Chapter 27

KENAI.

This isn’t a fucking movie. I’m not some tragic hero trying to win her back in a clean way. It isn't even a fucking romance book where I change my mind halfway through.

My plans were simple: fuck her, break her, make her mine again, and continue with my blueprint for her husband.

She thought I wasn't going to fuck her? Wrong.

She thought I'd make her husband's accusations go away, and that'll be the end? Fucking wrong.

She thought that because I said “one night”, I would let her crawl out of my bed and back into his arms?

Fucking cute.

She has no fucking clue.

I stopped being the boy who’d take the blame for her a long time ago.

Now, I’m the man who collects debts.

And she was just playing deeper into my net.

She was a good liar. She always had been. I almost laughed when she said my father made her testify against me... Did she actually forget that he was long dead before I went to jail? I fucking killed him with my bare hands. In her fucking presence! Did she actually forget that?

Fuck.

Every move she makes, I’ve seen it before she even thinks it.

Every breath she takes — I’ve watched it a hundred times on the cameras.

Shannon was terrified the moment she saw what I’d turned my home into.

She should be.

I spent six years in a concrete box with nothing but her face in my head and paint on my hands.

Prison gives you time. Time to learn, to plan, to create, to lose your mind in ways you didn’t know possible. It gives you time to become a monster with purpose.

I taught myself to paint in there.

At first, it was therapy.

Then it became a religion.

Painting her was the only thing that kept me sane — or maybe that’s what drove me insane. It was the only thing that kept me from ripping my own fucking throat out.

I fucking had cameras everywhere in her home. What else was stopping me from keeping some perfect moments I'd seen on the screen a little more permanent?

Like the one where she was touching herself when her husband was away on one of those business trips. It made me wonder whose face she pictured while she fucked herself. Was it mine? Or her husband's?

Either way, tonight, I’ll make sure she never confuses the two again. I'll make sure my face will be the only one she sees, even when her husband fucks her.

The sound of the shower stopped, and I adjusted myself on the bed, waiting impatiently for her.

I leaned back against the headboard, resting my hands behind my head, staring at the door like a man waiting for judgment.

She took her time — maybe to stall, or to build the courage she didn’t have. Either way, I could wait. I’d waited years.

When the door finally opened, she stepped out.

And for a second, everything in me went still.

Her hair had been blow-dried, her skin was looking brighter and cleaner now, and the lingerie I picked specifically for her to wear tonight? Fuck. For a moment, it made every sin, every lie, every drop of blood I’d spilled to get here feel worth it.

Fuck, yeah. I'd spilled blood just to get here. She had no fucking idea how much more blood I was willing to spill.

The red thong clung to her hips, the thin straps biting into her skin like they were jealous of my hands. It barely covered her — more suggestion than fabric — and the lace bra? Fuck. Whoever made it must’ve designed it just to test my restraint. The way it framed her chest, lifted her curves, left everything begging to be ruined… fuck.

My pulse hammered in my throat. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. And my cock, traitorous bastard, twitched just from the sight of her standing there.

She had no idea what kind of fire she was standing in.

I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to see her so close to me in lingerie.

The first time I'd seen her this way was when she was just sixteen. I fucking held back with every fucking restraint I had because she was underage. May I be damned if I ever had anything to do with an underage.

I held my restraint. For years. And just when she was old enough for me to finally take what I’d been craving, I was kicked out of the line.

Fuck.

She stood there, fingers twisting together like a nervous schoolgirl waiting for mercy.

She looked like she expected me to suddenly soften, maybe tell her, “Alright, go to bed, sweetheart. Your husband will be free by morning.”

Cute.

I lay in silence, watching and taking in every fucking inch of her.

"Come here," I said, and as if on autopilot, she moved toward me. She stopped beside the bed, still avoiding my gaze, hands trembling at her sides.

I stood up and walked toward the drawer, pulling out my pills and swallowing in one gulp before going to meet her where she stood.

I closed the distance slowly, letting her feel the heat rolling off me before I even touched her. When my hand finally found her waist, she flinched — a small, useless movement.

I turned her around until she was facing me, until she had no choice but to look up.

My fingers sank into her hip as I pulled her closer, fitting her against me and savoring how small and fragile she felt in my arms.

I'd fucking missed that.

I reached for her hand and placed it on the part of my chest where my heart was beating ever so slowly now, inhumanly calm compared to the way it had been a few minutes ago.

“Feel that?” I murmured. “You see what you do to me? Look at me, Shan. Don’t make me feel like a scarier monster than I already am. You built this one. Remember that.”

I tilted her chin up until her eyes finally met mine. Christ, those eyes. The same blue that used to make me burn down everything just to see her smile once.

"Kenai..." She called so tenderly that my heart almost felt again.

"Shannon," I whispered back.

Her lips trembled. “You promise… you’ll let him go after tonight?”

I almost laughed. Of course not.

Instead, I brushed my thumb over her jaw and leaned close. “You promise to let me enjoy what I’ve waited six fucking years for?” My tone dropped lower and rougher. “You won’t cry. You won’t be scared. You won't resist. You’ll let me touch you like you used to want me to.”

She froze, her breath stuttering.

I bent closer to her, "You won't make me feel like I'm making you do something against your will?" I traced the tip of my tongue along the edge of her ear and felt her shiver against me.

“You promise to look at me when I touch you?” I whispered near her ear. “To remember who taught your body what it likes?”

“Do you promise to give yourself to me, Shan? Completely?” I whispered, my mouth grazing her skin, "Just you and me… the way it should’ve been before everyone ruined it."

I bit slowly and nibbled on her earlobe. She gasped. “You promise not to cry for him while I’m inside you?” I ran my tongue over the side of her neck, and she tilted her head a little. Perhaps to give me better access.

I sucked on her fragile neck, running my tongue over the spot.

An involuntary moan escaped her throat. That sound alone made my blood thrum.

I slid my mouth down her throat, tasting her skin, stopping at the pulse hammering beneath it. “Do you promise,” I murmured between slow kisses, “to make every second I spent locked away worth it tonight?"

“Do you promise?” I pressed my lips, dragging over her jaw. “No holding back. No backing out. You’ll take everything I give you.”

When I finally pulled back to look at her, her face was flushed, her lips parted, her eyes glassy with fear and confusion.

She tried to look away, but I caught her chin in my hand and forced her eyes back to mine. “Do you promise?”

Her voice was barely there. “Yes.”

“Good.” I smiled faintly, brushing my lips over her forehead. “Then your husband will be out by morning.”