Page 11 of Owned
"Did you kill him?" Elena asks again, and I'm stuck. stuck. I should have killed him. I think about doing it every day, but instead I have him stashed away, safe but isolated, guarded by some of my most trusted men.
Why? I can't even answer the question myself. Maybe because Elena makes me soft.
The velvet ring box I'd picked up hours ago felt like a lead weight in my pocket, the carefully thought-out conclusion to the plan that started with kidnapping Elena slowly unravelling.
Dammit. If I could have just kept that secret for a few more weeks, everything would have worked out fine.
She wasn't going to like either answer, but she'd probably hate me more if she thought I'd killed him instead of kidnapping him. Beaumont is scum, but he isn't my enemy. The only reason I had been forced to keep him out of the way was that, unlike Laurent, he has the money to track down Elena. I didn't think it likely he'd want his ex-bride-to-be back so badly that he'd hire mercs fromanother crime family to try and take her, but it wasn't worth the risk.
I shove my hand in my pocket and grip the velvet box. I'd been so damn close to cleaning everything up and keeping Elena at my side forever. No more hiding, no more bubble. Everyone would have known who she belonged to.
Still, I had to know something. "If I did, would you wash your hands of me? Even if it was to protect you?"
Her answer is immediate, but I swear there is something close to hesitation in her eyes, "Yes. He wasn't dangerous, Adrian. He didn't even care about me, not really."
Misplaced anger rises in me, and I snarl, "He should suffer for even thinking about touching you!" Elena takes a step back, but I wasn't done. "I didn't fucking kill him. At least not yet."
"W-what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I'll end anyone that stands between me having you. Charles, Laurent, anyone."
I can see the dawning horror on her face. "You would have...my father..."
"To have you? Yes. That was crystal clear from the moment we met, but I tried to be a little more fucking noble for you, Elena. But I failed. I'm not a good man." I swallow, blood pressure pounding in my ears. "So go ahead. Tell me that you want nothing to do with me. That I'm a monster. That you'll never touch me again."
Her wide, blue eyes are fixed on my face, searching for something, a crack in my armor, a hint of that man she knows, has experienced first hand, the man who makes love to her andbuys her art supplies. She won't find him right now. He's buried under the cold, hard truth of what I am, and it's better she learns it now.
"You...you're crazy," she whispers, a tremor in her voice.
"Maybe," I admit, closing the remaining distance between us, my hand shooting out to wrap around her wrist. It's not a violent grip, but it's unyielding. She's not getting away from this conversation. "You think I'm a monster now? You should have seen me a week ago, when I was still planning on blowing up your wedding and having my much deserved revenge. But I looked at you, and I changed my mind. This," I gesture between us, "This is me trying."
Elena looks down at where I'm holding her wrist and then back up at my face, tears cutting wet paths down her cheeks. "Do you care about me, or do you just want to own me?"
Both, I thought. But it was more complicated than that. It wasn't ownership that I wanted; it was simply her, every atom of her, and I wanted Elena to willingly, happily allow herself to belong to me. The whole point was that I could keep her against her will if I really wanted to, but what I needed above all else was for her to choose me, and for the world to know that, too.
"I want you, Elena. I...fuck. I just want you, okay? I don't know what else to say."
Elena tugs her hand away, and I let her go, anger and an impending sense of loss waging a war inside of me. When she finally manages to speak, she says, "I don't know what to say either."
Say you love me, I thought, clutching at the ring box in my pocket again, Say you love me and I will give you the world.
But she didn't.
"Go upstairs, Elena," I grit out, my voice raw, "I'll have dinner sent up. Go. Now." I turn my back on her because I can't stand to see the rejection there.
I listen to her slow retreat, the sound of her bare feet on the marble stairs, and then the soft click of the guest bedroom door closing. I'm left alone, the silence pressing in on me as I walk over to the bar and pour myself another drink.
Then, I take it outside, and hurl the tumbler of scotch as far as I can and watch it arc through the air gracefully, silently, before crashing into rocks and shattering into a million glass shards.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, and start to look up flights.
6
ELENA
Once alone inside the guest room, where I'd spent my first night here at the villa, I let myself go. Throwing myself on the bed, I cry until I can barely breathe, my face buried in the pillow.
Nothing makes sense. Adrian says he didn't hurt Charles, but I have no proof. He swears that he would have killed my father to have me, but I know my father is still alive. He tells me that he doesn't want to own me, but keeps me locked inside a lonely bubble of his own creation.
