Page 82 of Santa Daddy
A crack in his armor. A sliver of something like regret.
“Then why choose it?” I asked, softer than before.
“Choice implies there were options,” he said, a bitter smile ghosting his mouth. “Some of us are born into hell and spend our lives trying to claw our way out.”
“Have you?” I asked. “Clawed your way out?”
He glanced at me. Just for a second. And in that split-second I saw something I shouldn’t have.
Pain. Regret. A deep, aching kind of longing for something he’d never thought he could have.
“I thought I had,” he said. “Until you.”
Until me.
What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
The rest of the drive passed in silence that didn’t feel empty. More…full. Of possibilities. Of threats. Of things neither of us knew how to name.
When we reached the building, he walked me to the private elevator like a gentleman, hand hovering at the small of my back. The lobby smelled like pine and polished stone, the giant wreath over the desk obnoxiously cheerful.
The ride up was quiet. Too aware.
Back in the penthouse, he didn’t say anything as I peeled off his shirt and slid into bed. He came in later, the mattress dipping as he lay down beside me.
No words. No touches.
Just his presence in the dark. Close enough that I could feel the heat from his body along my spine, hear his breathing settle into an even rhythm.
This was insane.
I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t crave the nearness of a man whose job description included “occasionally orders executions” and “owns the cops on speed dial.”
But I did.
Despite every logical neuron screaming at me, I wanted to roll over and press my face against his chest. Wanted to listen to his heartbeat instead of my own racing thoughts. Wanted to pretend, just for one night, that I was in bed with a man and not a monster.
Stop falling for your captor, I told myself.
Instead, I stayed on my side of the bed, staring at the ceiling until my eyes blurred. Listening to the snow-softened sounds of the city and the steady in-and-out of his breaths.
When sleep finally came, it wasn’t merciful.
I dreamed of him.
Of his hands in my hair, his voice whispering my name like a prayer instead of a warning. I dreamed of a world where I met him in a crowded café instead of a tree lot, where he didn’t have blood on his hands, and I didn’t have a tracker on my neck. Where we fell in love like normal people.
But those were just dreams.
Morning would come, the Christmas lights would turn off, and I’d still be in this glass cage with a man I shouldn’t love and couldn’t bring myself to hate.
16
WHEN MONSTERS LOVE
DANI
Iwoke up alone again, but this time the emptiness felt…different.
