Provoke

Chapter Thirteen

Leeta

I spent a good part of the next two hours trying to free myself from my restraints. Of course, Mace could tie rope like a freaking sailor, and just in case that hadn’t been enough, he’d wrapped a length of chain around my legs, too. He had also taken my phone, my wallet, and my shoes.

Why the hell had he taken my fucking shoes?

I sat there, pissed, waiting for him to get back. With each minute that passed, my anger lessened ever so slightly. I was just so tired and hungry. And frustrated.

Maybe that was his plan? Disappear for a while and let me cool off. Well, I’d show him. Every time I began to feel the anger slipping away, I forced myself to think about what I’d found. I forced the faces of those girls to remain in my mind. I imagined him fucking them. Hell, I didn’t have to imagine, I’d seen it with my own eyes.

It worked, and the anger would skyrocket. But then I’d remember the look in his eyes, pleading with me to believe that he had some kind of explanation, and I’d wonder . . . maybe . . . just maybe . . .

#

My head shot up with a start.

Mace sat in front of me, watching. I’d fallen asleep. I could feel a trail of drool running down the edge of my mouth, and I was embarrassed that I couldn’t wipe it away before he saw it. How long had he been there for?

“How are you?” Mace walked over to me, holding a takeout bag.

“How do you think I am?” I asked irritably. “I’ve been sitting here, desperate to pee for God knows how long . . .”

He stared at me for a moment and then set down the bag. His arms moved around me as he began to untie the rope. As hard as I tried to fight it, I found myself giving in to the sweet, musky scent of his aftershave. His fingers brushed past my bare skin, making me jump. He had always had that effect on me: just one finger trailing down my forearm could almost send me into an orgasm.

“Go,” he muttered, nodding his head. I stood up, refusing to meet his eyes. Racing toward the direction he had nodded, I pushed open the door to reveal a small, cluttered bathroom. “Leave the door open,” he called out.

“Mace—”

“Just do it, Leet.”

His tired voice was laced with frustration, as if he was annoyed that I was making this hard for him. I turned around, miffed, and stalked over to the toilet, pulling my panties down.

“You sure you don’t want to come in here and watch me?” I said sweetly. “You know, just in case I manage to squeeze myself down the toilet pipe.”

He didn’t respond. I took my sweet time, not knowing if I was going to be tied up again once I’d finished, or what. Finally, he appeared at the door.

“How long does it take to do a piss?” He ran a hand through his dark hair, his blue eyes burning through me.

“Sorry, there was a bit of a build-up from being tied up all day, and all,” I said. “Now if you don’t mind, leave, so I can finish.”

He rolled his eyes but left me alone. “Your food is going cold.”

“I’m not hungry,” I muttered, washing my hands and re-entering the living room.

“Sit down and eat.” He pointed to the couch. It wasn’t a request.

A burger and a drink sat on the nearby coffee table. I wanted to say no, but my stomach betrayed me, grumbling loudly—loud enough for him to hear. He smirked at me, knowing he had won.

I trudged over to the couch and sat down, peering into the bag. Taking the fries out of the bag, I shoved them into my mouth handfuls at a time. Mace watched me from the bed.

“Will you listen to me?” he asked, his voice soft.

I scowled at him. “What’s the point? I saw the videos. How can you possibly explain them? At the very least, you’ve been cheating on me. How can you explain that?” I pushed the food away, my appetite gone.

“It wasn’t like that, Leets. I love you so much. You’re all I need.”

“That’s not how it looked. I mean, am I overreacting? Is that what you think? Maybe in your world this kind of thing is acceptable . . .” As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t. He stood up and walked over to me, anger flashing in his eyes.

“That was low,” he muttered. He grabbed my arm and brought me to my feet, crushing me up against his chest. I could feel his heart beating as he glared down at me. “You know I fucking love you. What I need is for you to trust me.”

“Then give me something to trust,” I yelled, glaring back at him.

Before I knew what was happening, he was kissing me. My body went limp as he pressed his lips roughly against mine. I kissed him back. I so badly wanted to push him away, but I couldn’t. The desire to be with him was too strong.

His hands ripped off my tank, revealing my breasts. I groaned, my fingers clutching at his hair as he kissed my breasts, his tongue occasionally teasing my nipple. I pushed myself against him, his erection oh so obvious. I loved that I made him so hard.

And then those images floated through my head again. It was like I couldn’t escape them, no matter how much I wanted to.

“No,” I yelled, pushing him away.

He looked up at me, surprise registering on his face, then resignation. He walked away, back over to the couch, and lay down, eyes on the ceiling.

For the longest time, neither of us spoke. What the fuck was that? After what he’d done, I’d almost gone there?

“My sister was my life.”

I glanced over at him, the enormity of what he was saying hitting me in the face. He never spoke about Anna—as in ever. Refused to tell me anything other than that she had killed herself. I sat down beside him and waited. For something.

Anything that would give me a reason not to hate him as much as I did right then.

“She was the one that kept me sane. Kept me out of trouble. Where Cash hung out with a very bad crowd and got mixed up in some serious shit, knowing Anna was there kept me clean. It was like she needed someone to look after her, you know?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. I stared at the table, not wanting to listen, but at the same time needing to hear whatever he had to say. How did this—what he had done—have anything to do with Anna? If he tries to play the feel-sorry-for-me-my-sister’s-dead card, I might just punch him.

I tensed, convinced that was what it was: making me feel sorry for him so I’d forgive him. And the worst thing was, it was working. I could see how much pain he was in over his sister’s death.

“The week after she died, I received a package from her. Anna.” Another long pause. “It contained a letter and a USB stick.” He turned to face me. “She had been raped. Some guy had slipped something into her drink one night, and then he had taken her back to his place. He held her there for three days, where he repeatedly raped her.”

My heart plummeted. I wanted to race over there and hold him. I hated to see him hurting so badly. But I forced myself to remain cold. This does not excuse what he did.

“So, you thought you’d see what the fuss was all about? See what it felt like? That’s sick, Mace. You need help.”

He glared at me. “You think I . . . How could you think I’d do that? Don’t you know me at all?”

“How the hell would I know, Mace?” I yelled, blinking back tears. All I knew was what I’d seen. For years, I’d forced myself to focus only on the facts. That was what my whole career was built around: leaving emotion out of the equation. Now, my heart was asking me to abandon everything I’d ever believed in.

“Fuck!” he growled. He stormed toward me. “Fuck this, Leets. You know me. How can you even think I’d do something like that?”

His face was so close to mine I could feel the heat radiating off him. Without warning, his hands cupped my face as his lips crushed against mine. I melted into his kiss, my body aching for more. No. I couldn’t just forget . . .

“Stop!” I pushed him away. “You don’t get to do that, Mace. It’s not fucking fair.”

“What do you want from me, Leets?” He shook his head in frustration.

“Just leave me alone,” I muttered, burying my face in my hands.

“Fine.” He grabbed hold of my wrist and led me over to the kitchen counter. Pushing me down in a chair, he pulled out a set of handcuffs and locked one cuff around my wrist, and the other around the solid wooden bar that ran along the length of the bench. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ball gag, shoving it in my mouth and tying it up.

I sighed, defeated. I didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore.