Page 93 of The Freedom in Captivity

“You’re quiet.”

“Just thinking,” I answer.

“About?”

“Nothing.”

She rests the soap on the tub’s side and cups my neck, leaning closer until her lips are a breath apart from mine.

“I think this is the gentlest we’ve ever been to one another. The aftercare is almost as good as last night.”

My chest burns. My muscles urge me to get the hell out of here. I’ve never cared enough about another woman to do this for them. She’s my first.

“It’s meant to be,” I murmur, moving her hair from her shoulder. Her skin is tinged pink from the water’s heat but she doesn’t seem to be complaining. “Did last night hurt?”

I almost went too far.

“Not even remotely close. Not the kind of pain that would hurt me, anyway.”

Of course, it didn’t. Because you were made for me.

“This is nice.” With a heavy sigh, she lowers her head to my chest, right over my heart. My hands clasp the tub’s siding; better it than her, to resist from hugging her to my chest as she curls up. Her restful, paced breaths blow over my wet skin, right over my tattoo, reminding me, yet again, of every reason I shouldn’t be in here.

Everything good ever existing in my life—the very little there has been—always seems to come to an end.

Which is why I should have predicted what’s next.

The door to the room crashes open and a holler of “Breakfast!” comes through the space, making us both tense.

“Fuck,” she curses, shifting onto her knees to stand.

Fuck is right.

I grab her wrist, keeping her still to avoid making the water slosh and potential noise drift toward Vlad. The bathroom door is still open but if he leaves her food by the door and goes, we’ll be good.

“De Falco?” A tone tinged with inquiry and stress.

Fuck.Of course. Because she’s probably been visible for every visit, and the one time she isn’t, he’ll raise alarms.

I slide from beneath her, reaching over unhurriedly for a towel on a nearby rack. I hand it to her and reach for another. Once she’s standing, I nudge my head for her to carefully get out of the tub and toward the doorway. If he sees her in a towel, he’ll realize what he’s interrupting and will leave.

Before either of us take another step, Vlad approaches the bathroom’s entrance, spotting us immediately. First her, a towel partially wrapped around her body, and me, standing just on the outside of the tub, water dripping onto the shiny, white tile, holding a towel.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, gaze darting between us, widening with every pass. “Flynn, what did you do?”

“Vlad.” I lunge across the bathroom, tossing my towel to the side, needing him to understand before he correctly assumes.

He whirls, and with a speed trained into him, he has his Glock cocked and pointed at me. Somehow, when I came here last night, I felt it’d end with me staring into a barrel, but I didn’t believe it’d be his.

“You betrayed orders.”

I had, but it doesn’t stop me from fighting back. My arm swings out and knocks his gun out of his hand. It flies a couple feet away, but our attention is on one another in a standoff.

Until Rozelyn steps between us. “Hey, he didn’t—”

He lunges for me in that precise second, his fist swinging out to throw a punch my way, but with Rozelyn’s last-minute interruption, he hits her instead, knocking her upside the head. She takes the sudden fall, the hand gripping her towel releasing it to catch herself.

Once again, everything good in my life always seems to have a deadline.

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