Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Ana

I can't believe I just asked that. What is wrong with me? Did the liquor really hit me that hard? His answer, though. That's what has me speechless as I stare at him wide-eyed. Does he mean that if I said yes, he would want to have sex with me?

Something twinges inside of me low in my belly, and I squeeze my thighs together, hoping to tamp down whatever this feeling is.

"Have you killed people?" I finally ask.

Does it matter? Would I think worse of him?

What has me so freaked out is that I don't think badly of Patrick at all. I'm still a bit frightened around him, but I think I would be with anyone after the way my father has treated me. Plus, Patrick is a tall, muscular man who looks like he could do a lot of damage to a person if he wanted. Which, for some reason, I find really hot.

"Yes." He doesn't look even the slightest bit remorseful about it.

"Did you want to kill my father?"

Patrick and the other two guys had guns with them, but was it more of a scare tactic?

"When he brought you into that room, I've never wanted to kill someone so badly in my life."

Heat blooms between my legs. Is this what it feels like to be turned on? Like all I want in the world is for him to touch me right now. I move my other foot, sliding it under his wrist so we have more contact. He smiles and continues stroking my skin.

"Why didn't you?"

"A couple of reasons." He leans back against the cushions and rolls his head to the side to look at me. "The main one is you. I never want you to see something like that. I also knew that the only way to safely get you out of that house was to agree not to kill him in exchange for you. I'm a man of my word. I won't kill him because of the debt."

"You say it like you plan to do it, though," I say softly.

He stays silent for a few seconds, then looks me right in the eyes. "I'm not planning on it, Anastasia. I'm going to do it. You belong to me now. He hurt something that is mine. I don't tolerate that."

Whoa.

Every time he calls me by my full name, it does something to me. I'm starting to feel like a ball that's being wound tighter and tighter, but in a very delicious way.

"Will you ever let me go?" I whisper. I don't breathe as I wait for his answer.

"Do you want me to let you go, Anastasia?"

We stare at each other. I open my mouth andthen close it again. What do I want? I've never been asked that before. Even though I don't know Patrick very well, I think he's a good man and would let me go if I say yes. Maybe I have Stockholm syndrome. I'm going to justify it by the fact that he did kind of save me from a terrible life. So it's probably okay that I like him.

"No." The word comes out so quietly that I barely hear it, but he does.

"Good girl. That is your answer, Anastasia. No. I will never let you go."

A shiver runs through me from head to toe. I'm not sure what I just did, but for some reason, I'm not so afraid anymore.

* * *

What is that pounding?

Ugh.

It's like someone is hitting me over the head repeatedly.

And then, everything starts spinning and I leap from my bed to run to the bathroom. I barely crash to my knees when I start vomiting into the toilet. Over and over, I heave. My head throbs, and the throwing up only makes it more painful.

"Fuck. Ana."

A warm body squats behind me and pulls my hair back. It's his scent that brings me to reality again. Patrick. He's in here. While I'm throwing up.

"Get out!" I cry, trying to push him away.

"No. I'm not leaving you."

He reaches in front of me and flushes the toilet, then rises and turns on the faucet. A moment later, he presses a cool washcloth to my forehead, and it's heaven.

"I'm going to chew her ass out for getting you so drunk," he murmurs.

It takes a second to realize he's talking about Helen. I sit back on my feet and frown. Patrick must have turned on the lights when he came in, but he's dimmed them so it's not too bright. "Don't be mad at her. She's my friend."

Wow. I just sounded so pouty. Maybe I'm still intoxicated.

He studies my face for a second, then takes the cloth from my hands and starts wiping my mouth. "Are you done throwing up?"

I nod, which was a terrible thing to do because I start heaving again. This time, when I'm done, he sighs. "Come on, babygirl. Let's get you cleaned up and get some medicine in you."

"Am I sick?"

What? Did I ask that out loud?

"No, baby. You're drunk. I was barely able to get any food in you before you passed out on the couch. And when I tried to get you to wake up and take some ibuprofen, you told me you couldn't open your mouth to take it." He chuckles and gently pulls me up to stand. "Which was funny as hell since your mouth was open while you were telling me that."

I giggle and blink several times, and holy cow. Patrick isn't wearing a shirt.

"Whoa," I mumble as I let my gaze roam over his inked-up chest.

His lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything as he leads me to the vanity and finds my toothbrush.

I stare at him the entire time I brush my teeth, and by the look on his face, he's fully amused by it.

A raised scar catches my eye. It's darker than the rest of his skin, almost as if it's a newer wound. "What happened there?"

He glances down and runs one of his thick fingers over it. "Bullet wound. It was worth it, though. My bosses' girls weren't harmed, and that's all that matters."

A wave of emotion rolls through me. "You… protected them?"

His hand wraps around my wrist, and he tugs me out of the bathroom. "Yeah, baby. Women are precious and need to be protected by all means necessary."

By the time I process those sweet words, he's led me through the house and into what I assume is his room.

I dig my heels into the carpet as panic creeps over me.

"Ana, relax. I'm bringing you in here, so if you get sick again, I'm close by. You can sleep in my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch." He points to the sitting area that's almost as big as a living room.

"You can't sleep on the couch. This is your bedroom. You should sleep on the bed."

He shakes his head. "I'm sleeping over there, and you're sleeping on the bed where you belong."

"But…"

"Anastasia Marie Ryan," he says quietly.

I snap my head back to look up at him. "My last name is Clayburn."

"No, it fucking isn't. That bastard doesn't get to lay one more fucking claim on you. As of now, your last name is Ryan. Remember, little one, you're mine ." He pins me with a stern stare. "It's Anastasia Ryan now."

Oh. Well… I guess that doesn't sound so bad.