Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

I'd put my phone in silent mode after the call from Aria, and the moment we're back in the suite and I reset it, the thing starts pinging like machine gun fire. A billion notifications, including one from Caleb. I don't bother listening to his voicemail. Instead, I just hit the button to call him back.

He answers before the first ring has even finished.

"Why did you do it?" he demands. "I offer you the money and you tell Aria you're turning me down so that you can strike a deal with the devil? It's a good thing your parents are out of the country. They probably haven't heard about this bullshit yet."

It has been a very long time since I've talked to Caleb, and I'd forgotten how much of a superior air he always puts on just because he's two years older than me and Aria.

"Caleb, it's been like a decade since we've even spoken. So cut me some slack. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Seriously? We're going to play that game?"

"Did you talk with Aria? Because I really do appreciate that you offered me the money. But there was a time issue, and we both know you couldn't have liquidated?—"

"I called Aria. I got her voicemail. I figured she was yelling at you. I mean, what the hell, Brianna? I offer to cover you on this, and yet you willingly choose those kinds of strings."

I freeze, my stomach going queasy even before my head catches up. It's not until I see Ash standing in the doorway, a folder in his hand, and a murderous expression on his face, that I acknowledge the reality that's now slapping me in the face.

"I have to go," I tell Caleb. And then—even though I know he's going to go griping to Aria—I hang up on my best friend's cousin.

"What?" I demand, my stomach getting queasier and queasier as I stalk across the room toward Ash. Because even though I hope I'm wrong, I know what he's going to say.

As it turns out, he says nothing, just passes me the folder. Slowly, I open it. It's filled with printouts from various web publications. And each and every one of them includes a picture of Ash, a picture of me, and some sort of headline that makes clear that Ashton Stone is paying me three million dollars in exchange for my sexual favors.

So, yeah. Caleb knows.

My phone chimes in my hand, and I look down to see a notification of both a call and a text from Aria. I close my eyes and sigh, realizing that was the topic she'd been dancing around, wanting to know how I was handling the press, but not wanting to say anything in case I hadn't yet seen it.

I let the call go to voicemail. I'm really not in the mood to talk.

There is one thing Caleb got right—I'm very, very glad my parents are on a cruise ship somewhere in the vicinity of Greece.

With a shudder, I pass the folder back to Ash. My stomach is queasy, and I'm forcing myself not to throw up. "Your pictures look great," I say. "But you're famous enough they must have a good stockpile to choose from. All the photos of me are from after the kidnapping. Except one. I saw one that was taken at a Stark Children's Foundation benefit." I smirk, recognizing the irony.

"Bree." I hear the pain in his voice and try to turn away. He stops me with a hand to my shoulder, then takes the folder and tosses it onto a coffee table. "Are you okay?"

I want to snap at him. To tell him I am not even remotely okay, and, gee, why might that be? Answer: because I agreed to be Ash's sex toy so I could snag three million and protect my privacy.

Suddenly, I feel like I'm swimming in irony.

I take a breath, then force down that urge to snap. Instead, I start to pace the suite. I pause in the kitchen area, open one of the packets of Oreos, and start to eat as I walk. "This doesn't make any sense. Nobody knows except Aria, and she wouldn't?—"

"Are you sure?" There's a harshness in his voice, and I whip around to face him.

"Hell, yes, I'm sure. She would never betray my trust. Never . "Don't you have any fucking friends?"

"I'm sorry," he says, looking genuinely contrite. "And yes, now I do. And none of them would betray me that way, either."

" Now you do?" Both the word and the tone capture my attention and dull my wrath.

He shrugs. "I grew up in pretty shitty circumstances. Not that many friends. Things changed for me in college. Before that?" He glances at me for only a second, but it's enough to see the pain in his eyes. "Before that, things were pretty damn bad."

"Ash, I'm sorry." I don't remember crossing the room, but my arms are around his waist and I'm looking up at him, wishing I could change his past or erase his pain.

He presses a kiss to my forehead. "We have more to worry about than the tragic story of my life." With a finger, he tilts my chin up. "Especially since it's not so tragic anymore."

"Isn't it?" My mouth is suddenly dry and my heart's beating a little too fast.

His fingertips brush my shoulder. "I like to think I'm on my way to a happily ever after."

"Happy endings are good," I say, telling myself not to hope. That these are just words in the eye of a storm, and I can't expect them to mean anything. Especially since, once the storm passes, we'll be surrounded by rubble.

He cups my cheek with his palm, and his smile seems a little sad. He looks like he's about to say something else, but he's silent for so long I decide that I'm wrong. This is just a moment. One calm moment in the storm for us to share.

Then he speaks, and I realize the storm hasn't even started. "Our deal's off," he says, stepping back as an arctic wind cuts through me, turning my blood to ice.

"What are you talking about?" My mind is reeling. In my head, I'm shouting at him, but the words come out even and measured, so heavy with pain and betrayal that I have to push them past my numb lips. "You know there's no other way for me to get the money in time, and now you?—"

" No. I'll get you your money. It's the rest of it." He tosses the folder onto the coffee table, and those horrible pages slide out, then flutter to the floor. "I'm not doing that to you. I'm not making real every vile thing they're saying in the press. Not now that I've seen?—"

He turns away, then scrubs his hands over his face before looking at me. "I'm such a fucking asshole, and I'm so sorry. Bree, I'm so, so sorry. After everything you've been through...."

He shakes his head. "No, no, that's bullshit. I'm not dropping the terms because of what you went through. Because damn me all to hell, what kind of asshole puts those kinds of terms out there under any circumstances? That, " he says, pointing to the sea of printouts. "Every foul thing they call me in those papers, they are a thousand percent right. And I'm so damn sorry."

I'm so shocked I can only stand there as he takes a step toward me, then kisses my cheek. I watch as he turns, then goes into the smaller of the two bedrooms. For a moment, I simply stand there, telling myself how much I admire his integrity.

I wait for the flood of relief that our deal is over. That there are no longer any conditions to satisfy before he gives me the money.

Except there is no flood. No relief.

Instead, I feel empty.

More than that, I'm angry. So angry that I don't have a plan when I march across the suite toward his door, then burst inside. It's fury driving the show.

Fury that has me scanning the room, then finding him pacing by the door to the private balcony. Fury that zeroes in on that vile sheet of letterhead with the single QR code on it.

I'm across the room in seconds, and I yank it out of his hands, tearing the page in the process. I wave it in his face, my body so ahead of my mind that I don't even know what I'm doing or why I'm doing it. Only that it has to be done.

" This ." I ball up the sheet and toss it at him "Everything that fucking code leads to stems from Rory. Everything stems from some asshole who was torturing me. Who grabbed me because I had some connection to someone with money."

I have no idea where I'm going with this—not really. But the words keep flooding out as I storm back and forth in the room. Ash stands there, watching me as if I'm a bomb about to explode.

Except I think I already have.

"The money Nikki and Damien paid? That had nothing to do with me. That was to get Anne back. I was only there in that dark, horrible room because otherwise I was a liability. And since I was there, I became some sick fuck's toy. Just the little doll he used to get his jollies."

I poke Ash hard in the chest. "Is that all you wanted from me, too? Just a good time with the broken girl?"

He takes a step back, his eyes as wide and shocked as if I'd just slapped his face. "Bree, god, no. You can't believe that."

"No? Well, guess what. That wasn't what I wanted either. To be some prick's little plaything. But whether I wanted it or not, the bastard used me. And all that bullshit about me being drugged and asleep is just that—bullshit. It's inside me," I say, smacking my fist against my chest. "It comes out in my dreams. It comes out all the damn time. I never knew why before, but now I do. Because Rory put it inside me, and it's colored my life for years."

I'm breathing hard, my throat raw from the horrible, high pitch of my voice. Everything I'm saying is true, and at the same time I have no idea what I'm going to say next. I've never said any of this aloud. I'm not even sure I realized the truth until I saw the tape.

But it's true. The torment I experienced has been hiding in my dreams. Creeping through my subconscious. Coloring my work, my imagination, my life.

And now that I understand—now that I know what happened to me—I feel like an elastic band pulled too taut. I've snapped, and I've been flung to the side, propelled by the violence of experiencing my own breaking point.

"I had no idea who my captor was—not then. And when I found out the truth, when I learned a guy I'd actually dated had done that to me, all I wanted was to hurt him. But I couldn't. I couldn't get to him. And then he was caught. And then he was killed, and I had nothing— nothing —to do with ending him."

I bend over, my hands on my knees as I suck in gallons of air. I know I've lost it. That I've jumped right into the deep end. I'm almost scared of myself. But at the same time, it feels good. So good. And I'm not done yet.

I straighten, still breathing hard. I allow myself one glance at Ash's face, then look away when I see compassion. I'm not ready for that. I'm not ready to be outside of this bubble.

"I wanted to hurt him," I whisper. "I wanted to so badly." It's all flooding out of me now, leaving my body cold and shaking. "But I couldn't. I had no power. Not when he had me in that room. Not afterwards," I add. "At least not until I helped catch him. And that felt good. But it wasn't what I wanted. Not the closure I needed. And then he was dead."

I draw in a breath, then another. "Now he's just a ghost. He can't hurt me. But I can't hurt him, either."

With a small sob, I sink down to sit on the edge of the bed. He sits beside me, and though he starts to reach for my hand, he pulls back. He's only inches from me, but he doesn't touch me.

Part of me is glad.

Another part wants his arm around me so that I can let out the rest of it. So that I can sob and sob until I'm hollow inside, all wrung out.

Because I'm not empty. Not yet.

"Bree…"

I close my eyes, almost undone by the pain and tenderness in his voice.

"I have a choice now," I say, twisting to look up at him. "Those things he did to me, he didn't give me a choice. He stole from me. I'm not ever letting anyone do that again."

"You shouldn't." Now, he takes my hand and I relish the way his fingers twine with mine.

"Don't you get it?" I continue as I shift on the bed to look at him more directly. "I have the choice now. When we made our deal, it was my decision. You may have come up with the terms, but it was my choice. My decision ."

I draw in a breath. "Yes, I need the money, but I could have found another way. But you were the first person I thought of when I needed help. And when you named your terms, I didn't run."

I lift my chin and meet his eyes. "I didn't run," I repeat, "because I wanted those terms. I chose you. And I still do, Ash. I still choose you. At least so long as you want me, too."

I wait, feeling small and vulnerable as I try to read his face. Those eyes that seem haunted by pain, but whether it's mine or his own, I don't know.

Then he reaches out and strokes my hair. "Oh, baby. Do you think I don't want you? I do. Desperately. Painfully. But..."

"What?" I press when the word hangs between us.

"I've seen the fear in your eyes. When you saw those images. When I first pushed this deal on you. It was a shit thing to do, and I can't forget that. Or forgive myself for it."

"There's nothing to forgive. I'm not afraid of you. And it wasn't a shit thing because you get it. You get me ." I cup his face, his beard stubble scratchy against my palm. "Somehow you knew what I wanted. And needed. What I still need," I add, my voice so soft it's almost a whisper. "Your terms opened that door for me. Don't you see that?"

He doesn't answer right away, and fear grows in the silence. I'm terrified he's going to send me back to LA. That he's going to say I'm too fragile and that he'll still get the money and try to track my blackmailer, but that he's still pulling out of the physical part of our deal.

The silence lingers for so long, I'm about to speak up and beg him to kiss me. To keep me.

Then he squeezes my hand, and, very softly, he says, "The bastard stole your control. And whoever is blackmailing you now is riding on that."

"I know."

He hooks a finger under my chin and turns my head so that I'm looking right in his eyes. "So take it back."

"That's what I'm trying to do."

The tiniest hint of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "Try harder."

I frown, not sure what he's getting at.

"Do what you want," he says. "Tell me what to do."

"Oh." A delicious tingle spreads up my body, and I want to tell him to kiss me. To take me hard and fast. But I can't quite manage to get the words out.

Gently, he brushes my hair away from my face. "Tell me," he murmurs as I feel my cheeks heat. "Anything you want."

"You," I say, so softly I doubt he can hear me. "Use me," I add, then peek up at his face, afraid he's going to think I'm crazy to ask for that after ranting about Rory stealing my control.

"Thank you," he says, and I must frown because he continues. "For trusting me. For surrendering to me."

Surrendering . Yes. And the fact that he understands I need to take control by giving control is the most potent of aphrodisiacs.