Page 49 of The Freedom in Captivity

Angry. Hateful. Punishing.

With all the rage coursing through my body, mingling with the sickening thought of actually harming her. Whether she’s lying or telling the truth, something holds me back from causing her pain.

She doesn’t push me away but accepts me.

She’s surviving.She doesn’t want me—probably never has. No one has, and she was certain to remind me of it.

Her tongue strokes against mine, tentative against my roughness, like she’s reminding me yet again of the differences between us.

That pisses me off. I release her wrists, instead using the hand to bind her neck to the bed. Thumb and forefinger beneath her chin, I angle her face up.

“You claim you’re sorry. You’re gonna show me how fuckin’ sorry you truly are.”

“Flynn—”

I take her mouth again, and with that kiss, I steal her air. My fingers pinch her neck, even as every nerve inside me is demanding to release her.

But that long-buried voice in my head is growing fainter and fainter. In its place, the enforcer I’ve semi-kept in its cage since Rozelyn re-appeared. It’s in my kiss, in the chokehold that I unleash every pent-up emotion that’s had me in knots for the past few days.

She pulls back, breaking the kiss, and her hands come up to block my shoulders—to stop me. She’s shaking her head, but a tinge of sadness darkens her gaze. “Flynn,” she whispers in a tone so low I barely hear it, “stop. This isn’t you. This is revenge, but it’s not what you want.”

It is. Iknowwhat I want. I know this is it…I know it…With every point, my argument fades until I’m left with a blank mind and an uncertainty of which to believe—her story today or my gut, demanding I recall the girl from years ago.

“You will say anything that you think will save you.”

“Maybe.” She cups my face and the blankness in my mind shatters. A million crystals fall away until I only seeher. “Or maybe not. But that’s irrelevant, isn’t it? Whether you believe me or not is secondary to the fact that in this instance, you feel out of control. Believe me,” she scoffs, “I know the feeling all too well. You’ll do anything to reclaim control of me, of the situation, even of our past, and that’s why you’re confused. Your heart believes me, but your mind doesn’t.”

She’s always been able to see inside me, to know what’s in my head, but this time, it’s like she fuckingseesmy soul. Can witness my black heart chipping away into pieces, which land at our feet in a messy pile, waiting for me to toss a match on it and light it in flames. To rid myself of the useless organ altogether.

Either way, my hand slides from her neck and props me up again. A weakness courses through my muscles though, and only clenching them keeps me upright.She’smaking me weak.

Just like in the past.

The past she’s lying about. Whether I believe her truly or not changes nothing of the circumstances, of what she did, and of who her father is.

Somewhere amid the silence, she decides to speak again. “I promise, I’m telling the truth. My father threatened your life, so I pulled away. You wanted to know what happened in the past and why I left. That was it.”

She must be lying.

She must be…

Shemust.

She has to be because I can’t accept otherwise. It’ll mean all the hate I’ve clung onto over the years will have been for nothing and I won’t survive that.

Rozelyn lifts her hand and places it right over my heart, over my Corsetti tattoo, which is the symbol of my vows. I live by them, and I’d die by them. I’ll kill anyone who threatens the Corsettis and that’s exactly what Rozelyn De Falco is doing. From the moment Caterina spotted me in the alley, this organization earned every part of me.

Except a single piece of your heart that was never theirs to claim.

Rozelyn De Falco is presently my enemy, and I will repeat that reminder until the past and present stop worrying about one another and it becomes the entire focus.

But she’s mon soleil.She’s a living nightmare hauled from the trenches of my dark history. The spot of light from that period.

I push myself off her and the bed, twisting for my dresser. From it, I grab a fresh shirt, which I slip on, and find my shoes quickly. I toss her a new shirt from my drawer as well and demand, still facing away from her, “Shower again. Wash the blood from your cunt. Dress. Then we’re leaving.”

Then I escape into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind me with a noise that travels far down the hall, not that I care. With a deep sigh that does nothing to ease me, I fall back against the door with a lightthud, partly guarding it and partly using it to keep me upright.

Out here gives me a surge of fresh air, which I suck into my lungs.

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