13. Not a Democracy - Rafe
“Don’t touch me!” She pulled free of my grasp as the door slammed behind us, and I stalked her retreating form. She had nowhere to go, but that fact didn’t stop her from trying. She bumped into the bed and held up her palms. “I mean it, Rafe. Don’t fucking come near me.”
“You can’t stop me from touching you.”
“So you’re just going to chain me up like a dog every time you don’t get your way?”
“I don’t know,” I said, grabbing her by the chin. “Are you going to be a reckless brat every time you don’t get yours?”
“You’re not being fair,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Babe, this relationship hasn’t been fair from the beginning. I fucking kidnapped you. What makes you think I’m a fair man?”
“I know your heart.”
“Then you know how fucking dark it can get.” I let go of her chin and tangled my fingers in her hair, angling her head back so I could look down into her face. “You want to marry me? Then trust me. I know you want answers, but going to your father for them is too dangerous.”
“He’s the only one who can tell me the truth.”
“He’s not going to tell you shit, babe.”
“I have to try.”
“It’s too damn risky.”
“It’s my only option.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t have options, sweetheart. This house isn’t a democracy. Not when it comes to your safety.”
“Then go with me.”
“You’re not going near him.”
She fell silent, but the way she smoothed out her expression gave her away. She was going to fight me on this, possibly even do something stupid.
Goddamn it.
I loosened my hold of her hair, allowing the strands to slip through my fingers. Way I saw it, I had two options; chain her up and make her obey me, or try to reach a fucking compromise. I wanted the first option. I wanted her locked away in this room where no one except me could touch her.
But she’d only rebel.
I couldn’t keep her locked up forever, just as we couldn’t hide forever. Jax was right about that.
“Wait until after the wedding, then I’ll take you to see your father.”
“Really?” Her tone held a note of skepticism in it.
“Yes.” At that point, she’d be my wife, and Abbott De Luca would hold nothing over us. No more threats of having her committed, and he’d have a hard time building a case against me if I were already married to his daughter.
Alex couldn’t be subpoenaed to testify against me…if it went that far.
One of us had to be practical. No way in hell would her father admit to murdering her mother, and I had no doubt the man had covered his tracks in terms of evidence. I was afraid Alex might never get the closure she was looking for.
But she needed to hope. It was the one thing that kept her going. Kept her strong.
She seemed to mull it over in her head. “After the wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re really going to marry me.” She sounded stunned, as if it were only now hitting her, and that pissed me off.
“Why wouldn’t I marry you? Did you honestly think my saying no had anything to do with our relationship? It was my baggage, Alex.”
Her shoulders slumped. “I thought maybe…”
“Spit it out. You know how I feel about you hiding shit.”
A dark cloud passed over her features, part doom and part gloom. “That’s the problem. You hide things from me, especially your nightmares, and that makes me feel…”
I took her hand in mine. “What, baby?”
“Like it’s my fault.”
I bit back a growl. “I don’t tell you about that shit because it doesn’t involve you.”
“How can you say that? You have nightmares all the time about…when they…” she faltered, unable to finish, but I heard it anyway.
Raped you.
“Babe, don’t go there.” A pleading note crept into my tone, and I despised it. I’d fought for months to put my time in prison out of my mind, and for the most part, it had worked.
Except for the occasional nightmare that still busted through my defenses.
“But I put you there, so how can you say it doesn’t involve me?”
“No, Zach and your father put me there. You were fifteen, Alex. Fucking fifteen-years-old. Scared and alone with no one on your side.” I brought my hands to her cheeks and cradled her face. “It’s not your fault. It never was. That’s why I don’t talk to you about those eight years. It’s not because I don’t want to share everything with you. It’s because I refuse to give you more ammunition to hate yourself.”
“That’s…that’s not what—”
“Bullshit. You wear your guilt like armor. You won’t forgive yourself, but you forgive everyone around you. Me, Jax, even Zach.”
“I will never forgive him.”
I clenched my jaw, knowing exactly which him she was talking about. “Don’t lie to me. You forgave him the instant you let him go.”
“I showed him mercy, for your sake. I haven’t forgiven him, Rafe.”
“It’s just who you are. I don’t like it, but I get it.” With a pause, I lowered my hands. “It’s time to forgive yourself. You made a mistake, but you didn’t set out to hurt anyone. You were scared and ashamed, and you let that shame drive you for years.” As I dropped my gaze to the faint marks on her skin—still visible from the night I found her standing next to the lake at camp—part of me died. “You need to stop punishing yourself. That’s my job now.”
“According to you.”
“Yes, according to me.” We stared at each other for several heated seconds, both raw and frayed around the edges, and my instincts told me she wasn’t about to back down. “I’m not kidding, Alex. The self-flagellation ends now.”
“Or what?” she asked, bristling at my authoritative tone, confirming my suspicion.
“Or you’ll find yourself in a situation you don’t want to be in. I know every one of your weaknesses.” I leveled her with a look of warning. “Every single fear, and you know I’m not above using them to keep you in line.”