Chapter 24
Never Be the Same
Caleb
THIS IS WRONG. So very wrong. I hate every Goddamn minute of this and yet I can’t leave.
The itch is fierce, and I have to fight every single emotion I shouldn’t allow myself to have.
She belongs to him, so why do I feel like she’s mine? Like I want to barge into her room and cut this guy’s dick off.
Unable to stop myself from inflicting torture on my soul, I peer out the crack. From behind the bathroom door, I can see them, hear them, sense that something is off.
Gemma is acting strange.
Robotic.
Not at all like a woman in love and happy to see her man. Then again, just minutes ago she was about to let me take her.
Maybe it’s guilt I hear in her voice.
Still, she didn’t call him last night. Didn’t seek his comfort. Instead, she sought mine.
Something isn’t right.
That’s why I’m still here spying on my boss, my mark, the man I want to take down like I’ve never wanted anything in my life, with the woman he hired me to keep safe.
His woman.
The same woman who has somehow eased herself into the small cracks of my lifeless soul.
I’ll leave soon. I won’t be able to take much more of this. I just want to make sure everything is okay.
Enrique walks toward the bed, and I can no longer see him but I know he’s sitting on it because I can hear the springs squeak as he does.
“You’re a mess,” he remarks, and I feel like ripping his throat out.
“I know,” she replies, in a velvet soft voice. “I wish I would have known you were coming so early, I would have hurried to clean myself up.”
“You know I prefer that you not wear street clothes like that. How about you start by removing those dreadful shoes,” he commands.
The need to leap is so great, I can feel the floor crumble beneath my feet. I have to hold the wall to stay in place, to stop from pouncing.
Through the slit in the door, I watch Gemma bend over and untie her Converse.
The authority in his voice isn’t a surprise, but the way Gemma melds to his every command is. She doesn’t argue or resist him in the slightest. The air doesn’t spark with her determination when she’s with him. It’s like she’s someone else.
“Now your top,” he directs in a husky voice.
My gut twists and I have to remind myself she belongs to him, and that is why she’s complying. That free will is what compels her, not bondage or slavery.
She.
Is.
His.
And it’s by her choice. Whether it’s for money or love, I don’t have a fucking clue.
From here, I can see a small tattoo on her shoulder. I think it’s a heart but I can’t be certain.
“You didn’t cover that,” Cruz scowls.
“No,” she replies meekly. “I’m sorry, but I already told you I wasn’t expecting you this early.”
“It should always be covered, Gemma. Next time I’ll have to punish you.”
“I understand.”
Anger boils in my blood. Punish her? What the fuck is going on here?
“Remove the rest,” he drawls.
I have to physically hold myself back. I want to pounce and take this guy down. This sick fuck wants her to strip for him before he fucks her. Doesn’t he understand she was attacked last night? Almost killed. She needs tenderness, not dominance.
Not that I know anything about women, but I was there. I saw the fear in her eyes. Why isn’t she telling him what happened? And why the hell is he instructing her to remove her clothes instead of asking for details about Mexico?
“Put your hair up, my angel.”
“Yes, Mr. Cruz.”
Mr. Cruz?
What the fuck?
Moments later, he says, “Good girl, Gemma. Now, move over to the window. Let me see you in the light.”
Gemma is quiet as she moves. When she’s no longer in my sight, I know I should leave but I can’t.
Something isn’t right.
It just isn’t right.
There’s a sigh. It’s him. “You’re trembling,” he says.
“I’m just cold. I’ll be fine.”
She’s not cold—she’s still in shock and she’s scared.
Of him?
“I know what will help you, my angel. I don’t think I’ve wanted to make love to you more than I do right now,” he says, “But since we must wait until you’re ready, I’ll give you what I can. Touch yourself, pleasure yourself for me, Gemma.”
It takes a moment for everything to click but when it does, I know I need to get out of here. I want to kill the sick fuck with my bare hands but I can’t. Not right now.
Moving fast, I rush across the bathroom and come to a stop near the shower. In the process, I accidently bump the hamper and the lid almost tumbles to the ground but I catch it in time.
The neon-orange color inside catches my attention. Lifting a Doc Martin, I can’t believe it. I’ve seen these before, and only days ago, when I was hand-to-hand with Cleo.
Cleo, the dark webber who steals Leonardo’s deals out from under him and stockpiles the goods in the warehouse.
Gemma is Cleo.
What the hell is her game?
So, she isn’t really his but rather he’s her pawn and he doesn’t even know it.
Brilliant.
Fucking brilliant.
That’s my girl.