Chapter 36

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Everything is deep, but you don't have to drown.

Briar

It's got decent ambiance, not exactly Bond villain lair, but I like how it's been repurposed since Granger's goons took up residence in the vast space cramped with shipping containers. When I finally got word from Aster that Corbin and Rowan got in a fight, so Corbin was taking some time off and keeping connections through Aster, I figured things would work themselves out once I left the picture. When I heard Corbin was putting the rest of Granger's men behind bars, I assumed he was being a good boy and tidying up loose ends on his vacation.

This is just what I get for thinking the best of people I like.

Props to him for trying to help the man who punched him in the face by kidnapping me for an interrogation. He's got loyalty. Curse it all. Even after everything, I still like him.

Strapped to the chair in front of me, Corbin struggles and swears—possibly still reeling from the one-eighty I pulled on him. The sweetheart gave me an under dose of ketamine, then drove me two hours from Pittsburgh to Lake Erie. After about the first hour, I was awake in the trunk, staring at brake lights and pouting before he ever parked. I guess after whatever he found out concerning me, he decided I wasn't the worst.

Just that Rowan deserved the truth.

Sprawled across the cement floor in my evening gown, I stare at the high-beamed ceilings. Flickering strips of light add to the menacing atmosphere, and I have always appreciated good décor. It's like Megamind says, presentation is ever so important.

"I thought we were friends," I murmur, dully, playing with a knife I took off him after tying him to the chair that was supposed to be mine. Man, I'm tired. I think I could sleep for a thousand years.

"Don't give me that—" He curses. "I know everything. You've been lying to us from the start. Now, I want to know why."

"Why? Want me to monologue for you?" I drag the tip of the knife against the concrete until the sound makes my skin crawl. "When did I convince you I was a cartoon villain?"

"I could never figure out where you were keeping Rowan's parents. Where are they?"

"High-security prison. In my own little European country. Princess is a literal endearment, I fear." I wonder if pricking my finger would make me feel better, feel something, feel…anything. Maybe the ketamine hasn't actually worn off yet. My body's astonishingly numb. "Now that I've seen the damage they did up close, I'm thinking a recreational trip to return the favor is in the cards." I bring the tip of the blade to my finger and stop myself just short of drawing blood. "Should I thank you for showing my hand once you get the truth back to Rowan? I wouldn't have had the strength to tell him myself. He's a little too…precious. When I'm with him, I can almost forget it's all a game."

Corbin grimaces, stretching the yellow bruise on his chin. "Why have you done all of this."

Lifting my head lamely, I arch a brow. "You're being really interrogative for the person tied up. All of what?"

"The Maxim Project."

My eyes roll as I drop my head back down to the concrete. Why is this floor so cold? I thought it was summer. Did summer slip away when I wasn't looking? Rude. "Life's a game, Cor. Some people play it better than others."

"So you just want to see how far you can go? No matter who you hurt in the process? It's a thrill-seek to you?"

A dry laugh leaves me. "If only." Letting my eyes close, I run my fingers through the grit and dust around me. "Games are supposed to be recreational. They're distractions. They're coping mechanisms." My lips curve into a smile, but I don't feel it in my chest.

Somewhere inside myself, I know this is an end.

I can't pretend anymore unless I kill Corbin. One way or another, he gets out of this and gets the truth back to Rowan.

This escape's over.

Once Rowan knows how completely I've fooled him, how not a single moment between us was anything but scripted, he'll come to his senses. He has to. He craves something stable and safe and healthy—all the things he's never had the luxury of having before. And I'm layers upon layers of abuse no one should have to suffer with for long.

Was it worth it? Was any of this worth it?

For the low, low price of a broken heart and enough second-guessing trust issues to last him ten lifetimes, his parents can't touch him anymore. I'm not sure it's an adequate tradeoff.

With any luck, he'll get over me.

Who knows how I'll get over any of this…

However, stabbing his parents a couple times might help.

I should call my pilot and book that flight.

"Are you insane?" Corbin asks. While strapped to a chair. In a dim warehouse. As I play with a knife and lie on the ground. In an evening gown. That I wore to a ball. That I organized myself. For a ruse.

My plastic smile tips toward wry. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm clearly the pinnacle of mental stability."

Tension saturates Corbin's every next word. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I'm crazy, not evil. You've been corresponding with Aster, haven't you? While I was in the trunk, I heard you tell him over the phone to share the faux Maxim Project card with my subordinates. So they'd know the jig was up." I cock my head at an awkward angle, glancing at Corbin's face again. It's ghastly in this light, and that ugly still-healing bruise doesn't help. "Love the theatrics, by the way, but if you were expecting Aster to alert Rowan and gather the forces so everyone could get the Scooby-doo reveal, sorry to break it to you, but Aster's one of mine and well aware that the Maxim Project's a hoax. Lace and Chip are probably having beers with him and laughing while they check the time and wait for me to roll in with a good story."

Under normal circumstances, Corbin's aghast expression would make me laugh. Right now, it's cruel and unnecessary.

I get it, all right?

I'm a monster.

I treat people like puppets and pull strings to make them dance.

It's fun.

So long as I keep my distance. Don't make mistakes. Don't get attached.

Honestly, I'm not even upset right now. I'm just annoyed that my perfect climax was ruined by two idiots going off-script.

Yeah. I'm totally fine.

Peak mental health advocate right here.

"It was a car accident," I murmur, and my throat tightens.

"What?" Corbin snaps.

"It wasn't even a job or a dispute or a betrayal. It was just a car accident." It's hard to breathe. "Since you haven't asked about my parents yet, I'm telling you. They died in a car accident. I can't get revenge. There's no place for anger. All I have is pain and a sensation that I am going to be alone for the rest of my life." My eyes close again, and I let the knife clatter against the floor as an ocean wave of heartache sweeps over me. "I needed a game where I could pretend there was a way to save them. I figured if I could save someone else along the way, it would be enough of a distraction to occupy my mind. I didn't have it in me to dethrone yet another tyrant. I wanted to help someone. Maybe—" I force back a sob. "—maybe I thought if I could teach someone about love, I might remember it myself. I miss my parents, Corbin." My voice breaks. "I'm sorry I caused you so many problems. I'm not trying to hurt anyone. I'm just dramatic." I flutter my hand in the air. "The award for Most Over the Top Performance goes to…" I point down at myself. "…me."

I want a trophy. Or something deep fried. Maybe another orange.

There's something so inexplicable and nice about sharing an orange with someone.

Heavy thuds hit the small personnel door on the other side of the warehouse behind me, and my heart jumps. This is…unprecedented. "Do you have backup?"

Corbin winces. "No."

"Huh. Well, whoever that is can't be too bright. I unlocked the door."

Another thud. A familiar-sounding swear.

My heart lunges as I place the voice.

Corbin mutters. "Actually, you were…kind of knocked out. That door sticks."

Breathless, I whisper, "Oh."

If Rowan's here, am I about to be rescued?

Did my friends tell him where to find me, knowing Corbin could scream the truth right in front of me?

Maybe they thought I'd be gone already and someone would need to take care of Corbin. Reuniting old friends after their third-act break. Super cute. I'm a fan.

All I know for sure is that whatever happens next, I'm not the one who will be rescued. Regaining myself, I mutter, "There were twenty men holed up in here, and none of them thought to fix the door? That is singularly the most masculine thing I have ever heard of in my life."

Corbin shrugs, looking awfully tense, with a side of discomfort. How sweet. He's stuck with a loon, but my tears have unsettled him.

At long last, the solid, broken door whips open, sending a reverberating thunder into the space. "Move, and I put a bullet in y—" Rowan freezes as the emptiness before him registers. His dark eyes snap from me to Corbin, and back to me.

Lamely, I wave and wipe my cheeks. Pulling myself up like a rag doll, I get Corbin's knife back from where I dropped it—because I'm keeping it as a souvenir, naming it Sally—and check to make sure in the "excitement" of this mess I returned the gun Corbin stole to my holster. I did. Cool. "I'm going to head home and take a four-year nap. I'll let Cor and you catch up. Pleasure doing business, and all that."

Rowan's strides carry him across the expanse in two split seconds. His arms close around me, crushing. Breath leaves my chest. My heart trips, hiccups, stumbles and falls. For a blinding moment, it feels almost like I'm being rescued.

He swears into my hair. "Briar." His fist grips against my back.

Sally slips from my fingers as Rowan inhales sharply, burying his face against my neck.

Broken, he whispers, "You're okay."

"I'm…" Getting there. Maybe. He'll have to hug me a lot longer. Probably forever.

"I thought Granger's men…"

My brow furrows. I look toward Corbin, find confusion on his face, too. Don't tell me Rowan went rogue? What do Granger's men have to do with anything? They were the first thing Corbin took care of after their little scuffle, and then he reported to Aster, or, well, Lance. How did Rowan know I was here if he didn't also know Corbin had me?

Why would my friends give him part truths like that?

More drama in reuniting the best buds?

That's super cute. I approve. I don't get a moment to inquire, however, because Rowan tosses me over his shoulder, turns on his heel, and marches for the exit in the next instant.

"H-hey," Corbin protests.

Rowan's scowl could kill. "I don't know what's going on, but someones should have communicated with me before I drove—panicked—for an hour, thinking the worst."

"Wha…" Corbin's tone pricks with irritation. "Are you serious, Rowan?"

I blink. Twist. Grapple for stability. "When he tried to communicate with you, you punched him in the face."

Rowan's eyes narrow on me, lethal. "That's how men communicate. He should have swung back."

Male logic continues to astound me. However, female logic brought me down a convoluted path to here, so maybe I don't have a place to speak.

A cool night breeze envelops me after Rowan slams the subpar door behind him.

Dread wells in my chest, and I swallow hard. "Are you really going to leave Corbin in there? He's your best friend. You had a falling out, which was my fault."

"I'll send someone to get him later. Probably."

Probably?

"Also, our falling out wasn't your fault. I told him not to mess with you. He did. I confronted him about it, and he treated my feelings like a joke. I don't know why he's here and Granger's men aren't, but if he's still messing with you, then I'm not ready to forgive him or apologize."

Something clicks, and I pale. "Wait. You…thought twenty men had me, yet you charged in here alone?"

He grunts.

Okay, now who needs help communicating?

I smack his back. "You would have died."

He dumps me into the front seat of his car. "Does it look like I care?"

No.

Not even a little.

Moonlight shines through the windshield as he braces a hand on the center console and cages me in against the leather. My heart skips and sputters at the sight. A melange of emotions pour across his stern features, too many for me to trace.

After I'm hypnotized, he grabs me by the cheeks and digs his fingers into my jaw. "I don't even know where to begin with you, princess."

I wince. "What exactly did my friends tell you that got you out here? Do you…know the truth?"

"I know I'm your little project." Rowan releases a heavy sigh. "Why are you like this?"

"A delight?" I'd try to flutter my lashes, but they are sticky with tears, and I don't even have the energy to smile.

His lips touch mine in a desperate kiss as his grip loses all its strength. "A—" He swears. "—delight."

I go still.

His fingers slip against my cheek, into my hair, tender, almost reverent. Dust falls from the strands as he combs through. "One word answers only. Are you insane?"

"Probably."

"Are you okay?"

Something spears my chest. "No."

"Can I help?"

I begin shaking my head as tears swell and overflow. He's not supposed to respond to the truth like this. I'm dangerous. I'm messed up. I'm broken.

So very broken.

Sobs wrack my chest as I cave in on myself, reverting to a shaking puddle. Wet sounds turn my struggling words into garbled croaks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hush…" He draws my head against his chest, lets my tears soak into his jet black dress shirt. He didn't even have a chance to change. It must be very, very late.

"I try so hard to follow what Papa and Mama taught me, but I'm so tired. I don't know how to do this without them!" My voice erupts in a biting shriek. "This isn't me. I don't remember me. Without them, I don't know who I am at all!" Gasping for air, I grip his clothes, shake him. "Everything is broken. Everything. And the people who try their hardest to fix it wind up broken, too. I don't want to be here anymore. I'm drowning."

Rowan tenses. "Briar…"

"I can't." My voice cracks, split straight down the center of my throat. "Not without them. I'm not strong like you, Rowan. I've lived happily ever after in my chaos where everything goes my way because I make it. I can't handle normal bad things. When my parents died, I lost my grip on reality. All I am is a monster. An insensitive monster with a god complex and depression. That's all I am. There. Now you have all my secrets."

His lips skate across the crown of my head. "Not all of them."

"What more do you want?"

"You really have to ask that?" His fingers thread in my hair to yank my head back so he can meet my eyes. "I want you. Every morning and every night. I want my clothes to smell like cake and my sanity to walk a tightrope every time I see you in a new outfit. I want breakfasts and lunches and dinners. I want more parties where we dance. I want rudimentary displays of dominance that end with you blushing. I want everything. Because, no, it's not all broken." He swipes beneath my eye, disrupting the constant stream of tears. "I am a patchwork of proof that no matter how many times you break something, it can heal. It might be uglier, parts might wind up twisted and numb, but—" He curses. "—Briar, I want movies and fireflies and ice cream. In the depths of your own despair, you showed me there's still so much worth living for." He swallows. "Can you give me a chance to show you a fraction of your own light? Can you give me the time to convince you it's not all smoke and mirrors?"

My lips tremble. "I…don't know what I'd do if you were taken from me, too. If I lost you… I can't… I don't how I'd lose someone else if I allow myself to love like that again. I don't think I'd survive losing the only person who makes me feel real…again."

Sorrow pinches his dark eyes. "Are you sure? I can wait with you while you heal. I don't need promises of anything greater. I just want to be near you."

"I'm so sorry. I…don't think this is something anyone truly heals from."

His fingers unravel from my hair as he pulls back, leaving me cold. Closing my car door, he walks to the driver's side. Silently, he gets in and starts the engine. "I understand," he says finally. "I really didn't want it to come to this."

"Come to what?"

To his credit, he manages to look pitiful when he says, "I'm going to have to lock you in my basement."

I stare at him as he pulls forward along the row of warehouses on the coast of the lake. The still, glass water reflects the shimmering light of the moon.

He glances at me. "Kidding." He turns toward the exit to the main road and mutters, "Or am I?" His eyes narrow as a single car passes in front of us, headlights streaking down the tar. "It could be hard to keep you there unless you don't have any fingers." He reaches into his coat pocket with a sigh and tosses me the little black ring box. "But if you don't have any fingers, how will you wear that?" He curses. "Life is hard sometimes, but I guess that's why someone taught me it's still worth living. And it's pretty hard to live if you don't let yourself love the people who make you feel like a person."

Needless to say, what in the Uno reverse card is this? "Ro—"

"Can you Houdini out of shackles?" His index finger taps against the wheel as his lips purse. "Do you have your phone on you?"

"I'm…in an evening gown."

"Right. Women's clothing doesn't have pockets." His sigh is truly despondent as he mutters, "More things we'll have to heal from." He directs his chin toward his phone on the center console. "Use mine. Can you look up how long it takes for Stockholm to set in? I know we're doing this the hard way, but the sooner you don't have to be chained in the basement, the better."

"Are you having a stroke?" I ask.

He reaches for me, pinning a lock of hair behind my ear. "No. You've got one choice. There's just an easy way and a hard way. You picked the hard way. I really don't prefer making you afraid to sneeze without my permission, but if that's what it takes…"

"You can't be suggesting that you're actually going to go through with toxic relationship-ing me into submission."

"Yeah, you sound crazy right now. I would never do that."

"Right. Of course. And now the gaslighting." I cross my arms. "I tell you I'm suffering with grief, and you start making jokes."

"Briar. I can't talk to you when you're being hysterical like this."

Am I proud? Concerned? Attracted…? Well, okay, to be fair that last one is a persistent condition. I straighten, folding my hands in my lap as I raise my chin. "You don't have it in you. You'll lose your nerve the second I have a breakdown you perceive you caused."

"Are you sure about that? You'd be surprised at the malice I'm capable of. Especially against the woman who taught my bird to say, Hello, my name is Oreo."

A laugh explodes out of me, and I slap my hand to my mouth. No. Oh no. No, no, no… He found out. It happened. And I missed it.

"After I explicitly said not to call him Oreo," Rowan mutters.

"He looks like an Oreo! How could I possibly resist?"

"The same way I resist calling you a lot of things that you look like."

My brows rise, defiant. "Oh, baby, I'd answer to anything you call me."

He doesn't flinch. "Okay. Wife."

I lose track of my hubris.

Torment deepens the lines around his mouth. "Listen. Briar. I'm not as good as you at providing what your friends say you call non-consensual therapy. But I know a thing or two about living in fear and not knowing who you are because something stripped that away. It's suffocating. It's painful. It makes everything bleak. I've never experienced grief like what you're going through because I've never had the opportunity to love like you have. If, however, I lost you, I would know that pain, so, selfishly, I'm going to do whatever I have to in order to keep you instead. For as long as I can." His chest fills. "I hope that's all right."

It hurts to swallow again. But I manage. "You know, you're not really supposed to ask for permission. It defeats the purpose of being toxic."

"That's our joke, princess." He offers me his hand, pinkie extended. "I love you enough to let you go. But not yet. Not until I know you're going somewhere better. And I love you too much to ever let anything else be better than me." He stops at a red light and takes the moment to face me fully. "No one can really promise forever, but I can give you every moment between. I can give you at least half my strength whenever you need it, more if you ask, everything if that's what it takes to pick you up when you fall down. You are not untouchable. There are people who didn't raise you who can see past your games and appreciate all the fragments of your soul." Agony gleams in his expression, pleading at the very core of his essence. "Forfeit. Afterward, we'll start something new on the same team."

My gaze drops from his eyes to fifty percent of his offered strength.

The light turns green on this vacant road. But he doesn't move forward.

Dark city. Bleak world. Brilliant, brilliant lights, blazing in every kind or gentle soul.

He's an angel.

Maybe all this time when I thought it was my job to deliver him, he was the one sent to deliver me.

I bite my lip as fresh tears careen down my cheeks. Lifting my shaking hand, I lock our pinkies together. "I'll forfeit…if you tell me what you meant last night."

His lips stretch into the fullest smile I've ever seen. "Two nights ago. It's late."

"You know what I mean," I mutter.

He leans across the console to kiss me. "Loving you has never made me feel blind or victimized. Loving you has always been a well-informed choice, against all the odds, all the better judgment, and all your best moves. You annoy and frustrate me to no end, but I love you with all the good and all the bad. You are perfectly imperfect, and I'm fond of your serrated edge." He presses his forehead to mine. "Even when you teach my bird things you shouldn't, I still love you. And I will delight in making you pay for the times you go too far for the rest of your life."

I blush. "You mean that?"

"Yep." Dragging my scarred pinkie to his lips, he kisses.

"Promise?"

His eyes close. "I do."