Page 42 of Widow's Walk

He gives me a knowing smirk. “Sorry, but it’s more like a crawl space. Should be enough room to drag your victims down into, though.”

“Fair enough.”

We float room to room until we get to the back of the house, where nearly the entire wall is glass, opening up to yet another gorgeous view of the forest. Sunlight spills across a cluster of moving boxes off to one side. My gaze snags on one in particular, my name scrawled across the top.

“It’s ready for the final touches,” he says from somewhere behind me. “I’ll set up a meeting with an interior designer.”

I run my fingers along the seam of one of the boxes taped shut. “What are these?”

There’s a pause, then a barely restrained chuckle. I whip my head around in time to catch him rubbing his jaw to hide it. “The rest of your belongings from your bedroom.” He moves his hand to the back of his neck to squeeze it. “And yourotherroom.”

My cheeks ache from trying to hide my grin. Myother room. I laugh internally. “Is that what they called it?” I ask as I circle the box to another one.

“If you mean your family, yes. That’s what they said.”

“And if I didn’t mean them?”

He’s standing there all handsome and so assured, watching me. “Then I’d guess dungeon, lair, cave...” A corner of his mouth hitches upward.

I flash a toothy grin, then pretend to be more interested in the boxes. His attention is too intense for me right now. I’ve never been shy about my appetite or kinks, but there’s something about his gaze that strips me bare.

Unclasping the golden chain around my neck, I remove the bottom half of the crucifix dangling from it to reveal the needle-like dagger. I stab the seam and slide it through, cutting it clean, the box giving way with a satisfying split.

Everything inside is individually bubble-wrapped. I pull out the first thing that catches my eye and unwrap it to find a pair of gold handcuffs. “Might as well get rid of most of this stuff.” I dangle the cuffs from a finger and raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure you’re toomachofor any of it.” Rolling my eyes, I toss them back in.

“Haveyoutried it?” he asks.

I turn and cross my arms with a hip popped. “They’re mine, aren’t they?”

He puts one foot in front of the other, daring to stalk me like prey. “I meant…on yourself.” I don’t answer because I don’t need to. We both know the answer. “Have you ever given up completecontrol?” His voice drops, and that vortex begins spinning in my gut. “To let yourself be vulnerable…”

“I’m not a stranger to helplessness,” I snap, breaking character. But my stature remains fortified.

His eyes ignite, sharp and knowing, aware he struck a nerve. But he doesn’t gloat. Just watches me closely, standing close enough to cage me in with his presence alone. He towers over me with unintentional intimidation.

Men no longer scare me. Insentient machines in human skin. I’ve known too many of them. Greedy in their violence and vacant in their cruelty. You learn quickly that there’s no use fearing them because fear doesn’t save you. And there is no saving you.

Only survival.

But with Blackwell, he’s different.

He doesn’t want to break me.

He means to unravel me.

He doesn’t need to touch me to dominate me. Doesn’t need to raise his voice or lift a hand. He saturates the room by simply standing in it. His dominance isn’t rooted in brutality or degradation. It’s quieter. Coiled. More insidious.

And that’s the true danger of it. Because I have spent my whole life learning how to survive cruelty. But I have no idea what to do with kindness wrapped in control. With someone who sees me and chooses not to destroy me, but to dismantle me.

It’s a total mindfuck.

“I’m not talking about control being taken from you,joon-kharâsh.” He tugs at a piece of hair sticking out from underneath my hat. “I’m talking about surrender. On your terms. Voluntary.”

I want to laugh in his face. Free will? That’s a luxury I’ve rarely wasted. So, when the chance comes to take control of anything or anyone, I don’t hesitate. I seize it. Always. And he knows that,because he’s the same. Men in his position never loosen the reins of control. Not even in sleep.

One side of my mouth shifts. “Let’s make a deal.” He looks mused as he waits. “I’ll give you one night,” I say, plucking the gold cuffs from the box and dangling them between us. “Total control. But you give me one in return, where I’m in charge, and you’re mine to do with as I please.” His eyes hold mine like a challenge, and I could do this all day. I won’t bend or break.

“Any rules to this?” he finally asks.

---