Chapter 15 Shiver

— 15—

SHIVER

Gemma

HE WAS ON top of me, suffocating me, and all I could hear was the song, the one I thought I'd conquered, the melody I thought I'd reclaimed in the name of vengeance.

I was wrong.

I haven't mastered the song at all; I haven't overcome its power. It still dominates me, still holds my mind captive, puts me back in a cage only Seb can open.

The melody started to play in my mind the moment he covered my face with his palm, and it started to loop again when he finally let me breathe.

I had to sing it out loud.

If I'd let the song whisper quietly in the mental darkness, it would have looped forever. It would've stolen my breath again and again as it played. It would've held me prisoner in the past, dooming me to relive that horrid, breathless night with the plastic covering my face—

No, Gem…

"No. Don't go back there…"

Did I say that out loud?

My head turns with my eyes sweeping skyward, searching for stars I know I won't see on the white ceiling. I slowly roll to my back, staring up at the blank white canvas above me. I imagine painting it black, splashing it with flecks of silver-white light, and watching them fall into their places like stars in the night sky.

Rastaban.

Eltanin…

"Deneb. Altair. Vega."

Naming the stars gives me the illusion of peace, lulling me into a trance-like calm.

I'm neither here nor there, present or past, connected or disconnected. I simply exist in this realm of space, floating among the stars, waiting for my time to die.

Heavy hands slip beneath me, raise me higher, closer to the stars.

"Take me to Tabby's Star," I tell the hands guiding me through space. "I wanna see for myself what keeps dimming her light."

"Did I break you, baby?" His voice floats along with me. "Goddamn. I didn't mean to break you like this."

I wonder if he tacks on the words, "Not yet," in his mind.

"Liar," I whisper at the vision of stars.

An abrupt change in the light above me wipes away the illusionary image of peace—my imaginary night sky is blown away by the harsh lighting in the bathroom, and I soon find myself back where we started. He plops me down on the counter, rushes back to the bedroom, and returns seconds later. His hands are full, but he empties them quickly, placing some items I don't bother to spare a glance at on the opposite end of the counter.

I hear something rip, then his fingers gently tap beneath my chin before he tilts my head back. Something cold and wet touches my skin, some soaked paper-like cloth he rubs over my cut in light, diligent circles while—

"Fuck!" I draw back sharply at the fire suddenly searing my flesh, the sting of alcohol sparking a tiny blaze that burns through the small slash.

"I know it hurts, baby, but you can take it."

I lean my head back against the mirror and shut my eyes. I know that getting an infection would be so much more painful than this temporary burn—painful and potentially life-ending. The risks are so much greater out here in the Territory… in Lawless Land …

"Why do you call it Lawless Land?" I ask quietly as he swipes the alcohol pad across the cut again. I hiss and flinch at the fresh sting.

"Because that's what we all call it."

A cool breeze flows over the burn.

I open my eyes to find his head lowered in front of me, lips puckered, blowing air over the cut to soothe my pain. His head moves as he blows, tracing the line twice before pausing to inspect the area with scrutinizing eyes.

"The country that banished us can call this place whatever the fuck they want beyond the borders," he says, then lifts his eyes to meet mine, "but this world is ours, so we claim it with our own name." He steps back. "Stand up."

I forget to protest, hopping off the counter at his request and landing on my feet. I'm too tired to think beyond the way he's triggered me, the way he's flipped the switch on every instinctual mechanism my trauma developed to protect me.

I flinch as he reaches forward to unfasten the buttons of my hideous orange jumpsuit. My hands rise with the urge to smack his hands away, but instead, my palms land on his forearms. "What are you doing?"

"I'm helping you undress so you can take a shower."

"I can do that myself."

"Can you?"

"I…" I pause because I actually need a moment to decide whether I can , whether my hands are too unsteady, or my mind is too foggy to remember what I'm doing halfway through. "I don't know."

He unloops the first button, then looks up at me from beneath his lashes. "Then just stand still and let me do it."

"Are you ever gonna tell me your name?"

"If you'd given a bit more attention to the details when you read that note you found in the entryway, you would already know my name by now."

I feel my cheeks flush. I almost feel embarrassed for not realizing right away that the note was referring to a dog and not a human woman. He probably thinks I'm fucking stupid. I don't know why it bothers me to assume he thinks that; I don't give a fuck what he thinks of me.

At least… I know I shouldn't give a fuck about what he thinks of me.

This has always been an issue for me as a woman in science. Every man I ever met in the field has demonstrated how stupid they initially thought I must be, though I proved every single one of them wrong, outperforming them all on every measure. But the initial assumptions always stuck with me, always bothered me. It disgusts me that so many men assumed I must be dense, all because I'm a decent-looking girl who likes to dress cute and do her hair and make-up…

"I was top of my doctoral class in astrophysics at Yale, for fuck's sake."

Goddamnit. I didn't mean to say that out loud!

He pauses, lifts his head, and stills his hands. "I'm not intimidated by smart women. And I already knew that. Your man with the Reborn said as much."

He works the button that's fastened right between my tits. His knuckles graze the sides of my breasts, and I accidentally gasp. He smirks, but he doesn't say a word.

"He's not my man. And I wasn't exactly reading for the details when I saw that note."

He chuckles. "No, shit." There's a long pause as he moves to the next button. "My name is Oz, by the way."

"Oz," I repeat. "As in, The Wizard of… ?"

"As in Ozlo. Ozlo Kincaid."

"Ozlo Kincaid." I commit it to memory.

He doesn't speak again until he's unfastened all the buttons. His hands skim my shoulders to push off the short sleeves of the jumpsuit. I let it slip down my arms, and the ugly thing drops right to the ground, pooling at my feet.

"Step out."

I feel exposed, entirely vulnerable.

My pulse quickens, making blood race through my veins.

I step out, and he kicks the jumpsuit away. My arms naturally rise, crossing to cover my chest. All my naughty bits are still covered by the plain white bra and matching panties, but I still feel bare, accessible, on exhibit for this vicious man.

His eyes wander over me. "Do you need me to help you remove the rest?"

I assume that's a thinly veiled demand for me to remove the bra and panties. I shake my head. It takes all the strength I have, but somehow, I manage to pull my arms away from my chest. I start to bring them behind me so I can unhook my bra, but then his hands shoot forward, grip me just above my elbows, and stop me. He tugs my arms forward and pins them to my sides.

"Do you need help in the shower?"

I lift my head and meet his stare. "Are you asking me?"

His forehead wrinkles. "I don't know what that means. Do you need help taking a shower right now? Yes or no."

I let out a heavy breath, making room for the quick draw of another as anxiety stutters the rhythm of my lungs. "I don't—How do you want me to answer that?"

I don't know if he wants me to say yes or no. Maybe he needs me to say yes so he can feel like I gave him permission to get in with me. Maybe he wants me to say no so he can force himself on me, given the way he seems to enjoy fighting me so fucking much. I don't know which answer is gonna lead to hurt; I don't know which one will ease my future suffering.

The wrinkles creasing his brow slowly disappear as he watches me, then he lets go of one of my arms to cup my cheek, brushing his thumb across my skin. "Someone really fucked you up, bubblegum. Who was it? Was it the man you knew with the Reborn? What did he do to you?"

I don't wanna talk about it.

I subtly shake my head against his palm.

He brings the other hand to my opposite cheek, firmly but softly gripping my face, and dips to level our eyes. "I won't lie to you, baby. I'm not gonna stand here and tell you I'm a good man. You already know what I am. We've all been banished for the same reason."

I swallow hard at that reminder…

He's a convicted Class A violent felon—the same as me.

What the fuck did he do?

Just how dangerous is this man?

"I'm not gonna tell you I'll never put my hands on you, because we both know I will. I can't even tell you I won't hurt you." He widens his stance, and his body shifts closer. "I know it, Gemma—I feel it deep in my gut that you want the kind of pain I can give you. So, I know I'm gonna hurt you. I know I'm gonna cut you, make you bleed, taste you, fuck you, make you come. I'll never promise you that I won't, but I will promise you this… Unless you make it necessary, I won't do anything until you're begging me to do it."

His lips brush the apple of my cheek, just beneath my eye, then he peppers deceptively soft kisses across my face. "And one day, pink… you will beg me for all of it."

Though his words make me shiver, there's a reverent warmth spreading from each point his lips touch.

I hate the shiver.

But I want more of that warmth. It heats my soul in a way I've never felt before, in a way I never expected.

You feel nothing, Gem.

You're exhausted, delirious.

Oz pulls away from me, then disappears.

The bathroom door closes behind him, and I'm left all alone.

My fingers press softly to my cheek, and I think I still feel some of his warmth linger on my skin. I curl my fingers into my hand, hold the warmth in my fist—it's something to cling to in the dark while his violent coldness makes me shiver.