KAI NEEDS REST. She needs to heal. She’s been through hell today. She’s barely recovered from her first encounter with Milo. He only cut her neck this time, but it’s enough. Enough to bring back all the painful memories she experienced for years.
And it’s all my fault.
I may have thought I was setting her free by selling her to Milo, but it was selfish. I knew even if she wanted to be with Milo that it would hurt her to be sold to another man. I knew by giving her to him, I would win Black. Milo would never let her leave his side long enough to come back and compete for this empire.
I thought it was the best solution. Instead of the nightmare it has become.
Kai needs to rest, but she needs revenge more. She needs to make me pay for the pain I’ve caused her.
I don’t blame her. I know how it feels to feel helpless to the pain—to the anger. She needs me to suffer as she’s suffering. When Zeke was hurt because of Kai, all I could do was get his revenge. I couldn’t think—the pain clouded my head so deeply. And when I thought Kai had betrayed me by wanting Milo instead of me, all I saw was red.
Kai needs to punish me. She needs to let go of her anger. It’s the only way we will ever have a shot at moving past this.
I stand up and meet Kai’s gaze. Knowing in my heart we both need this more than we need air right now.
“What do you need?”
Her face scrunches in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“A whip? A knife? Chains? A gun? What?”
Please, anything but a gun. I vowed I would never let anyone shoot me again without fighting back. And I would have to break that promise to myself.
Kai studies me for a moment, as if trying to determine which method of torture she should use.
She shakes her head and pats the empty space on the bed beside her.
“You sure?” I ask.
She nods.
Fuck.
Somehow not using any weapons seems scarier than using one. I think back to the last time she hurt me with her body—forcing me to take something from her so savagely. I won’t let that happen again.
I slowly walk around the side of the bed and lie down next to her, my hands folded over my chest, staring up at the ceiling.
I’m not used to following orders. But today, I will do anything she asks, including slitting my own throat if that’s what she needs.
I wait.
But she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move.
The waiting stretches, driving me mad with what she could be thinking. But I don’t dare open my mouth. I don’t ask her to move things along faster. This is about her.
Healing her.
Letting go of her pain.
And living through the anger.
I want to close my eyes to shut out the silence, but I don’t even allow myself to do that.
I wait.
I suffer.
And then I wait some more.