Page 118 of Possession

Braxton Cruz.

Everyone calls me Brax.

Give me a nickname. I’ll take B or even hey you. Hell, call me asshole if you want.

I’m tired. Tired of being confused and played and not given a choice in the way my life is playing out.

And I’m pissed. So fucking angry.

But really, I’m hurt. The man I was falling hard for lied to me … about everything.

Between my father, the Marinos, and nowBraxton-call-me-Brax-Cruz, I’m proof that a woman can lose her identity and her will to be who she wants to be. To be told who she’ll spend the rest of her life with and be forced to live with it.

They can be turned into just a possession, tossed around, bartered, and used.

I don’t need to find myself. I know who I am. It doesn’t matter how hard I was falling for the man I was forced to marry. Hell, it was just hours ago that I was doing everything I could to throw myself at him. Seduce him.

When I woke up this morning, there wasn’t anything I wanted more than to consummate our marriage. The marriage I did not want.

I was gagging for it.

I thought by making that choice, I was actually taking my life by the reins—regaining the control everyone had stolen from me. It might have been within the confines of what I was given, but this morning I knew what I wanted.

Or I thought I did.

Telling myself that I could actually be happy with my husband in Marino land was stupid.

At least I know I don’t have Stockholm syndrome. If that were the case, I’d still be falling all over him, professing my love no matter what his name is. I’d be desperate for him. But more importantly, he wouldn’t have begged me to forgive him.

It’s not like our time together has been a walk through a field of wildflowers, but I am in one piece because of him. I’ve even got the fading bruises to prove what my life would’ve been like had he not claimed me. There’s no doubt he made me feel safe in a very unsafe place.

So as we ride through the streets of the city that never sleeps, it’s not lost on me I just climbed into a creepy white van with no windows, the very kind you were told to look out for as a kid because it’s what kidnappers drive around with buckets full of candy to lure their prey.

But there’s no candy here. Only tech equipment and a lingering stench of old, fried food.

I’m not sure what it says about me, because no one had to lure me anywhere. I could’ve screamed and begged for help. We walked by an entire team from housekeeping, through a bustling kitchen that looked like it was in the throes of serving an event for hundreds, and four delivery trucks in the process of unloading crates of wine.

Note taken: when living your life undercover, you have to sneak back into reality.

Still, my opportunities were plentiful, and I chose to keep my big, fat mouth shut.

I have no idea where we’re going or how long we’ve sat in the back of this creepy, windowless van. The air is musty besides the lingering scents of onion rings and the cologne I was obsessed with just earlier today. It’s an aroma that has become comforting, especially after the last week.

I’m doing everything I can to white knuckle my anger and not let it go. Just like the last week since Nic attacked me, my husband is not giving me personal space. Not that there’s much of it with all the equipment. Brax’s large frame is pressed to mine, our sides glued together just as he promised.

Literally.

Figuratively.

Frustratingly.

He’s ever present and doing exactly as he promised.

You know, besides all the lies.

“Talked to Bristol before I got to the hotel. Patty’s been moved to the ICU. She’s stable, but she’ll be there for at least a day or two. It’s actually safer for you there. I got security clearance for us to stay overnight. Not sure how I’m going to talk them into your plus-one that wasn’t on the invite list.”

Brax glances at me. “She’s my wife. I’m sure it won’t be an issue. You don’t have to stay. We’ll be fine.”

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