Chapter 74 The Rescue
Caleb
“Did you even care?”
Elsie’s voice slammed against me like a thrown object, shaking, furious, cracking at the edges as she pulled her panties up around her waist, my cum trailing down her thighs “Did you care that I was kidnapped? That I was almost trafficked—by your family?”
She stood right in front of me, eyes bright with anger and disbelief, her breath fast and uneven. Her whole body trembled, not weak, but wound tight like she was barely holding herself together.
I didn’t answer.
Not immediately.
I looked away, just for a second.
Enough for her expression to twist.
When I finally met her stare again, I gave her the only answer she wasn’t prepared for.
“No. I didn’t care.”
Her lips parted. A small, pained breath escaped her.
Then the shock burst into rage.
“Of course,” she said, her voice rising. “Of course you don’t care. Because the Lancasters don’t care about anyone but themselves, you destroy anyone you can profit from. You trade girls like they’re bags of grain. You sell lives under that stupid casino you use as a front.”
She jabbed a finger at me, her voice shaking but loud.
“Every chance I get, I will report all of you. Every single one of you. You don’t even know what I’ve been through. What I’ve suffered. What your people put me through. Your father was there when they dragged me away, he watched! He watched like it was nothing!”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
I stood there, listening to every accusation she threw at me, letting them hit, but I didn’t let them move me.
Because the truth was colder than anything she imagined.
I didn’t care about her rescue.
I didn’t care about her crying or shaking or accusing.
What I cared about was the family name, the power, and the asset I’d been fighting for since the moment I could understand what the Lancaster legacy meant.
I couldn’t let some reckless girl—
Some girl who didn’t know her place—
Or my cock that wants to stay buried inside her warm cunt, be the reason everything slipped through my fingers.
But I also couldn’t hand her over to Diego.
Not after what I’d just discovered about who she was.
She was more valuable alive.
To me.
To the family.
To the future I was building.
And she had no idea.
“You had me kidnapped,” she continued, stepping toward me like she wanted to shove the truth straight into my chest. “Your people dragged me from the room like a criminal. Your father threatened me. Your family used me. And now you want me to ‘move’? To trust you? You think I should feel safe with you?”
Her voice rose again, loud, breaking, raw.
“Why would I ever trust you? Why would I ever step foot near your family again?”
I let a long breath slip out of my lungs, the kind that came not from remorse or second thoughts, but from the grinding weight of calculation pressing against the inside of my skull.
She thought she was confronting me with truths I had somehow overlooked, throwing accusations like stones, demanding justice from the wrong person — but she still had no idea how far out of her depth she truly was, how badly she misunderstood the battlefield she had wandered into.
Her anger meant nothing in comparison to the danger gathering around her like a tightening noose.
And the worst part was this:
I couldn’t tell her any of it.
Keeping the truth buried — the truth about who she truly is. I want to keep that to myself to protect her. No one else must know. Not even her
I folded my arms, keeping my voice cold.
“You’re talking about things you don’t understand, kitten.”
“Then explain! Explain why your family destroys people. Explain why I should trust a single thing you say!”
The street fell quiet.
I just stood there, staring at her, really staring, letting her anger burn itself out against the wall of my silence. Her chest rose and fell. Her fists clenched and unclenched. Her voice trembled with accusation and fury and desperation.
And I didn’t answer her.
Not because I didn’t have one.
Because she didn’t deserve it.
Not yet.
After a long moment, I tilted my head slightly, studying her like a problem I was tired of solving.
“Are you done?”
Her mouth fell open, but no words came out. She wasn’t expecting that. She wasn’t expecting the wall she kept crashing into.
“Good,” I said before she could gather herself.
I turned away from her, walked back to the car without looking over my shoulder, and pulled the driver’s door open.
“When you’re finished screaming at the wrong person,” I added, my voice flat, controlled, unbothered, “get in the car.”
Then I got inside, shut the door. I waited for her to decide if she was going to come with me or not. I want to give her the right to choose. A few minutes passed and I started the engine, the front door open and she came. She sat down and crossed her arms around her chest.
“Coming with me, means you do not own your life anymore,” I said, looking into her eyes. “ I am to do with you as I please. Every part of you. And you won't protest.”