Page 36 of The Freedom in Captivity

He lifts my chin, his eyes bouncing over my face. “Stay awake a bit longer,mon soleil. You have a day planned out and if you behave, I’ll reward you.”

Mon soleil.Was the nickname used on purpose? His way of trying to break me? How I feel now; he won’t need to try for long.

But then the rest of his sentence registers and I have no idea what he’ll demand of me, other than answers, but at this point, the reward might be worth it.

He says nothing more and drops his hand from my face, just holding me. With his touch, I allow the old emotions to surface. He’s wearing a leather coat and it should be chilly against my bare skin, but the soft material feels comforting instead.Hefeels comforting.

He’s always been that for me.

If there’s one regret I’ll never have in life, it’s hiding out by the smoke pit that day.

Which prompts me to ask—more to mumble, “Do you still smoke?”

“No.”

My breath stalls. Why do I feel that means something?

“The last day I smoked was the day you left.”

Oh.

Before I have a chance to further probe, his arm unhooks from my waist, his hand from my head, and he abandons me, swaying as I reach for him again, a sound of denial creeping up my throat.

Sneering, he shies away and shoves the clothing in his hand at me. It’s one of his shirts. “Cover yourself,” he demands, still not facing me.

Almost as pleasant as his hold, the clothing warms my form, falling nearly to my knees, the sleeves to my elbows. His distinct scent permeates from the material.

Before enjoyment can settle in though, he’s roughly yanking my wrist right back into the chain hanging from the ceiling. It’s not clamped around my wrist yet and already, I feel the injuries and pain returning.

“No.” I jerk from his hold, but his fingers tighten into a vise, pinching the bone. “Not again, Flynn. Ican’t.” If I act desperate enough, maybe he’ll grant me this.

Using sheer strength, he wins—not that there was much of a battle—and clasps both wrists above my head. He’s hardly sparing me any attention, which means the man who was here a second ago, who was holding me, is once again gone, beneath the new enforcer.

It proves one thing though. The struggle he went through last night wasn’t from his own sleepiness. The Flynn I knew and loved is still here, buried beneath deceit, duplicity, and hatred.

He moves behind me, out of view, his hand stroking the skin right where his shirt ends. It reminds me of when I’d borrow his hoodie in high school, and he commented how sexy I looked in it. I always wanted to take it home with me but feared Dad finding it.

With his face in the curve of my neck, I feel his next words imprinting into my skin. “You will because I know you, Rozelyn. You enjoy the pain. Makes you feel alive. Be good and I’ll reward you.”

Even when he’s finished speaking, he doesn’t move away, and as messed up as it is, I don’t pull away either. He feels…nice. Comforting. Warm. Encompassing, like the moon.

“What do you need from me?”

“You have a visitor.”

People. Someone other than Flynn is coming down here? Based on my quickening heartbeat, I don’t think that’s a good thing. Don’t think I’ll want this. With Flynn, I know what to expect, but anyone else…my leg can speak for what happens when other people torture me.

“Who?”

He moves away from me and retrieves his phone from his back pocket, his fingers flying over the screen before pocketing it again and moving toward the side.

I track him. “This is your shirt.”

His sharp gaze slices through the basement’s stench. “And?”

I shrug, feigning disinterest. “Nothing. Interesting choice of clothing.”

The door opens, gaining my attention as a man enters the view first, followed by the distinct legs of women. They reach the bottom of the stairs, fanning out into a line, and my stomach drops.

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