Destroyed

6

Roan

There were certain things in life that made sense and others that made no sense at all. Most of my life didn’t make sense—I had no freedom, no right to my future. I obeyed orders: slept when I was told to sleep, ate when I was told to eat, and killed when I was told to kill.

But my ruthless conditioning, the coldness that imprisoned my life, had cracked and splinted and begun to thaw.

And it was all because of one person.

One person who didn’t fear me. One person who pushed me beyond my boundaries and helped me find a way to wellness.

One person who could make it better.

I knew it was only a matter of time before I ruined it. But I wasn’t strong enough to stop it.

Tonight, I did the one thing that made the least sense of all.

I bought a girl.

And I would never let her go.

I couldn’t meet her eyes.

I couldn’t look at the red marks on her neck without being crippled by guilt. There was no correct etiquette of what to do after throwing someone to the ground and strangling them mid-kiss.

My first fucking kiss and I fucked it up.

You should’ve done what you were ordered. I should’ve believed them when they said there would be no going back.

There were no guidelines, or manuals on how to break what had been drilled into me for twenty-two years. They created a machine and everything of who I’d been had ceased to exist. That kiss just proved it.

I’ve bought a woman, and I’ll probably kill her before I’ve even noticed.

My heart squeezed at the thought. I didn’t know her, but already she’d given me something incredible. She’d kissed me with nothing barred; she’d poured every need and dream into her tongue and licked me with passion. Her body pressed against mine, her heat sent my cock rippling with the first pre-cum I’d enjoyed in my life. Everything overwhelmed me and I over thought the kiss, trying to understand how to tilt my head, how hard I could go without clashing teeth. It’d been consuming, amazing.

My hands curled with hatred for myself. I’d expected too much—I thought she’d offered me a miracle.

I let my guard down and broke my feeble control. One touch. One simple touch to send me hurtling back to who I’d been and using second nature against me.

Zel rubbed her neck, nonchalantly bringing her thick hair to cover her shoulders, hiding the majority of the bruising. “It’s okay, you know. I accept your apology. You don’t have to look as if someone will come and beat you.”

How did she guess?

I snarled, pacing away. “You don’t know anything. Stop trying to figure me out.”

I hated that I was supposed to be in control but every time Zel stole it off me. Either with her temper, her understanding, or her strength. I was one step behind and fumbling like a fucking buffoon.

I wanted to scream at her to let me inside—to give me power over her, but at the same time I needed her to remain strong. I needed her courage if she had any chance of surviving me.

Deciding to focus on the kiss rather than the aftermath, I stopped pacing and faced her. “What did you feel kissing me? I want to know.”

Her cheeks flared. “I don’t need to tell you. You know.”

“What do I know?” I knew her taste still lived in my mouth. I knew my cock hurt with how much I wanted to plunge inside her, but I had no fucking clue what she thought. I wanted to know she was as affected by whatever existed between us as me.

Because if she doesn’t it’ll prove that you’re fucking unlovable.

The thought came from nowhere, and I sucked in a gasp. Fuck me, was this what rehabilitation felt like? Ripping myself apart, tearing away the pieces I wanted to be free from, flushing remnants of addiction from my veins. There was no doubt I was in withdrawal—not from substances, but from a conditioning that owned me body and mind.

Hazel murmured, “When you kissed me I felt everything. I loved the slipperiness of your tongue. The heat of your body. I could feel—” She paused before carrying on, “I could feel your cock against my belly, and it made me want you. The kiss whispered of promises, and my body melted for you. Does that answer your question?”

Goddammit, it made me rock hard and drooling.

Zel was so different than the last woman. She was a comet, blazing through my dead world.

I’d screwed a total of one woman. She’d been like me: a belonging. We sneaked out of the establishment one night and indulged in what we’d seen people do on television. It hadn’t been great, more like a life experience I needed to get over with, but it’d given me a brief taste of connection. We hadn’t kissed. We hadn’t hugged—touching apart from the essentials was out of the question.

Afterward, we went back to our cells and never mentioned it again.

Two weeks later, we all graduated, and she left for her assignments and I left for mine. The rest of my life had a large stain over it, and I didn’t like to go swimming in memories.

Why did you buy her? You know it’s not going to end well.

I didn’t fucking know. It’d been spur of the moment, an urge I couldn’t disobey. I had to keep her. I had to know if she could cure me. I couldn’t describe the insane idiocy of dragging her upstairs. The connection made no sense. I’d never been interested in anyone the way I had locked onto her. It wasn’t logical for a man of my past to even care about another human, let alone suffer lunacy at the thought of letting them go.

The kiss had been too distracting. Dropping the tight grip on my control, I focused on her heat and texture. I memorized every nip and sweep of her tongue. I didn’t notice she’d unlocked her hands.

Big mistake. Huge fucking mistake.

It couldn’t happen again.

Scowling, I settled stiffly into my chair, thankful for the large expanse of wood between us.

She moved to the chair opposite and sat down. My eyes narrowed on the shadows on her neck. As much as I thirsted for the connection, as much as I wanted her to touch me and find solace from a lifetime of pain, I couldn’t.

The closest I could come was using her callously. Never letting her get too close, never sharing any of my thoughts or past.

It was best she knew nothing about me.

I told her not to touch me. It’s not my fault I hurt her.

That was bullshit.

It seemed other precautions would have to be taken to make sure she didn’t disobey again and make me kill her.

Her eyes met mine and my heart lurched. Run. Leave me. No amount of money is worth staying with a monster like me.

Needing to dispel the wariness between us, I muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Zel nodded, wincing a little from her sore neck. “I know. You don’t have to mention it again. Call it a learning curve.” Her eyes held forgiveness along with fierce determination.

I snorted. She thought she could fix me, and I wanted her to. Too bad it would never have a happy ending.

Sighing, I grabbed a piece of paper and my favourite fountain pen. Bowing my head, I scribbled:

Contract between Obsidian Fox and Hazel Hunter.

The vague agreement wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. I only bothered so I had something to hold over her if she suddenly tried to leave. I might want her to leave for her own safety, but I was a selfish man and would use her for as long as I could.

Hazel agrees to obey Fox implicitly for the agreed amount of time of one month. In that time she will go where he wishes, do what he wants, and offer no argument or disrespect. In that time, Fox agrees to treat Hazel with respect and won’t make lavish demands. Hazel agrees to be available to Fox at any time, night or day for his needs, and will obey any order that’s given. Fox agrees to keep her safe, not cause any pain—

Stopping, I scratched out the last line. I’d already caused her pain by body-slamming her to the ground.

Fucking idiot. Fucking machine.

My handlers had ruined me for life. The automatic maiming from being touched had been so ingrained, it would never leave. I was a moron to think it ever would.

The heaviness in my soul grew as I accepted the inevitable: I would never be free.

I’d been able to break other commands, but touching had a special hold on me. After all, they’d gone to a lot of trouble to make it my first instinct.

The cane came from nowhere, walloping me around the back of my knees. My hands flexed around the knife as I faced the target of bundled hay dressed in kid's clothing of dungarees and green t-shirt.

“Stab it, Operative Fox.”

They struck me again, and this time it was instant. The moment pain radiated in my joints, I stabbed the dummy with all my strength.

Again and again they hit me until the hay and clothing were a shredded mess at my feet. Sweat ran under my thick winter jacket even as snow flurried around us from the icy Russian winter.

Pain equalled pain. To be inflicted meant to inflict. Touch meant to kill. Simple.

It was freeing to obey such a basic code.

I shook my head, frowning at the piece of paper. Damn fucking flashbacks. They came more often when I was stressed.

Returning to the paper, I finished writing:

Fox agrees to pay Hazel one hundred thousand up front, and another one hundred thousand dollars at the end of one month. If Hazel leaves without Fox’s permission before the time is up, the contract is null and void and no money shall be exchanged.

Scrawling my illegible autograph, I looked up.

Zel hadn’t moved, her eyes focused on my scar. Interest and pity etched her face.

I growled, “Another rule I forgot to mention. Don’t you dare pity me. I don’t want your pity. I don’t deserve your pity. Understand?”

She flinched, but didn’t look away. “It’s not pity. It’s curiosity.” Her hand flew up to spin a delicate chain around her throat. I’d noticed it before. A single star.

The way she touched the silver in reverence hinted that it held a tender history. It meant a lot to her.

It made me jealous.

“I’m just trying to understand you. That’s all.” Her voice was firm and not in the least bit scared of my minor episode of throwing her to the floor. She was so damn strong. Idiotic hope sparked once again. Was she strong enough to withstand me?

My lips tingled, remembering her taste. Remembering the brutal need in her—the summoning from her body to mine.

My heartbeats changed from low and measured—how I always was when I slipped into conditioning—to fast and hard with need.

I wanted her.

Shifting, I rearranged my fucking hard-on. Her lips curled just a little, almost as if she knew what caused my discomfort.

It was her. All her. Damn woman.

“Sign this.” Shoving the paper across the desk, I motioned for her to come forward.

In bare feet, she stood and padded closer. Perching on the edge of the desk, the gold and silver dress hitched up, showing a split to mid-thigh.

Goddammit.

My stomach twisted as my cock lurched, growing hotter and thicker until I was sure it would self-combust.

With slightly shaking fingers, Zel took the piece of paper and read it. Her eyes narrowed and she nibbled on her bottom lip. I expected an argument, but she only nodded and looked up. “I need your pen.”

Silently, I passed her the fountain pen and held my breath as she signed with a pretty flourish. I felt like a full-blown asshole. I’d made her submit for money. What sort of bastard did that? It couldn’t be helped that she really had no concept of survival. Selling herself to a stranger for a month? What woman did that? We were both as bad as each other.

The thought had a strange appeal.

Keeping my face completely neutral, I took the signed contract from her, keeping my fingers well away from hers, and placed it into the top drawer and locked it.

A smidgen of relief filled me. She was mine for exactly thirty days. It was time we got acquainted.

Her eyes swept upward, connecting with mine only briefly before dropping to the scar. Her pouty lips thinned while thoughts swirled in her green eyes.

The scar had been a punishment—a reminder of just how deep I’d fallen. It’d been retribution for not obeying.

I couldn’t even think about that night without breaking into a cold sweat.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” Checking the time on my phone, I added, “What time do you normally go to bed?”

She paused, surprise written on her face. “Same as everybody else I guess. About midnight, get up at about six or whenever Cla—”

She snapped her lips together, avoiding my eyes.

“Don’t do that—cut yourself off mid-sentence. Whatever you were going to say, I want to know.” I hated her keeping things from me. Even though I had full intention of keeping everything from her.

She pulled her shoulders back, fighting me with her gaze. “I was going to say when Clue gets up for work. She has a range of jobs, and some days she’s up very early.”

The lie rained from her lips like the truth, but I knew different. The decibels of her voice were odd.

Shaking my head softly, I whispered, “I know you just lied, but after what I did, I won’t push it. But next time…it better be the truth.”

She held her ground even as a flash of apprehension filled her gaze.

I cocked my head, drinking her in. “Where are you from originally?” I guessed Europe—Spain perhaps. I’d become quite an expert on guessing nationalities. Another hazard of my previous employment.

She shrugged, eyeing me warily. “I don’t need to lie about that. I only knew my father. Or at least, I think he was my father. He looked after me until he just disappeared one day. I think I was five when he left. I vaguely remember him speaking another language, so it’s entirely possible I’m from overseas and not Australian originally.”

I didn’t have a retort to that. Seemed we had yet another thing in common. Missing lineage. Missing pieces from our past.

She glanced at the phone in my hands.

“I want that phone call. I need to arrange something.”

Shit, I’d forgotten about that. I didn’t want her talking to anyone—spilling the details of what we’d agreed to. It wouldn’t paint either of us in a good light.

Reluctantly, I dropped the phone into her waiting palm. “I’m not giving you privacy, so don’t bother asking.”

She huffed, but didn’t argue. Pressing a sequence of numbers, she paced toward the graffiti artwork, chewing her bottom lip.

“Come on. Please, pick up,” she whispered.

It seemed an age before she slouched and sighed heavily. “I thought you weren’t there. Did you get home alright?”

The concern in her voice sent a sharp bolt of jealousy through me. I didn’t like that she cared so deeply for another. Someone had the privilege of living with her, learning her secrets.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it under control.” Zel frowned, listening to whoever existed on the other end of the phone. “No. I’m good. Listen, I have to do something you’re not going to understand, but don’t freak out, okay?”

She nodded, twirling a piece of hair around her pinkie. “I know. I feel awful to do this to you and…well you know, but I won’t be home for a while.”

She threw a glance my way. My hackles rose, unable to determine why I suddenly felt on edge.

“I’ll be away for a month,” she finally said.

I gritted my teeth. She hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t been entirely truthful either. I narrowed my eyes. If she thought she could leave, she had a surprise coming. She didn’t know what I had in store for her. It wouldn’t be simple matter of walking out the front door.

A screech came from the phone and I wished I knew what the other person said.

“I have my reasons. It’ll mean a lot to us financially if I stay. Don’t get upset. I’ll explain it better soon.” Her eyes dashed to mine again before she cupped the mouth piece. “Clue, don’t. I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

My body clenched. She refused to speak honestly in front of me. How could I trust her with anything she might say in the future?

“No. Don’t put her on!” Zel whisper-yelled, then her shoulders rolled and she went to the corner of the room, trying to get as far away from me as possible. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart? Fuck, did she have a lover? What the hell?

“No, I’m okay. Do you think you can be good? Take care of Clue for me?” Her naked shoulder blades hunched as she curled around the phone, almost embracing it. “I miss you, too. But I’ll be home before you know it. Just be safe and don’t get too tired, okay?”

She nodded a few times before whispering so low I almost missed it, “I love you so much. It’s going to be agony not holding you.”

My heart exploded inside my chest. Fuck. What did you expect? That she wouldn’t have anyone at home? Not only was she selling herself to me, she was cheating on someone who undoubtedly loved her.

My hands curled and the rage I’d tried so hard to keep away came back with a vengeance.

She sniffed and hung up. She stayed facing the wall for a moment, before spinning around and stalking toward me. Holding out the phone, her eyes mixed with regret and sadness. Doubt flickered in her gaze before she swallowed, forcing residual emotion from the phone call away.

If I was less of a bastard I could’ve just given her the money and sent her home to whoever she loved. But I wasn’t. So I didn’t.

The thought of her arms around someone else made my stomach roll in anger. “I hope you’re not planning on breaking our agreement so soon. It won’t be that easy to revoke your signature.” My eyes flickered to my desk, already using the contract to bind her to me.

“I’m not backing out.” Her jaw tilted upward defiantly. “But I’m not going to be held hostage either.” Zel shed her tenacious resolve and something heated entered her eyes. “Besides, despite a learning curve of you throwing me to the ground, I enjoyed kissing you. I can think of worse things to do for two hundred thousand dollars.”

My heart thudded, stuttered, then hung confused in my chest. I didn’t know if I should be insulted or grateful. She’d forgiven me entirely for hurting her while putting me in my place once again.

Damn this fucking woman. Who the hell was she?

You just made the worst decision of your life.. There was no way a month would be long enough. She could turn out to be a conniving manipulator, and my cock would still beg for her.

I snapped my fingers and strode toward the door on the other side of the room. “Come on.”

She didn’t ask any questions, only padded barefoot toward me, leaving her shoes on the floor. Her body came within a hair of brushing past mine, and I tensed every muscle I possessed, just in case.

Slinking past, she caught my eye. My balls tightened as I sucked in her scent of Lily of the valley. Every part of me throbbed—it was painful in a way, and so fucking sweet knowing I was minutes away from taking her.

I couldn’t stop the weird palpitations in my chest or the twisting of my gut.

While I was struck dumb, trying to keep a hold on my desire, Hazel headed down the corridor the wrong way.

“This way,” I ordered. “You’ll get used to all the doors.” The house had been built like the establishment I’d been trained in. For some fucked-up reason, even though the place ruined my life, it was the only place I felt truly safe.

We headed down one long corridor with multiple rooms veering from it. No open spaces, apart from the fighting arena downstairs. Each room was private, self-contained, a cell for all intents and purposes.

We didn’t say a word as we walked over the thick black carpet toward the south end of the house.

The corridor led to my private wing. Only Oscar and the occasional cleaner were allowed up here. Pin-pad locks rested on every door, adding more to the prison-like appeal. Shit, Zel would have to learn the combinations to move anywhere in the house.

The repercussions of sharing my life with her finally decided to make themselves known. I hadn’t thought through how my sleeping patterns and habits would affect her. How my needs for certain types of release would freak her the fuck out.

Goddammit, this is a bad idea. Such a bad idea.

My room had a door I’d specially designed. Made out of composite metal, reinforced with rebar, and titanium hinges, it was practically bombproof. It offered some peace of mind that I’d hear them coming if they ever decided my vacation was over and came back for me.

Hazel stood beside me looking perfect, despite her crushed hair, smeared lipstick, and the shadows of bruising on her neck. Her perfection ridiculed me, highlighting once again that I’d never be good enough. That I’d always be who I was.

“Am I sleeping in your room or do I get my own space?” Zel’s melodic voice stayed hushed as if afraid of startling me.

I scowled. “You’ll sleep with me.” Stupid question. “I just made a deal with you to use as I see fit, and you think you’ll have your own space?” I didn’t admit that it would be best if she did. I made promises I couldn’t keep. I knew I’d end up hurting her. “This isn’t a vacation, dobycha, more like a sentence.”

Her forehead furrowed slightly. “Let’s just get something straight. I’m here willingly. I signed your stupid piece of paper; I agreed to let you take me however you want, within reason. You don’t have to keep dropping hints about sentences and making it sound like I’ll regret this.”

Her hand came up to land on my chest but I lurched backward. She shook her head. “Sorry. I forgot. I was going to say, if you fuck me like you kissed me, I won’t regret spending the month in your bed. What I will regret is killing you if you break your promise that I’m safe.”

I laughed coldly. “You think you can kill me?” The absurdity of such a notion. Not even a highly-trained swat team could dispatch me—I knew—they’d tried once or twice.

Zel leaned forward, bringing a cloud of floral air. “You’re forgetting that by sharing a bed with me, I’ll have full access to you while you sleep.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, “Sleeping with someone is a huge admittance of trust. If I wanted to hurt you I’m the only one close enough when you’re at your weakest to do so.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

How did she know I’d avoided sleeping with another because of that same fear?

I wanted to wring her neck for her implied threat all while contemplating how to avoid such an inevitability. Lowering my head, I growled, “Thank you for pointing out yet another hole in this arrangement. I’ll make sure to rectify it.”

Her eyes popped wide.

Focusing on the keypad lock, I stabbed the combination. “The code is 11453. You’ll need to remember that if I send you back here without me.”

She nodded. Her heart-shaped face and flawless complexion glowed beneath the corridor lights. Her lips moved silently, committing the code to memory.

Swinging the door wide, I let her enter first.

Automatic sensors switched on, spilling illumination from two bedside lamps and subtle lighting around artwork and sculptures. Just like my office, the entire space was black. Again, not a matter of choice, but necessity. Drilled into me by a past I couldn’t shake. It was ironic that I hated the dark, yet surrounded myself in it.

Zel gravitated toward a sculpture. Reaching out to touch it, I held my breath as her inquisitive fingertips caressed the brutalized metal. I’d finished it only a few days ago. It wasn’t anything special. Just a hunk of metal that I’d welded and twisted and deformed.

Along with the iron, bronze, and silver, it also held my blood and sweat.

I fed my designs with everything that I was—including the stuff flowing in my veins. In a way, it made me immortal—morphing me into pieces of metal—hopefully finding peace by hardening my heart just like the statues.

“You mentioned Oscar did the fox mural. Who did the sculptures?” Zel twisted to look at me, her eyes green diamonds in the gloom. “Whoever did these has a heart-breaking story to tell. They’re full of pain.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Did you do them?”

My spine tickled with equal parts gratefulness and utter rage. Grateful because I’d finally found someone who saw past who I portrayed, and rage because she made me frustrated and weak— showing just how fucking messed up I was.

“If you can see all that; do you really need an answer?” I snapped, stalking toward the bed.

Zel followed me with her eyes, stroking the twisted piece. “No. I don’t need an answer.” She removed her fingers, looking at the hunk of metal wistfully. “It tells me more about you than you ever will. It redeems you in a way, enough that I can overlook your surly assholeness.”

I ignored that.

Watching her carefully, I kept my muscles on a tight leash, just in case she triggered another relapse. Drifting from one statue to another, she kept surprising me by only showing interest in the deformed pieces. Humans were taught to run from imperfection. She should've been interested in the perfectly designed and flawlessly executed wolf sitting on the sideboard, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t care less, and I didn’t know what to make of that.

She turned to face me, taking in the room as she did so. She didn’t look like she wanted to run or try to fix me. She accepted the scar as if it hadn’t damaged me, as if it just…was.

Acceptance.

Something wrenched painfully in my chest, dragging foreign emotions from depths I didn’t understand.

I was right about her. She was magical—casting a spell over me, entwining me deeper into her web.

I suddenly had an overwhelming urge for pain. I needed it. I thirsted for it. Only pain would help me see clearly again.

Giving me a small smile, she moved silently toward the bed. Black sheets, black covers. Everything black. I wasn’t comfortable in any other colour. I deserved no other colour. Black was the colour of evil, of death. Black was me.

The room was large. A seating area existed to the right, a bathroom to the left, and a huge bed on a raised platform in the centre. The bed looked like it’d come straight from a haunted forest. Wrought iron and bronze had been hammered into the illusion of branches and twigs, cocooning the bed in eager ghostlike trees.

The instant Zel sat on the mattress and looked across the room, I knew I’d made a big fucking mistake.

I couldn’t sleep next to this woman. I would kill her.

I couldn’t let her touch me. I would maim her.

I was a fucking idiot to think otherwise.

It wasn’t a matter of if or how or maybe. It was as certain as the motto engraved on my doorstep. As rigid and unyielding as the conditioning I drowned in.

Thou shall steal life because that is thine only purpose.

My only purpose. The only reason why I was still alive.

Curling my hands, I backed toward the exit. “Stay there. Don’t leave the room.”

Zel sat up, her mouth opened in question, but I didn’t wait.

Striding out the door, I left, locking her inside.

My haven was a bunker buried amongst the foundations of the house. Here I could relax—as much as I could—and generally pretend the rest of the world and my problems didn’t exist.

I breathed deeply as I unlocked the door and entered the familiar space. Smells of metal shavings, tools, and the stench of grease and paraffin welcomed me back. It was basic, rudimentary, but it fit me better than any of the grandeur upstairs.

I wasn’t carved from money and gold. I was carved from ice and stone. I’d slept in a pit more nights than I slept in a bed all because I’d been chosen.

They say chosen. I say stolen.

Having a place like this underground with its unfinished walls and low ceilings gave me a respite—gave me a den.

Shoving aside a half-finished statue of a decapitated woman, I tried to remove Hazel from my mind.

Her dark hair, her knowing green eyes, her air of courage. I couldn’t stop thinking about her—moving around my space, touching more statues, figuring out more of my history that I wanted to keep buried.

She might leave. You’ve left her all alone.

I didn’t trust the locks would keep her in if she truly wanted to go. The steel inside her matched the steel inside me, and the knowledge I couldn’t force her to stay fucked with my head.

My vision faded a little on the peripheral, warning me tiredness and stress were starting to take their toll.

Shit, what was I doing? I should be up there taking what I’d paid for. I should be plunging deep inside her and searching for some resemblance of happiness. I shouldn’t have run like a fucking pussy.

I picked up hammer, squeezing the wooden handle in my fist.

Do it. It will help.

The enabling voice inside coaxed—like it did every time—promising sweet relief.

Splaying my hand on the bench, fingers flat against the well-used surface, I stared at it for the first time in a while. Crisscrossed with tiny scars, punctured with small holes of silver, my hand looked ancient and brutal. The urge to slam the hammer onto one of my knuckles consumed me until I shook with need for pain and a droplet of sweat rolled down my temple.

Breaking the spell, I slowly lowered the hammer and turned my hand over to look at my palm.

The moment I found freedom two years ago, I spent days with a scouring brush and abrasive soap washing off the mark.

Washing, sandpapering, scrubbing to remove the three small symbols of what I was. Only a fellow operative would know what they meant; would know I was a creature whose only purpose was to fight and destroy.

Faded now to a few indistinct lines, they filled me with bone-deep hatred and fear. Both palms held the mark: the Roman numeral III.

My body tensed, wishing Mount Everest had done a better job of hitting me tonight. It meant I’d have to service that need before fucking Hazel.

The reminder of why I was down here pulled me from my thoughts, and I surveyed the shelves and barrels full of metal to use.

I had to solve the problem of her touching me, but how?

No matter what designs or solutions I came up with, the outcomes I envisioned all ended badly. I couldn’t trust her to obey. That meant I had to restrain her. Put her on a leash like a pet I’d bought to use. But if I restrained her, the neurons in my brain would think she was prey.

She is prey. Dobycha.

I’d slipped and used a word from my mother tongue. I’d called her prey in Russian. The intensive dialect classes I’d crammed when I first arrived in Sydney abandoned me for a moment. I couldn’t use my first language anymore. It wasn’t safe.

My heart raced thinking how easy it’d been to fall into old languages—how imperfect my life was.

Shit, at this rate I’d probably end up paying her tomorrow to get her the hell away from me. I didn’t like these thoughts. These weak as fuck thoughts that dragged up my past.

You’ll never be naked around her.

You’ll never feel her hands on your cock.

You’ll never be able to have full body contact.

You’ll end up snapping her neck.

I was a fucking idiot.

I wish I never set eyes on her.

Prowling to the crucible with a lump of previously melted bronze in the centre, I cranked the furnace and set the tool into the licking flames.

Deliberately throwing myself into work, I ignored thoughts of how fucked-up my life was and flicked switches for sanders, drilling equipment, and buffers. Unravelling a length of silver chain I’d been using on an intricate custom piece, a concept came to mind. A blueprint to somehow keep Zel safe—or as safe as possible from me.

Minutes ticked by as I worked. It calmed my mind, granting a small illusion of peace.

Hours inched past as I toyed with metal and fire and sweat. Working with such unforgiving materials was a reminder that no matter how set in stone we seemed, we could always change. We could mould and adapt and become something new, even a hunk of iron.

I had to hold faith.

I could change.

Over time.

Settling on a stool under a large halogen, I turned my thoughts off and proceeded to turn a piece of chain into a prison.

The sun tinged the horizon with its pink and golden welcome by the time I’d finished. Climbing the stairs from my lair, my creation tight in my fist, I sighed heavily with relief.

Through the glass roof along the central spine of the house warm rays of sunlight spilled. The familiar tension left my body.

Night was over. Day was back.

With every step toward my room, I clutched the silver harder. I hoped like hell this worked. Opening the door quietly, I made my way across the carpet, deliberately walking in bright patches of morning sun. There were no curtains on the massive bifolds. No way to block out the glare.

That was another thing Zel would have to get used to. I never slept in the dark.

Night had been work hours—full of terror and terribleness. Day was my one chance to be in the light—the small window where the memories were forced to leave.

The night belonged to my past. The day belonged to my future.

The form of a sleeping woman lay burrowed under my sheets. Blankets tugged up over her shoulders, her hands shoved under the pillow beneath her cheek.

My heart thudded hard. She was in my space. Smelling my covers, sleeping on my side of the bed.

I wanted to tear the protection off her and touch her. I needed to find that spark, the energy that existed between us. Remember why I was insane enough to try this.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

First, I needed purging.

Entering the bathroom, I shed my clothes and left them on the floor. Placing the item I made on the vanity, I stepped into the black-tiled shower. Turning on the tap, hot water rained instantly. I twisted it on as far as it would go.

It hurt. It burned. It scalded a layer of skin. But I didn’t mix the temperature with cold.

The raining fire did something for me that nothing else achieved. It was my drug of choice.

I’d read somewhere that self-harm was a cry for help. A sure sign an individual needed counselling. And they were right. However, I wasn’t crying out for help when I forced my body to stand under a torrent of boiling water. I found salvation.

Pain helped. Inflicting agony gave me a tiny bit of peace. It erased a little bit of badness. It was my version of meditation or relaxing music. It stopped me from exploding.

My skin turned lobster-red, and I shuddered with the urge to dart from under the pinpricks of agony, but I stood and accepted the punishment.

Five minutes passed eternally slowly, but I never once looked down. I never once ran hands over my flesh, or touched the new ridges of injuries and scars. I knew every inch of my violent past and wished it wasn’t so evident on my skin. I never fisted my cock or sought to find a quick release.

I’d been conditioned to feel nothing but the will to obey.

My body wasn’t mine to touch or look at. It had belonged to them; it still belonged to them.

With a shaking hand, I wrenched the cold water on and groaned as icy droplets soothed my burned flesh.

It layered the pain with two intense reactions, doubling the relief.

After blasting myself with ice, I turned off the water and stumbled from the shower.

Avoiding looking at myself in the mirror, I wrapped a towel around my waist and entered the dark bedroom. Making sure Zel was still asleep and wouldn’t catch me naked, I slinked soundlessly through the sunlight.

Entering the walk-in wardrobe, I let the towel fall and quickly yanked on black cotton pants, followed by a black t-shirt. Even on my own, I never slept naked—never ran the risk of being unprepared.

The moment I had clothing on again, I relaxed. Along with hiding certain things, my scars were cloaked, too. Hazel didn’t need to see self-inflicted injuries as well as ones earned in duty.

She didn’t need to know anything about me.

Padding over to the bed, I watched her sleep. Her long brown hair fanned the black sheets looking as if she’d become one with the mattress.

Her breathing was so shallow I had to strain to make sure she was alive. She looked so pure, so undamaged, so unlike me.

My eyes fell to the soft curves of her figure below. My cock twitched at the thought of what I could do to her. What she would let me do for two hundred thousand dollars.

I would fuck her and taste her and use her in every way possible.

In this private purchased world, I could do anything I wanted.

She was mine.

Her mouth parted as she rolled from her side onto her back. One arm flew above her head, thudding against the pillow. Her face scrunched up, eyes fluttered. Either a dream or a nightmare danced behind closed eyelids.

What did normal people dream of? Love and happiness?

“No,” she murmured sleepily.

I froze, waiting for her eyes to fly open. When they stayed closed, I let myself drink in her parted lips, the flush on her cheeks. My thoughts filled with images of her mouth around my cock and her tongue licking me, tasting me.

I was hard at the thought of a release. I’d forgotten what an orgasm felt like. I had no recollection of the pleasurable explosion I’d felt only twice before.

Zel would teach me to remember. Zel would cure me of my sins.

And I was about to take her.

Linking the chain through my fingers, I leaned down and touched her.