I waited, taking her in, slight and frightened and so fucking erotic. I wanted her. I wanted her surrender, her submission, but more than that. I wanted her in a way that was different. Not like the others. Not like the women before—in my former life.

She raised her hips slowly, and I sucked in a breath.

I’d seen her naked. I’d cleaned her. I’d touched her. I’d tasted her. But this, this presenting of herself to me, even if it was under duress, it felt different. And some part of me, it longed for her. Longed to have her. Possess her. Break her and own her.

It longed for this surrender, for her submission, to be real.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, her quiet and obedient, me in some trance, under this strange spell, watching like this was the first woman I’d seen like this. Wanting like I’d never wanted before. Feeling something almost pure wash over me, at least momentarily, before she sniffled, and I knew she was crying. Quietly crying. Afraid.

No.

Terrified.

Overpowered.

Breaking.

I took a step back, seeing as if for the first time this filthy floor in this filthy room. This terrible place where I would break her, break this beautiful, perfect creature and make her less. I would take everything away from her. That was what I did. What I had done to so many others.

I stumbled backward some more, misstepped, and caught myself.

Pure. I’d felt something pure washing over me. What a joke. What a sick, fucking joke.

I turned on my heel and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind me, locking it, locking her in. I grabbed my jacket and keys and stalked out of the cabin, breaking my own rule and leaving her behind. I climbed into my truck and drove through the narrow passage in the woods and out onto the open road. I didn’t stop at the nearest town like I would have in the past. I didn’t want a woman. And I didn’t want whiskey. I just wanted to be out of my head. Out of my skin. I wanted to be someone else. Anyone else. Because the lowest scum of the earth had to be better than the filth that was me. Than the aberration that was me. This hateful monster who hurt, who broke, who took beauty that did not belong to him and destroyed it.

She was right. Salvatore had been right.

I was a monster.

I was the worst kind of monster.

6

Gia