Chapter 58: Flashbacks

SIN'S P.O.V.

Delicate. That's why I keep going back to Annalise. Because she is so delicate. She is lying on my lap now, drifting to sleep, and the last time I had looked at a woman this way was before Larissa had first betrayed me with Callum.

It is astonishing how not even that thought can take my mind off Annalise, and all she is doing is sleeping, holding on to my shirt like I am the one man she trusts.

I turned to the window again, the strands of her hair keeping my fingers active. Enrique's return slightly bothered me. I didn't want to have to put a bullet in my brother, but I wonder now if that is the only way.

I closed my eyes, the flashbacks from six years ago filling my mind. How he had told me that he thinks he has killed a woman. And possibly her daughter too.

Apparently, the woman had been his sex slave, and he had assured her that he would give her back her freedom if she gave her daughter. The bastard had agreed.

I shook my head to clear off the gory images of that rainy night, the way I had gone with a car and the way that girl whose face I never cared to see, had followed blindly, limping, blood between her legs from my brother's bestiality, just so she could save her father.

I needed a smoke to clear my head, but moving too much would wake Annalise. I looked down at her again, and I wasn't sure how I felt about all of my body softening.

I had gotten used to this rough life. The guns, the betrayal. I had chosen this life, and it had beckoned to me with open arms. I loved it just as much, too.

But Annalise...

At first, she was fiery. The way she had defended me, my daughter, it felt like watching my own fire alight. Then, after that, she was diffident, bashful in the most cunningly seductive ways. And then she is a damsel in distress, and I want to save her. Wrap her within me and never let the world get to my wife.

I chuckled and turned to the window again. My wife. I did like calling her that more than I probably let on.

I slowly turned to her again as she stirred, her hand wrapping around my waist, her hair falling in luscious waves all over my lap.

'Fuck, Annalise,' I thought to myself, feeling her breath on my stomach, her half-parted lips through my shirt.

I turned away again. I am a man of control, and despite how many times I seemed to be keen on refuting that claim around Annalise, I knew I shouldn't. This distance was important for both of us. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep a woman, and Annalise... my Annalise, she probably deserved a better man.

The estate came into view, and I took in a deep breath. It was dark, but it didn't feel as lonely, especially since I would be carrying Annalise inside.

The car came to a stop, and I gently got out of the car. She luckily didn't stir, and I pulled her out of the car, then balanced her in my arms.

She was light, and I walked the short distance to the main entrance. The house slowly lit up with every step I took, and I went upstairs to my room.

I moved the sheets, then slowly put Annalise in my bed. Her lips were parted a little wider, and she looked almost agitated now. I stopped, then started to help her get rid of the top of the dress.

The neckline seemed uncomfortable for a sleeping person, and even though I knew she would be appalled by the fact that I was going to help with her dress, it didn't quite matter to me right now.

I started to move her and look for some sort of opening when her voice sifted to my ears.

"No."

I looked up, but she was still asleep. Or at least, trying to stay asleep. She was sweaty, her chest rising and falling in an unhealthy rhythm, her fingers gripping the sheets.

"Please," she muttered again, then shook her head, her mouth opening now. "Please, mum."

I stopped, my brows furrowing as I watched her do everything, except for thrashing around. She had told her about how much of a bitch her mother was, and one thing I knew was that some women did not deserve to be mothers. Like her mother. Like Larissa.

I still hated that she took Angel, but I wasn't going to let her take advantage of me using a child that I was only raising because I had grown attached, and not because I was obligated to.

"Annalise?" I called, but she was now shaking her head almost violently, her hands reaching in front of her.

"Please don't do this. Please! Please! Please don't touch me! Dad!"

My brows furrowed as her cries grew even louder, but that wasn't the only thing that struck me. It was the things she was saying.

I watched her closely. She could move, but she was acting like something was holding her down. Like someone was holding her down.

"It hurts," she suddenly said, her hands coming to rest beside her. "Mum, why? How could you?!"

I slowly moved closer. She was drenched in her own sweat, but she wasn't fighting anymore. It's almost like she had given up.

Without warning, she suddenly started fighting again, yelling out for her father, punctuating it with profanities towards her mother.

I immediately launched for her, keeping her hands pinned back to the bed, my body hovering above hers.

Wrong move.

I was unstable, confused, and before I knew it, she pushed me hard, her yell cutting through the silence in the house.

I fell back to the very edge of the bed as my brother's name left her mouth.

"Don't touch me, Enrique!"

I felt the color drain from my face as her eyes opened, and she sat up, her eyes wide and filled with fear and agitation.

I watched her face, and my mind tried to link it with that girl from six years ago. The crying girl, the blood. The dying man, the dead woman. Annalise. Her mother. Her father. My brother. Me.

"Fuck," I said under my breath, my eyes holding hers.

I couldn't bring myself to move even as she pulled her knees to herself, her face buried in her palm, her body shaky with tears.

Was Annalise really the girl from six years ago?