Page 91 of House Rules
“Are they still alive?”
“Yes. They ran to their car and got away. You did some damage, but with a little medical attention, they’ll be fine. You didn’t kill anyone.”
He says nothing for a minute, his head tipping back to rest against the wall. I want to think it’s relief, but I don’t think it is. I think he’s holding something back. Something terrible.
“Will you tell me who they are?”
I stop at that and think. I don’t think I have a choice. After what just happened, the men aren’t going to let me get away with any more secrets. I’m either going to tell them the whole truth and hope they don’t kill me for it, or lie—and hope they don’t see through it and kill me anyway.
“After this,” I say. “After our bath, I’ll tell you and the others everything. Please don’t make me say it twice.”
I’m not sure if that’s true or not—but I know I can’t talk about it yet.
“Okay,” Storm says, then lifts my chin from his chest, pulling me up so our faces align. “What was the song you were singing in the alley? It was pretty.”
“It’s just a lullaby,” I answer. “You seemed like you needed to calm down, and the words and melody just came to me.”
“You took care of me?” His brows scrunch like he can’t quite grasp the concept.
“Of course.” I lean in and place a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek, then rest my head on his chest again.
“Phoenix… do you regret it?”
“Regret what?” I ask, closing my eyes. There’s so much I regret. He’ll have to be more specific.
“Coming here. Signing the contract.”
“No,” I say. It’s the truth—and it surprises me a little, too.
“Maybe you should. The others want to break you. I think I do too. They want to know what makes you tick—what makes you different from the other women who come up here.”
“Did none of you consider just asking me?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he says, and when I look up, I catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He’s coming back to himself.
“Maybe that’s what makes me different. I don’t know the rules of the games you play. I wasn’t born into wealth or privilege—or even a happy, middle-class life. Nothing about this feels like real life to me. I don’t know how to want the luxury you guys have. The other women here—they know how to want this.”
“Is that it? Because you don’t want our lavish lifestyle? You don’t want to use us for anything?”
“No. Con’s father is already paying me more money than I ever dreamed of. After this year, I’ll be able to take care of myself. I won’t need catered dinners or yachts on the Atlantic.”
“You’re telling me you have no interest in my money?”
“None,” I answer, shrugging. “I’d rather provide for myself.”
“And why is that?”
“Because if you rely on other people, they have power over you. They can disappoint you. Break your heart. Force you to do things against your will. If someone has that power over you, they own you—body and soul.” I grab the loofah on the side of the bath and squeeze a little minty gel into it, working it into a thick, luscious lather that smells like desire and restraint.
“Isn’t that exactly what the contract you signed does?”
“No. The contract I signed willingly. I know the terms. There’s an end date. That contract might give you free rein over my body—but my soul is still my own.”
His tongue runs over his lips as he considers my words.
I start rubbing the loofah over his shoulders and chest, loving the feel of the firm muscle packed into his lean frame.
“What are you doing?”
