Page 29 of The Freedom in Captivity

Not when I’ve made it this far.

“Flynn—”

“Shut up.” He reaches down and retrieves the knife he used earlier to slice my bindings away.

Fuck.I’ve been lucky so far, but I think that’s about to change.

I arch away, as far as the chains allow me to go, knowing how useless any of it is. Something about this saysmore. Like I’m about to get a true taste of the Corsetti enforcer.

“Flynn. Stop.”

Ignoring me, he lunges, grasping the hair he once used to hold onto when he fucked me; the hair he’d stroke afterwards. This time, he twists it around his fist, using it to render me immobile. A gasp of pain soon follows. A whimper more than anything, and I hate conveying any sort of emotion toward his actions.

“Stop?” He growls, lowering his face until we’re lined up. “You’re asking me tostop? You know what I’d fuckin’ love if you’d stop? Gettin’ in my goddamned head!”

What?

“You wanna know why I’m down here at three in the morning? Because my fuckin’ head can’t getyouout of it. And then I come down here and the first thing you say is—” He stops speaking, his mouth still parted, like he physically can’t repeat the words. With a hurried jerk of his head, he continues, “It was a fuckin’ decade ago. You lied to me then, and you’re hiding shit now. I do not care about you anymore. I need you out of my mind so I can focus on my job.”

There’s so much of that I wish I reply to, instead of my stupid brain shutting down. My heart fluttering in my chest until the pain becomes unbearable.

But there’s not an ounce of pleasure from his words. No matter the fact I’m in his head, clearly messing with his sleep, I can’t find it. With the hate emanating from him in strong waves, it’s impossible to find any joy in his misery.

But that’s what this entire show is, I realize. Chaining my arms above my head is simply his way of working through his rage.

“If you let me go, we can talk. I understand what I did to you then. How I upset you.”

He scoffs. “Understand, huh? Yes, I can see the empathy rolling off you.”

He brings the knife between us, dragging the sharp blade along my breasts, peeking out from my bra. The metal slides back and forth, blade side down. Any effort on his part and my skin will be sliced.

“This can end,” he murmurs in a low, inviting tone. His eyes lower to my breasts, and while I wish I could say there’s pleasure there, that there’s a chance of his kindness, there isn’t at all. Just a mild curiosity. “If only you start telling me what we need to know, Rozelyn. I’ll undo the chains immediately. Then you’ll get out of my life again and I won't have to deal with you.”

“I will,” I vow without giving him a timeline.

A short huff. “You won’t because it’s always been lies with you. Everythingaboutyou was a lie, right down to your name. Rozelyn Bray doesn’t exist and never did.”

I wanted her to be, but I think telling him that will make this worse.

“You made her real,” I whisper instead, voice lowering to the soft tone of the girl he once knew. If he’s dreaming of our past, maybe I simply need to become who I was then in order to keep my life.

When he trails the knife down between my breasts, my insides heat, igniting a flame only he can.

Like a sun.

It feels great. Like, really fuckinggood. Like the past. Like everything once pleasant in my life before it became fucked-up. And maybe it’s because I’m fucked-up too, because I stop fighting against the tight hold he has on my hair. I remain still, tilting my head up until I can look him dead in the eye.

“My father chose the fake name to protect me, and now, I’m sure you can see why. I attended a public school. If word got out that I was there, I could have been in danger. Not telling you in the beginning was an obvious choice, but as we got closer, it became more about protecting you.”

His face pinches like I physically pained him with my words. All I know is I did something because his hand loosens a fraction in my hair and even the knife slips down an inch, like his grip slackened.

Then he roughly shakes his head, and that hardness is back. “You’re lying.”

“What other reason would I use a fake name?” I challenge, but based on the manic look coating his normally deep gaze, I’m losing him. For a slight second, I wonder if he’s even completely awake because he doesn’t seem to understand logic.

He releases my hair suddenly and pain blooms over my scalp. When I think I’ve gotten through to him, his arm snakes my waist and I’m tugged firmly against his chest, my bare skin rubbing against the material of his plain shirt.

With a low sound, his knife presses against the base of my neck, and based on the abrupt sting, he dug it into my skin. Nothing painful enough that makes me flinch away, but something I’ll likely be feeling later.

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