He rested his forehead against mine. “Quitting is a relief. I don’t want to fight. The belts, the championships, none of it matters. I just want you. Everything is so easy with you, second nature, like breathing. Remember when we were kids and we’d hide under the covers every time they’d get into another fight? You made me feel needed. Wanted. Let’s just hide here forever, Lex.”

Damn him. I blinked, suppressing the burning tears in my eyes. How could one person pull me in so many directions? He repulsed me, made me furious, made me feel the most intense hatred a person could harbor…yet he still made me care. What would it take before I forgot the good times, the years when he was there for me as a brother should be? While our parents had waged war in the house, he’d been my safe place, the one who held me and told me to hang on a little longer because it would be over soon. If I’d known back then how dark he’d turn, if I’d been capable of understanding what that darkness meant, I wouldn’t have gone to him for comfort. I wouldn’t have looked at him as a brother, because that connection made hating him messy and complicated.

Zach was a minefield of which I was stuck in the middle. It didn’t matter which way I stepped, an explosion strong enough to dismember was bound to happen.

“I have to pee,” I said, needing the distraction, needing distance. I squirmed, and my bladder begged for release.

He pulled away and gestured toward the bathroom. “Come back naked. I have a surprise for you.”

“I don’t want your surprises. I want you to let me go.”

Thick brows furrowed over intense eyes filled with determination. “That’s not gonna happen.”

I turned my back to him, thinking how the eyes of someone so rotten to the soul shouldn’t hold so much beauty. The weight of his scrutiny followed me into the bathroom. After I took care of business, I deliberated removing my clothing, but self-preservation won the battle. The thought of igniting his wrath made the decision for me. I took my time undressing, then glanced down at my breasts with a cringe. Fading bruises and crisscrossed welts covered my skin in a grotesque mural of purple and yellow. I feathered my fingers over the marks of his rage, and my feet refused to move, as if they sensed the pain waiting for me. But stalling would only delay the inescapable. I had no way out.

I returned to him, avoiding eye contact, and folded my arms to hide my breasts. Not fighting him seemed wrong. I had nothing left to lose and everything to gain with my freedom.

“Bend over the bed.”

I gave a swift shake of my head.