Allison
I have no choice but to pound the treadmill for an hour.
Escape isn’t a real option. I might be able to send Orin out on some wild-goose chase errand to keep him busy, but the moment I step out of the house, I’ll be swarmed by one of the dozen men Gregory has guarding the place.
I can see his goons lingering on the sidewalk outside.
People give our house a wide berth.
They’re even in the back yard, keeping an eye on the garden.
If I slip out a window, or sneak through a door, those goons will drag me back inside before I can get more than a few feet.
Although I can make a lot of noise. We’re in a popular, crowded city area, which means a screaming girl’s going to draw a ton of attention.
Gregory definitely doesn’t want that.
But it’s not like I know where Gregory’s at. I could call him, but that’s not enough. I could ask Orin, but I’m kind of sick of Orin right now, and anyway, I’m not sure he’d tell me. Gregory’s mysterious office is somewhere in downtown Portland, but beyond that, I’ve got no clue.
Which means I’m forced to wait.
Patience is not one of my virtues. Actually, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure I have any virtues. But hey, I’ve got a ton of stubbornness, which is just as good.
I run, and I plan, and I think about all the ways I can get out of this terrible situation without ending up dead.
Gregory shows up around ten at night, right around when I’m ready to give up and go to sleep.
I hear the front door close. Muffled voices drift up the stairs. I wait for him in our former bedroom, my legs crossed. Seething with rage, but keeping it contained. Losing my temper won’t do any good.
He appears in the doorway and looks surprised to see me. “Did you decide to come back to bed?” he asks. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t stay away for long.”
I stand, crossing my arms. He’s in slacks and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, while I’m in sweats. I figure the baggy outfit is like armor against his stupid piercing sexiness.
“I want my freedom back,” I say, which is like an ant asking a mountain to move, but it’s a good start.
“Ah, we’re having this conversation.” He tosses his jacket onto the chair in the corner. “Can we wait until after I’ve showered?”
“No, we can’t, and don’t dismiss how I’m feeling like I’m some sort of annoying, unruly child.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t do that. But I’m going to anyway.” He heads for the bathroom.
Yep, there’s the good old anger again. I leap in front of him, holding out my hands. He stops just before my fingertips jab into his chest. “If you go into that bathroom, I swear I’ll run all the hot water in this place and smoke you out of there.”
His eyebrows raise. “That’s diabolical. But why not just dump ice water over the glass?”
“Great suggestion. I’ll do that instead.”
“Be reasonable, Allison.”
“I could say the same thing to you! Actually, that’s exactly what I’m doing. You be reasonable. You can’t seriously expect me to stay hidden all day.”
He cocks his head. “You’re my pregnant wife and I’m in the middle of a war. You think I’m going to let you go anywhere near danger?”
“You seemed fine with it before.”
“You weren’t pregnant before.”
“Actually, I was. We just didn’t know about it until now.”
“And now that I know, I can’t act as if I don’t. You are precious to me. You and that baby-”
“No,” I say, shaking my head rapidly. “No, no, no, don’t do that. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Hear what?” he asks, his calm exterior cracking slightly. Exasperation shows through.
“This whole precious crap. I am not precious to you. We barely know each other! We’re supposed to be working as a team to hurt Paul and that’s it, end of relationship. You can’t spring this whole precious thing on me out of nowhere. It’s absurd.”
“You think I don’t know you?” he asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Where did I go to high school?”
“Carl Sandberg.”
I frown slightly. “Okay, that’s correct. Lucky guess. Where did I go to college?”
“The University of Portland where you earned a degree in Business Economics and went on to achieve an MBA.”
“Fine, that’s right, but-”
“Go ahead, ask me anything you want. Your favorite color is green. You loathe purple which is why you draped it all over our room. You’re loving and gentle, but you have an angry streak wider than the Amazon river. You like The Beatles, think the Rolling Stones would be better without Mick Jagger, and you’re a Swiftie but also hate the term Swiftie. You like that god-awful show Supernatural because you think that Jensen actor has beautiful eyelashes. You kept a LiveJournal for years longer than it was cool. Now you update your Tumblr almost every day. You’re obsessed with dark academia. You like crystals, but not in a witchy, new age sort of way, you just think they’re pretty. How am I doing so far?”
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open. Because everything he’s saying is absolutely true.
And I don’t understand how he knows any of it.
We’ve barely spoken about ourselves. I mean, there was some idle chatter, some post-sex pillow talk about ourselves, but I don’t remember saying any of that.
He barely asks me questions. Most of the time, he acts like I don’t exist. And now to find out that he’s been paying that close attention, it’s like I’ve tumbled off a cliff, and I’m still spinning mid-air.
“Supernatural isn’t that bad,” I whisper.
“Here’s what you don’t understand,” he says, moving closer to me until my fingers brush against his muscular abdomen. “It’s all here, all deep in here.” He moves my hand up until it’s touching his chest. “I don’t show it. I don’t let it out. But I’m holding it all inside, and it’s always there.”
“What is?” I manage.
“How much I care.”
His words feel like fireworks blowing up in my skull. How much Gregory Callahan cares? I didn’t know he was capable of that emotion. I always assumed Gregory drifted through the word, bending it to his iron will, not giving a damn about anything around him so long as he got what he wanted. I figured I’m a useful little asset, but nothing more. Something to be discarded.
But he knows me. He feels me.
“Since when?” I ask, trying to understand.
“At first, I was intrigued by you.” He tightens his grip on my wrist, pressing my hand tighter against his chest. “You fascinated me. I desired you in a way I shouldn’t have. Then I wanted more, but that was dangerous. Instead of letting myself be around you, instead of indulging my weakness for you, I studied you instead from afar. I kept my distance, but I also fell deeper.”
“Studied me?” I lift my chin. “Like a test in school?”
“Like an obsession.”
“You researched me. You learned about me. But why?”
“Because it was like taking methadone for a heroin addiction. It eased the desire. It didn’t replace the need-it wouldn’t replace the pure want I felt-but it took the edge away. Made my days manageable.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“To help you understand.” He raises my hand up to his cheek. I hold it there for only a moment before pulling away. He doesn’t try to stop me. “When I say that you are mine, I mean that you are mine.”
“This is too much.” I push past him, feeling trapped, and head to the door. He lets me go, doesn’t try to stop me. “You’re telling me that all this time you’ve been feeling this way, and you never said anything to me?”
“I know this may be hard for you to understand, but I keep my promises. I swore to you that you’d get your revenge, and when this was all over, you could leave me. If I had let myself taste further, keep tasting you, keep having you-” He stops, but he doesn’t need to keep talking.
It would’ve been feeding the addiction. Sooner or later, he would’ve gotten so deeply attached that he never would’ve been able to let me go. Or at least that was his fear.
It’s crazy. I can’t picture it. Yes, Gregory’s intense, and yes, the couple times we slept together was great. But he’s been ignoring me for weeks, acting like I don’t exist.
Can I really believe this explanation?
“I need to think,” I say, rubbing my face. “I don’t know what to feel right now.”
“You don’t have to feel anything,” he says, his voice gentle. “You’re my wife now. You’re carrying my first child. You’re a Callahan. That’s all.”
“I never agreed to that.”
“And it doesn’t matter what you agreed to. Not anymore.” He turns to the bathroom. “Now, I’m going to shower. If my wife wants to be in my bed waiting for when I get out, that would please me.”
I let out an ugly laugh. “You think I care about pleasing you right now? You just told me you’re like obsessed with me, and also that I’m trapped with you. Kind of still processing here.”
He shrugs slightly. “I can wait if that’s what it takes.”
“I want my contract back. I want our old deal.”
“The old deal is gone. If you want to be in our bed-”
“Your bed. I’m sleeping in the other room.”
He tilts his head. “You keep on making the wrong choice.”
“Oh, go to hell, you arrogant bastard.” I let my temper flare up again and immediately regret it, but Gregory doesn’t seem to mind. I turn and storm out, heading back to the guest room and leaving him alone.
Gregory says he’s obsessed. He says it’s like a drug. He kept his distance so that he didn’t make things worse-all with the idea that he’d let me go once our deal was done.
But now that deal’s finished.
What does that mean for me?
Once I’m alone, and my anger slowly fades, it’s replaced with a helplessness I’ve never experienced before.
Paul was bad, but at least I knew what I was getting into with him.
Gregory’s totally different.
I have no clue what that man’s thinking. Cold one second, burning hot the next.
It’s like he’s doing this on purpose, trying to keep me off balance.
But I know one thing: no matter what, I’m not giving up on Freya. I’m not letting go of my revenge, even if Gregory’s talking like he’s going to keep me forever.
I only have to figure out how I’ll convince Gregory to let me help.