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"It's fine," I tell him, knowing I owe him a debt.
He shakes his head before pulling me closer and urging me to lie against his chest.
His hands don't wander. He doesn't roll his hips against me.
There isn't one hint of movement that makes me think he wants more than what he's offering, and for some fucked-up reason, it feels like another rejection.
The harder I cry, the tighter he holds me.
Chapter 19
Newton
I've always been an advocate for free will. I've been hard-pressed to find a situation where I'd say that someone should be forced to do what they don't want to do, but watching the pain on Brielle's face when Beth refused to speak with her made me want to step in front of the woman before she could walk away and urge her to listen.
It wasn't my place. Brielle might be staying in my bedroom out of fear, but I'm not her champion. It's not my place to interfere with the issues between her and the other woman.
I know that Beth came from a small town in Texas that hasn't been touched by all the bad things that happen to others around the world. Being abducted and held prisoner is a big deal to anyone, but possibly more so for Beth, considering the level of protection and distance she's had from bad things.
I imagine that's hard for Brielle to understand, simply because she was forged in a life of abuse and torture. They weren't cast from the same mold, and that may be hard for Brielle to wrap her head around.
I pull her tighter even though her tears stopped long ago. She's sleeping now. Although I've tried to close my eyes and let the darkness carry me into repose, it isn't happening for me.
Kincaid wants me to get closer to her, and I know how easy that would be with the way she acted when I got back to the room today. She wasn't happy to have spent most of the day alone. She wants me here with her. All it would take would be a few nudges in the right direction, and I'd have all her confessions. I could easily relay those back to Kincaid. It's not that the man wants me to betray her trust. He just doesn't want the vile creature that is Nathan Adair back out on the streets. He doesn't think Brielle is evil, just that she's protecting herself by not providing evidence against Adair. In doing so, other women he's had abducted are continuously being hurt.
The problem is that I want to be closer to her. I like her in my arms. I like the fact that she wants me here with her.
I want her confessions to be because she trusts me with them not because I've done something to manipulate them out of her.
I spend hours holding her, listening to her breathing, before my eyes grow heavy. I don't fight sleep the way I would if I were in bed with anyone else. Brielle isn't a threat to me physically. My heart, on the other hand, isn't safe with her. She's too broken, too tortured by her past to ever be capable of truly caring for someone.
I shove away those thoughts. That is not what this is about. I'm not looking for anything like that, and I need to stop letting my mind wander in that direction.
My hand sticks to the filthy carpet when I try to scurry backward away from the imposing man.
"Leave him be, Aaron," the woman says. "Come back over here."
The guy sneers at me as if a seven-year-old is some sort of competition to him.
It's not me he has to worry about where she's concerned. If anything, he should hate those needles she puts in her arms every day. Those are the real competition for everything else in her life. I learned long ago that my mother hated me. Kids at school have good moms, and I ended up with the one who often forgets she even has a son.
Movement in the corner catches my eye just as my mom falls back on the filthy mattress, her eyes locked on the ceiling as if the cracking sheetrock above her head holds all the answers she may have about life.
Sad brown eyes watch me from across the room, and my heart kicks up a few notches.
Instead of coming to me and swooping me up in her arms, the woman who promised me that I was safe simply watches everything unfold. She doesn't block my view of my mother shaking violently on the bed. She doesn't offer a napkin for the foam pooling in her mouth. She doesn't try to stop the cussing man who darts from the room.
My mom's shaking stops and the woman in the corner just stares.
I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing it's all in my head. That woman did rescue me. She did protect me. She kept every promise she made.
I jerk awake, warm hands on my skin, and for a split second, I forget where I am.
Her eyes widen when I try to scramble away.
"You were having a nightmare." Her voice calms me some, but I know from experience that my heart will race for a while as I attempt to escape the grasp the nightmare will continue to have on me.
"Sorry," I murmur. "I can't control them."
