Page 110 of Captive Ruin

“Nothing. You lay against my side.”

I’m pressing myself to him, and only now do I realize his shirt feels odd, sticky and tacky against my skin. I look down. The material clings to him, sodden and stained darker. And the sheets… the sheets beneath him are pink.

“Jesus, fuck, Van Wyk!” I pull back in shock. “You’re bleeding! What the hell?”

“Don’t worry,” he says on a breath. “It’s a flesh wound.” His eyes are still closed and one hand reaches blindly for me, pulling me back down against him, against his injured side, pinning me beneath his arm. “And will you please call me Lukas?”

“Doesn’t this hurt?” I ask in a small voice, as his blood stains my robe and my skin beneath.

“Yes.” He pulls me tighter against him. “It’s a good hurt.”

Twenty-Six

Amelia

We lie in the bed, pressed together, his arm around me, listening to our breathing return to normal.

My mind can’t focus, my thoughts in disarray. He’s been back barely half an hour, and I attacked him and then we fucked. He’s injured. How is he injured? What did he say to Lucy? Why is he bleeding?

I’m still furious with him, but it’s warring with the relief of seeing him again, my worry for him, and anger at myself. I didn’t just let him fuck me, I wanted him to. I’m awash with endorphins. His cum is leaking from me and trickling down my thigh.

Four weeks since he pinned me across a terrace table. Two weeks of breaking into my apartment, and now two weeks without him, and I all but throw myself at him when I see him again. How has it come to this?

“You’re thinking loudly,” Van Wyk murmurs. “Why don’t you relax, and enjoy the moment?”

Relaxed is what I am not.

I sit up, pulling my bathrobe around my nakedness, glaring down at him. It’s effort wasted; he has his eyes closed. “Why don’t you answer some questions? Where have you been? Why did you leave me without a word? What the hell did you say to my sister?”

He sighs, reaching out blindly to find my hip, like the contact is reassuring. “It’s complicated.”

“I don’t care how complicated it is,” I say, my anger rising. “I deserve to know.” Two weeks of nothing but frustration, and I’m ready to take it out on him. Again.

I pull away from his touch, climbing off the bed, needing to pace. My legs are still unsteady, but I don’t let that stop me.

“You abandoned me in this goddamn house! I’ve got nothing to do, I can’t even reach anyone, and no one will let me leave.”

He sits up, propping his back against the headboard, watching me. “You’re safe here.”

“I’m a prisoner! Tony and Jorge follow me everywhere.”

“They’re your bodyguards.”

“They’re my jailers.” I hiss the word. “Don’t try to deny it.” I gesture angrily. “And you! No word for two weeks, then you walk back in here bleeding!”

His lips twitch like he might smile if he knew how.

That earns him a glare. “Is this funny?”

“Not at all. I was only thinking how cute you always look when you’re angry, and your robe has slipped. It’s very distracting.”

I gape at him, then close my mouth with a snap and tighten my robe. “Don’t change the subject, Van Wyk.”

“Lukas,” he says, tapping his chest. He points at me. “Amelia.” Back to himself. “Lukas.”

I’m not in the mood for his Tarzan-Jane impressions. “You owe me answers, Van Wyk.”

He shakes his head, and this time the corner of his mouth curls up. “You’re so stubborn.”