Chapter 12 Beautiful and Terrifying

— 12 —

BEAUTIFUL AND TERRIFYING

Gemma

HE'S EVERYTHING I hate.

He's all the things that frighten me.

He makes me as furious as the men who left me for dead.

I don't even know his name, but the profile of who he is develops with each passing moment. I'm taking notes in my mind and bold print highlights the traits that scare me the most—powerful, insistent, violent, magnetic.

The rage he inspired sparked flames that were burning me alive from the inside out, yet the same heat awakened butterflies in the pit of my stomach. When he pinned me on the staircase, their wings were beating hard against the rising smoke, a flurry of tiny wings whipping around my insides, trying to escape the fury smoking them out. And inexplicably, their fluttering fear caused an uncontrollable clench of desire low in my belly.

I don't know where to begin to process that. It's not the same thing I felt with Seb when he found ways to force my body to betray me. I've found a way to process that, to accept that it was just one of the many ways he abused me. It was never something I liked, never something I wanted him to do again.

But this feeling wasn't the same.

It came then passed quickly, but I didn't hate it.

And I hate that I didn't hate it.

And the way he smiles, the way he grinned at me while we fought really pissed me off. It's annoying that his teeth look so perfect, all straight and pearly white.

How can he keep them so damn clean here in the Territory?

It's un-fucking-real.

As if it weren't enough to be dazzled by the flash of his unreasonably perfect teeth, he had to go and let his grin cut those subtle dimples in his cheeks. His smile altered his face from a smooth scowl to reveal the shape of his cheekbones hidden beneath, drawn from perfectly angled lines that run from either side of his nose to his dimples.

It was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

Beautiful and terrifying… He's a gorgeous, dangerous man.

The contradiction is giving me whiplash. He's drawing me into a treacherous game. One moment, he's got me suiting up, putting on armor, and ready for war. The next moment, he's disarming me, nearly charming me, and I know I can't let him do that. I know I should've kept fighting him on the stairs, but I'm just so fucking tired. This has been the longest day of my life, and I still don't know when it will end—I don't even know how it will end.

Please, just let it end.

On the staircase, I gave him the last burst of adrenaline-fueled combat I could muster, but I knew in my bones I wouldn't find another surge of strength until I slept. I conceded. I guess I should thank Seb for helping me know when to give up for one day so I can prepare to fight another.

I hesitate at the threshold of an open door at the end of the hallway on the second floor. The room is dim without electricity, but there's some light from the fading sunset which must be coming from a window inside.

"Go on," he says, his voice unnervingly close.

I turn halfway, standing sideways in the doorway. I'm afraid to have my back to him any longer. He's standing too close, only inches away from my shoulder. I don't want to be so close to him, but I'm afraid to enter this room. He lifts his arms and places his hands on either side of the doorframe, caging me in, leaving me with only one direction I can move to escape him.

"Go inside." He leans forward, and his chest bumps my shoulder.

I react with an instinctive, backward step, and my ass rebounds off the doorframe.

"Unless you wanna fight me again… I could go another round."

"I didn't want to go the first round."

"But you did, and I think you kinda liked it."

Exasperated, I let out a heavy breath as I glance inside the large bedroom. "You could at least tell me your name before forcing me to bed."

"You wanna know my name, baby?"

"I assume it would be rude to call you whatever the hell I wanna call you, yeah?"

He gives me that damn grin again. "Depends on what you wanna call me."

"I was thinking something like Asshat or Douchebag… Maybe Foul-Mouthed Motherfucker if you prefer something a little more formal."

"Don't sell yourself short, pink. I'm sure you can be a hell of a lot more creative than that."

"Oh, you have no idea."

"I'm sure I'll find out." He tips his forehead toward the bedroom. "Go inside. If you're good for me, I'll tell you my name and answer your questions."

Good for him?

Shit. What is he planning to do to me in there?

The words rush out, "I'm not gonna fuck you."

His eyebrows briefly slant toward his nose before straightening again. "Good," he says with a smirk. "I prefer a pillow princess… vastly underrated."

A spark of anger has me turning to square off, but exhaustion quickly snuffs the flame and drains the heat from my words. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"A guy who prefers to be on top." His palms land on my shoulders, and Angel barks from somewhere behind him. "Stop wasting my time, cupcake."

He twists me around and marches me forward into the bedroom. I don't even have the energy for light resistance, so I let him walk me into the room. He moves us straight ahead, stopping me at the foot of his king-sized bed before releasing my shoulders. In the nearly dark room, my gaze sweeps across the unmade bed. The flat sheet is twisted up with the plush comforter—bunched near the bottom right corner of the bed—and the pillows lay askew.

He sleeps here, tangled in these sheets.

He wants me here. He wants me in his bed with him.

My heart leaps, a painful collision with my ribs.

He's gonna rape me. I knew it… I fucking knew he would.

Shit. No… I can't…

"I can't go through this again…"

"Sit on the bed."

I whirl around to face him. "Don't… Please … I can't…"

"Sit down, Gemma." He takes a step toward me.

I take a step back.

My thighs bump the edge of the bed—that fucking frightening bed—and I jump away from it, rushing forward again.

But there he is, right in front of me.

Tall and towering, oppressive and demanding.

My stomach lurches with warning, with the sick, sinking feeling that I should've held on to this entire time. I'm in a new world, one without laws and consequences, and it's ruled by violent men.

There's no one to call for help; there's no one who can save me.

There's nowhere to run; there's no safe place I can hide.

How the fuck did I think I could survive here?

"I know I told you twice to sit down."

He did… He did tell me twice, and I'm still standing.

Fear climbs the back of my throat, then drips slowly down my face. Trauma crawls from the pit of my stomach where a thousand black tendrils are clustered and rooted. Their pointed claws scratch my insides, shredding my strength, tearing apart my bravery, ripping at my will to fight.

I blink and see Seb standing before me—the man who carved me out, made room for it to nest. He put this creature inside me, the one I thought I'd conquered, though evidently, was only dormant. It strips my power, makes me an empty shell that can only be filled with fear and the will to survive it. And with Seb, compliance was the only means to survive.

For moments, I feel weak, empty.

I take a step back.

I comply.

I sit on the edge of the bed, helpless.

Don't touch me. Please, don't touch me.

Don't hurt me.

Don't make me do it.

I can't do this.

"Gemma." His voice is commanding.

I blink through tears and lift my eyes to meet Seb's. He's standing right there, then in a flash, he's gone. Seb disappears, and in his place is the nameless man who stole me.

He lowers in front of me, crouching to bring his eyes level with mine. "Where'd you go, desert rose?" His face is cast in dark shadows as daylight escapes, but I can feel his eyes roam my face. I can see the dip of his brow line as his eyes narrow to study my features. "How did I lose you?"

"I'm not gone," I whisper.

"Bullshit." I feel his knuckle touch my cheek and wipe away a tear. "I know dissociation when I see it."

I want to tell him that he doesn't know what he's talking about, but as silent seconds tick past, I know he's right. I've been through this before. When something triggers a flashback, I'm dragged from the present, seized from reality by the clawed and tentacled creature who takes me back to Seb. It hasn't happened for a while, and I hope it won't last long.

When he touches my other cheek to wipe the tears, it makes me flinch. His gentle touch scoops an ounce of fear from the void and lets a spoonful of anger replace it. That's how I know it's almost over, when fear gets out of the way and other emotions fill the space.

I turn my head sideways. "Don't."

He grips my chin and lifts it skyward, leans in so close that, for a second, I almost think he's going to kiss my throat. But as quickly as he grabbed me, he lets me go.

"First day in Lawless Land is a bitch for everyone. I get it." He sighs, watches me for a beat, then stands. "It's nearly eight. I need to go flip the breaker. I can't see what the fuck I'm doing to clean that cut until we get the lights on."

His hand floats toward me as he speaks, catching a strand of hair and slowly trailing to the end.

"I know we had a good tumble out there, but I have a feeling you're gonna stay right here for me now, aren't you? I'll be back in fifteen minutes with some clean clothes, food, and water, but you have to be good for me or I'll take them right back out. All you need to do is stay right there, and if you do, I'll let you eat, help you get cleaned up, let you shower and sleep. That's it. Just sit and wait. Fifteen minutes. I'll be back. The lights will come on before you see my face again."

He turns and strides toward the door.

I should chase him, attack him while his back is turned, try to escape one more time. Instead, my hazy mind and fatigued body insist I stay put.

He pauses just before leaving, glancing back at me from the door. "I'll take good care of you, baby. Just sit still and wait for me to come back."

I watch as the door closes behind him.

Then I sit silently, think of nothing as I wait for his return.