Page 30 of Taint My Soul

After a while, the car slows to a halt outside my apartment, I pay the driver and hurry upstairs to my room, stripping once I had gotten through the doors and heading to the bathroom.

I need to get this feeling of frustration and dirtiness off of me.

The lukewarm water hits my back and rolls down my skin once I turn on the shower. I run my hands over my body and scrub as hard as I can, but the feeling still sits there.

Hollow.

Aching.

The need for revenge.

The need to watch the man who had stolen my childhood away from me bleed.

I’ve wanted it for a long time, but I always denied myself because I would never become the one thing I hate.

Him.

CHAPTER TEN

MASON

Istill recall everything that happened last night.

Vincent’s entire plan would have been compromised if Saint hadn’t let me go. If he had put me in that cage, if he had tortured me like those other men he tortured, I would have broken.

But he let me go.

And the memory of last night, even as I walk into the company building on Monday, still lingers.

Sometimes I wish I were only dreaming, but the older, dangerous man had spared me, knowing full well I was lying.

He even asked me about my bruises, and correct me if I’m wrong, but the change in his demeanor when he saw what Vincent had done to my face sent a shiver down my spine. The look on his face was lethal, and every time I recall what happened, it makes my blood boil. I don’t want or need his protection. I can handle myself.

Besides that, I still carry the cold weight of his realization. He knows who I am. He knows. What makes it worse is that I spend over forty hours a week with him. Forty hours, which could lead to something else. Something unprofessional.

But Saint King can’t be unprofessional.

He values work more than anything in this world. Even passionless sex. I see it in the way he focuses in the office. The way he reviews the budget for the company and speaks in the boardroom.

God, why can’t I stop thinking of him?

I haven’t been able to stop since Friday night. I’d rather think of him than think of torturing my uncle.

I can’t deal with that stomach-churning feeling again.

I don’t want to.

When I get to my office, he’s already standing by the floor-to-ceiling window while he makes a phone call. I put my bag down on my desk and head into his office with his coffee order in my hand.

He sent me an email on the weekend, requesting that I always bring him caffeine to start his day. I had to stop by the cafeteria to get it. “Good morning,” I say and set down the coffee on his desk.

He turns around and looks at me, his face holding a cold expression. I swallow and straighten up while he ends the call and settles down at his desk.

“Thank you, Mason.”

“Is there anything else you need, sir?”

“No, that will be all.” He says without looking up from the file in front of him.