Page 34 of Wicked Games of Desire

Chapter 20

My body shivers deliciouslyas I wash myself, remembering Ricky and Maddox’s hands on me. I have no idea what that was, but I want more of it. Ricky and Maddox together, their hands everywhere. Every day I spend in this place, I feel more confused about what I want. And at the head of that confusion are three men who make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world. They’re possessive, controlling, confusing assholes, but something about all that makes the prospect of hooking up with them even more exciting. I wonder what Alessandro would make of it. If he walked in on us like Ricky did, would he have joined in or would he have erupted in a rage? The fucked-up, depraved part of my brain is imagining it. Craving it. The only explanation is being locked up is messing with my head. When I get back into the real world, these irrational feelings will simply disappear, and I will look back on this time and wonder what was wrong with me.

I’m in disbelief that Alessandro actually expects me to become a part of his dysfunctional family through marriage. Marry him or go out into the world alone again. The loneliness I felt over the pastsix months settles in the pit of my stomach like a lead balloon. He threw the choice back at me, knowing it was impossible. What kind of ultimatum was that? The fucked-up kind. Be owned by him, his possession, or if I refuse, what then? Will I be left to fend for myself once again, at the mercy of rival syndicates who will stop at nothing to get their hands on me? Alone again in a world where there is some fucked-up psycho who’s after me because of something my papa did.

I always thought I was better off alone, safer, but I can’t go back to that kind of loneliness again. The emptiness was all-consuming. The only two friends I had were Dani and Ian. And now it looks like Ian was only ever using me anyway.

Can I really marry a man who hurt me so deeply, just to ensure my safety? This is a fucked-up situation with no good outcome. Perhaps it’s a case ofbetter the devil you know.I may not trust the men here entirely, with all the secrets they keep from me, but I know deep down, after what I have seen this week, they would do anything to protect me.

My heart aches with indecision. I’ve spent so long seeking revenge on these guys, believing it was the only way to find closure. The image I had of my papa crumbled when I discovered that he was not the person I believed him to be. The world feels completely topsy-turvy, making it impossible for me to make sense of anything.

A tear escapes down my cheek at the thought. My papa is the actual monster here. Who sets their daughter up like that? Hides every fucking aspect of his life to protect her. Nope, he wasn’t protecting me. He was leaving me defenseless, painting a massive red target on my back. My papa was an intelligent man. He had to have known what he was doing.

But now, faced with this impossible decision, I don’t know what to believe anymore. Can I trust anyone, even myself, to make the right choice?

When I’m wrinkled to a prune, I step out of the shower and throw a fluffy towel around my middle, tucking it under my arms. Studying my reflection in the mirror, Maddox is right, the red is so much better on me. I feel like I’m back in my own skin. I find some make-up in the top drawer and apply a little foundation, along with mascara and lip gloss, then step out of the bathroom.

I flinch in shock when I see Alessandro sitting on my bed. “Jesus. You scared the life out of me. Can you start knocking?” I grumble in frustration. He has major boundary issues, worse than the other two.

Standing, he strides toward me with purpose and closes the gap between us. He looks incredible in his expensive dark suit, a little stubble on his chiseled jawline. “You were in the shower.”

“Next time, come back when I’m done. It’s creepy when you’re sitting on my bed when I hop out.”

“Next time, I’ll join you in the shower,” he promises. His fingers tangle into my freshly colored hair. “Better,” he says, giving it a tug.

“Thanks,” I mutter, still kind of pissed he was the one who made me change it back. I don’t like being told what to do.

He studies me, making me feel uncomfortable under his steely gaze. Does he know what just happened in the kitchen with his brothers? Is that why he’s in here? “Tell me your decision,” he demands, appearing more desperate than I’ve ever seen him before.

I step back from him and enter my walk-in closet. “Can we discuss this later when I am dressed?” I rummage through my wardrobe, seeking something cozy to put on.

I sense his presence as he enters the doorway, but he remains silent. Just watches me like the creepy stalker he is.

“Can I have some privacy?” I sass. I’m curious why he’s lingering around instead of speaking up if he has something to say.

He shakes his head. “You’re going to be my wife. If I want to watch you dress, I will.”

His possessive words cause a strange tingle to run through me, and I hate myself for it. Who the hell am I turning into in this house? “I haven’t given you my answer yet,” I reply with determination. He doesn’t own me, and he has another thing coming if he thinks me being his wife means he will. I’m not that girl.

With a low and husky voice, he demands, “Tell me, what is your answer?” He is accustomed to always getting what he wants, and I can sense that I’m starting to irritate him by making him wait.

“I have a couple more hours.” I smile to myself, taking a pair of shorts off the rack and turning back to him.

He checks his watch. “You have an hour,” he growls, taking a floral dress from the rack and shoving it in my direction.

I laugh. Is he kidding me? I’m not some doll he can dress up. “We’ve had this fight already, Alessandro.” I hang it back up and grab a tank top that will work with my shorts.

“You would look pretty in the dress.”

“What do I have to look nice for?” I sass back. Bumming around this place is hardly worth dressing up for.

“Me.”

“Is this what being married to you will be like? You will treat me like your little doll, telling me how to dress and do my hair? Because if it will, I’m out. I don’t want to be controlled. You, of all people, should know that. Or was it only convenient when it was my papa I was disobeying?”

He sucks in a breath, and I know he’s trying to control his temper, but I’m about to push him over the edge. Part of me hopes I do. “If you weren’t being a brat, I wouldn’t feel the need to control you.”

“We both know that’s bullshit,” I snap, throwing the tank on, no bra.

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