerability, and seeming so weak in front of him. But I was so fucking tired of being strong all the time when I didn’t always need to be.
“But I’m sure there’s something we could scrounge up,” Kade said, in a surprisingly reassuring tone, as if he ate late night snacks all the time. He walked towards me, quickly closing the gap between us, before holding out his hand for me to grab.
I hesitantly put my hand in his, feeling the warmth of his scarred and calloused hands.
“This way,” Kade said in a tone that left no room for argument. I could tell he was doing it in a way to make me feel more comfortable, which shocked me to my core. What did he get out of being nice to me? Was he just doing it because he felt bad for me, or was he genuinely kind behind his monster mask?
I didn’t know which reasoning would be worse, nor had I expected such a gentleness to someone of his caliber, and it threw my brain entirely out of whack.
Every single story I’d ever heard of him painted him as a monster, but I should know better than to judge someone based on what someone else had said.
I stood up, feeling lightheaded from the lack of food, swaying on my feet slightly. Kade put his hand on my elbow, steadying me in a heartbeat. His fingertips felt like fire against my skin, and I tugged my arm away from reflex and instinct.
“I never knew a member of the Mafia could be such a gentleman.” I quipped, doing anything to kill the awkward tension I felt spreading throughout the room at my reaction to his touch.
I didn’t know what the fuck to do or how to act around him or these strange feelings I had.
“Be careful, princess. I can be anything you want me to be,” He warned, a wicked smile lacing his features. “What would you like me to be? Someone who loses his gentle touch?”
Against my better judgment, I could have melted right on the spot at his words, and the potential underlying meaning of them. I was a married woman… technically. But I’d be wrong to deny the need that pooled in my belly to see just how non-gentle this man before me could be.
But again, a voice inside my head warned against it.
For once, woman, use your brains instead of your vagina.
No matter how his touch may make me feel, positive or not, I didn’t know if it was something I was willing to find out more about—especially not anytime soon.
I had already been handed over to one monster against my will. I didn’t know if I would survive finding out I’d fallen into a trap for a second time in my life.
I squashed the inappropriate feelings into a tiny, manageable box and flung them into the darkest parts of my heart where I hoped they wouldn’t bother resurfacing again.
“I don’t think what I want truly matters here,” I finally said, realizing he was staring at me and waiting for a response.
He seemed to ponder my words for only a moment before he replied. “What you want should always matter.”
Damn this man and his words.
“Not in this life, it doesn’t,” I scoffed before stepping out of the bedroom door after him, determined to keep my resolve about me and keep that box inside hidden.
We madeour way down the obscenely large staircase before moving into the kitchen, his hand never letting go of my own. He was catering to me as if he was afraid I may run away—which wasn’t entirely out of the question I suppose.
But what exactly would I be running back to? An abusive husband who gave me a room all to myself and never slept in the same bed with me even after we had sex? Yes, let me just skip merrily on my way back to that shit show.
