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"Because you forgot to not trust anyone?" she says bitterly.
"No. I trust you, though I probably shouldn't. I got caught up, thinking they feared me. They don't. Not yet."
She shivers, despite the hot water pelting her back. "I think it was worse this time."
I rear back, ducking to see her face. "What do you mean this time?"
"Grant. It doesn't happen all the time, but every once in a while he wants to teach me a lesson."
"A lesson?" Even I can hear the deadly tone in my voice. While I don't want to scare her, at least she's losing that emptiness in her eyes.
"That they're in control. They're always in control. I don't have a choice in anything, and they can take it away whenever they see fit. Dante, I know you think you're being here has done something for me, but..." She pulls in a deep breath as if bracing herself for battle.
"Aelia?"
She shakes her head. "You can't be my savior. Nothing in my life will change. Even if you succeed, nothing will change."
"You'll be free. You'll be out of this hellhole, free to live your life however you want."
"But I don't know what I want," she cries, crossing her arms over her chest, like she just noticed she's naked. She glances away, but I grip her chin lightly, pulling her gaze back to mine.
"Don't you want to find out?"
She shakes her head again, pressing her lips together. "I don't know how. Besides, this is all I've known since I was nineteen. And before that, I grew up with Anders as my father. From the mafia to fucked-up sex club. That's been the projection of my life. The shit I've seen...why are you smiling?"
She has no idea who I am, what I grew up with. An MC might be different from the mafia, but not by much. Plus, we worked with the Kings and the Byrns just enough that I’m not ignorant of how they operate. Though Anders probably is a lot more like Shane and Mason's fathers rather than mine or Helms’s.
I pull her into me again, trapping her arms between us. I've tried hard to ignore the fact that she's been naked this entire time, concentrating on freeing her from whatever prison her mind has been trapped in.
"I can't tell you everything, but I can say that if you stick with me, you being raised in the mafia won’t be a problem."
"It doesn't matter. Where's Grant?"
"It does matter, but now isn't the time." I reach around her and turn off the shower.
"Where's Grant, Dante?"
"Currently? Chained to a pipe in his room. I'll deal with him later."
She starts to shake, pushing away from me. "No. No, no, no. You have to let him go. You can't..."
Her breathing becomes ragged, and she stumbles into the corner. Sliding to a crouch, she runs her hands over her wet hair, then tugs at the strands. I drop in front of her, cupping her face.
"They won't hurt you anymore, Aelia. I won't let them." We both know I'm lying. They're merely words, regardless of how much we wish they were more.
"And what happens the next time you leave? He'll bide his time, and it'll be worse. He hates you and he'll take it out on me," she mutters, tears streaming down her face, though she doesn't seem to notice.
Her eyes dart around, never settling on me. It's as if she's not here, locked away in whatever hell she's imagining Grant will throw her in. I don't know how to deal with this. Her emotions skip from one to another, never settling on one for long.
What the fuck did Grant do to her to mess her up like this? It's more than the bruises or even shutting her away. She said he's done it before. So why is she so affected this time?
I tip my head back, heaving out a sigh when it hits me. This is because of me. Grant may have fucked with her before, exerted his control over her in any way he can, but this is my fault. I put her in danger, thinking I was saving her. I wanted to protect her so badly I ended up putting her straight in the path of his wrath. Every time I hit him, every time I stood up to him, I only made it worse for her.
"Then I'll kill him."
"You can't," she moans, burying her face in her hands.
"Watch me. That fucker deserves to die. And I've held back because you asked me to. Not anymore."
