He’s not telling me something. I see the secrets he’s hiding, and it makes me want to know more. I want to scoop out everything in his mind and devour it. Yes, I may be young, I may be more innocent than he’s used to, but I’m not stupid.

“I didn’t ask for love, Callan. I didn’t ask for a fucking ring. I’m asking for you to actually let someone in for once in your goddamn life, but clearly, you can’t,” I bite out. Gulping down the wine, I slam the glass on the counter and stalk away from him.

His voice is rigid behind me, calling to me to stop, but I don’t. I can’t, because the fucking butt plug is making each step more difficult than the last. It feels good, I feel full, but I also feel needy. I want him to touch me, to stroke the ache hanging heavily on my core and ease it somewhat.

The hallway is dimly lit. There aren’t many people around, and I easily push through the doorway of the stairwell. My back flush against the cool concrete as I inhale deeply, attempting to calm myself from the frustration Callan leaves in his wake.

He’s like a storm, wreaking havoc on everything he touches, but as much destruction as he causes, he also offers me some kind of calm.

“Madison fucking Parker, if you don’t—" He comes storming through the door to find me on the step, my arms curled around my legs, my ass at an angle on the concrete because it’s uncomfortable to sit down. But he stalls as if he’s in shock seeing me in this state. My eyes burn from unshed tears, but they’re not from sadness. Rather from the frustration of wanting, needing, and craving a man who pushes me away at every turn.

I don’t blink.

I don’t allow them to fall.

Instead, I pin him with a glare. “Leave me alone, Callan,” I retort, anger entwined in every word, lacing itself around me as I watch him breathe.

“Do you know how much danger you’re in?” he growls. He fucking grunts like an animal about to devour its prey, and I know I’m the deer caught by the lion.

“What? Because you decided to piss off Hudson and his dad?” My words cause him to stall. He stops his approach and glares at me.

“I know men like him. He’ll hurt you, kill you.” Those words are not new to me. I’ve heard it all before. But I’m done playing kids games. I’m over being the frail flower everyone thinks I am.

“Why don’t you check yourself, Callan?” I bite out, rising to full height. The sadness he caused is gone, and in its wake is something new. A strength I didn’t know existed inside me. “I’ve been threatened before. Fuck, I’ve even been kidnapped before, so don’t think for one second I’m some delicate flower you need to protect.” I take a step closer to him, lowering myself from the stair until we’re toe to toe. “Let me tell you something, Mr. O’Leary, I can fight a man off me. I can hold a gun, and I wouldn’t flinch if I had to pull the trigger. So don’t for one fucking minute think I need you to protect me.”

My words cause another flare of anger, frustration, and something else I never knew existed inside him — respect. I’m certain I’ve convinced him. I’m sure after my show of strength he’ll finally give me what I want.

But it all comes crashing down when he shakes his head.

“This time, you’ll obey me.” He grips my arm, tugging me out the door and toward the exit. We make our way hastily as my father’s name is called, but there’s nobody there to accept the award. The car is brought around only moments after we’ve stepped out into the chilly night, and I’m plonked into the passenger seat without a word. He locks me inside as he rounds the front, and then he’s beside me. I have no choice but to allow him to take me home.

The silence that hangs between us in the space of the vehicle is stifling as he grips the steering wheel with a white-knuckle hold. The tension radiating off him holds my attention, it steals every inhale and exhale as I watch him command the vehicle through the streets.

I don’t look at the road, my gaze focused on Callan. On his broad frame, his taut muscles beneath a beautiful suit. We didn’t even get to dance tonight. The thought unbidden but saddening as it pops into my mind.

It’s only moments later that we’re pulling into the long driveway of the Parker mansion. He still hasn’t spoken. He moves with precision, opening my door, helping me from the SUV. We make our way toward the house, and I watch him unlock it, shoving open the door and allowing me to step inside first. There are soft yellow lights all around the foyer, and when I look at Callan, he’s cast in a gentle glow.

A devil inside an angel’s body.

“You should get some sleep. I’ll contact your father and inform him we missed the ceremony due to safety precautions. Then—”

“Callan—”

“I’m leaving now, Madison. Have a lovely evening.”

He doesn’t wait for me to say anything more, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him. I try to pull on it, but he’s locked it.

He’s left.

He walked out, and it’s because of me.

---

It’s been two days.

Long, dreary, and annoying days.

I woke up the night after the event to an empty bed. I had to remove the fucking plug from my ass in the shower. I ached. My whole body was alight with need, and there was nobody around to ease it. But that’s not why I’m angry. That morning, I was informed Callan had given over the post as my bodyguard to someone else. Another man on my father’s team to escort me around.

I don’t mind so much. He’s older, married, and he’s only here for his paycheck, but it’s the fact that Callan told me he was only going to sort something out stings. My chest aches because as much as I didn’t admit it, I fell for him.

Sighing, I stare at the ceiling, wondering what he’s doing, where he is. All my calls have gone unanswered. Even the messages I’ve sent him, both angry, forgiving, and wanting. He’s not responded to any of them. I let my frustration out in a long text message. I told him everything that was on my mind, but even when I was brutally honest, he couldn’t give me the same in return.

Perhaps it’s better that he’s gone. But as soon as I think that, my heart aches, my chest tightens with pain so acute it steals my breath. My emotions get the better of me when I remember how he felt, his touch, his filthy words, and the way he fit inside me like he was meant to be there.

A knock at my door startles me, and I’m on my feet in seconds. When I pull it open, I find my father standing on the other side. He looks stressed out, disheveled.

“Dad.”

“Madison.” He offers a curt nod and enters my room. He doesn’t look at me, rather heads toward the window and stares out of it for a long while. “You were meant to be the good girl, looking after the Parker name,” he starts, and I know what’s coming.

“Look, Dad—”

He spins on his heel, glaring at me angrily. I’ve seen my father upset before, but the rage that seems to simmer from him is something else. “I trusted you, Madison. You asked to be treated like an adult, and I did. I left here for a month and have been called back a week early because you decided to galivant with your bodyguard.”

“I did not galivant!” I retort hotly. “I fell in love!”

“Love? You’re a child. You have no idea what love is. Hudson gave you—”

“Hudson?” I’m screeching, but I don’t care. I hope the whole goddamn city hears me. “Did Hudson tell you how he came into my room to force me on the bed? Did Hudson tell you that he got beaten up by Callan because he hurt me?”

My father’s mouth falls open in shock, and I take that as my cue.

“I didn’t think so. Because you know what Hudson is? A fucking animal! At least Callan treated me like a lady. He respected me, made me smile.”

“This is ridiculous. I’ve spoken to Mr. Brockovich. We’re setting up your nuptials to Hudson. They’re to take place in a week.”

Rage shudders through me violently.

“What?” The word is hissed from my lips as I glare at my father, ready to set him alight with a mere glance.

“You heard me.” There’s tension wafting from him like a cheap cologne. He’s always been relaxed, calm, but he seems on edge, which only makes me wary as to where he’s been and why he’s trying to once again ruin my life.

“You can’t do this.”

“I did,” he says, stalking by me to my bedroom door. His fingers rake through his messy hair. There are dark circles under his eyes, and when he glances at me, he offers a look that tells me not to argue.

“Why, Dad?” It’s me who crumbles to the floor, and for the first time in my life I show my father who I am. A scared little girl who needs her father to tell her it’s going to be okay.

“I want you to pack a suitcase, something small. I’ve got two of my men ready to drive you out of the city,” he says, the tone of his voice guarded, which only has the hair on the back of my neck raised with suspicion.

“What? Now?” I ask him, but he merely nods. His mind isn’t here. It’s so far away that when he looks at me again a second later I don’t recognize the man standing in my bedroom.  

“I’d like you to go to the lake house to think about your wedding plans,” he says in an attempt to calm my racing heart, but it does nothing of the sort.

“This is ridiculous, Dad. Tell me what is going on? You can’t hide things from me. I’m a grown woman, and I deserve to know why you’re sending me away. If it’s Hudson forcing you to do this, you can just fire him.”

“You make it sound so terrible,” he grunts. “I thought perhaps you could use the time away, Madison.” He turns to me, but his eyes betray his words. I see the fear dancing in them. Something’s very wrong. “And Hudson is a good boy.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on,” I tell my father. But before he can respond, his phone chimes in the pocket of his jacket. His suit is wrinkled, telling me he’s been awake all night, because if there’s one thing about Magnus Parker, his suits are always pressed to perfection.

“Hello.” His voice lowers, and he leaves my bedroom, stalking down the hallway to his office. I’m unsure what’s going on, but this time, Callan must answer me. I pick up my phone and tap out a message, telling him my father wants to send me off to the damn lake house, marry Hudson, and I have no idea why.

I sit in silence, willing the phone to ring, to buzz. Anything. But as always, it doesn’t. The black screen glares at me, taunting me. He’s left, and he doesn’t want me. It’s clear when he told me this isn’t forever, he meant it. Almost a month of knowing him, and I’m smitten like a damn teenager.

The men in my life are only making me crazy. Dad acting strange, Callan going MIA, nothing makes sense. And I have a feeling it’s got to do with Gregory Brockovich. I recall the thug who wanted a folder from my father’s office. He never came back for it, never contacted me again.

Which begs the question . . . Is he threatening my father directly?