“He’s at a loss. According to him, I’ve never been kidnapped or put in danger. He has no idea where the dreams come from.” I hate it when he looks at me as if there’s something wrong with me. “I learned a long time ago to hide the nightmares but still sought help.”
Thorn’s lips brush the back of my head again, and electricity jolts through me. “Hear me when I tell you that if you need anything, I am at your disposal. I’ll buy you any shrink, and when we discover the source of your fears, I’ll slice off every inch until there’s nothing left.”
His vow rings true.
“Why?” I whisper. “We’re enemies.”
He rolls us over and settles his long form above me, holding the mass of his weight on his elbows. “We’re not enemies.”
I arch an eyebrow and try to ignore the hard-on against my core. It’s impossible. My blood heats and speeds up through my veins, roaring loudly in my ears. I am so screwed up. “I’m the heir to Aquarius Social. You’re the owner of Malice Media.” I speak slowly because he needs to hear every word. “From the dawn of civilization, or probably before that, there have been four families.” The four who have always ruled, regardless of country or even god.
“A history lesson? How intriguing.” His dark gaze drops to my mouth. “From that dawn of time, men have consolidated power by creating unions.”
I can’t focus. “You want to create a union with me?” Should that idea terrify me?
“We’re already connected, and you know it. Even though it’s complicated,” he murmurs, a hint of anger in his tone. “Why are you afraid of the dawn? Does it have something to do with the sun coming up?”
Complicated? Um, yeah. “No.” I hate admitting this because it makes zero sense. My fear is as absurd as a porcupine in a balloon factory. “It’s the windows. More specifically, the pattern in them.”
He allows more of his weight to shift onto my body, and I feel every solid inch of him pressing me deep into the mattress. In addition, I learn I’m only human. My hands, I swear on their own, travel along the defined topography of hard muscle of his arms up to his shoulders. “The X pattern?”
“Yes. And before you ask, any good answer got lost in the mail somehow. The second I see that pattern, I want to scream, run, and hide. It’s nauseating. It’s a phobia but one that isn’t common and hasn’t been traced back to the source.” I know the shrink talk because I’ve seen several established professionals. “If you want to truly drive me crazy, stick me in a room with those windows and toss in a couple of life-sized nutcrackers.”
His upper lip curves. “Nutcrackers?”
“Yeah.” I’m fascinated by his mouth and want to trace it, but instead run my finger along his brutal scar.
His chest rumbles in a sound I’ll never be able to recreate. A cross between a purr and a growl. The lazy lion is satisfied for now. “Nutcrackers are harmless.”
“Ha. Until they snap your neck in their jaws.” I shiver. “Creepy. How can anybody see them as spreading holiday cheer?”
His gaze bores into mine while his heat pierces my skin and goes deeper, warming me. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You should. Those little buggers probably love big bad beasts. With their wooden bodies and fake smiles, you’re lucky you haven’t already turned into their Christmas dinner. I bet your overabundance of muscle would make a good roast.”
“Overabundance?” He looks slightly miffed.
I chuckle. “Okay. You have the optimal blend of brawn and sinew.”
“That’s better.” He licks his lip as if tasting the best brew of his life. “The gang members I interrogated tonight wanted you kidnapped, not killed.”
Should that be a relief? I guess it is. “Kidnapping me makes more sense now that I’m on the board of Aquarius. I guess I’m glad nobody wants me dead.” Does that mean he’s going to release me? I wonder if he’ll let me borrow a couple of the books from his library. “Since we’re talking so, um, closely . . . where did you get the scar?” I run my finger across the bridge of his nose.
“Justice, his mom, and I were kidnapped when I was a child.” Thorn banishes all expression from his face. “I was tortured on a live feed to gain my father’s cooperation. The attempt failed, but he did rescue Justice and me. Charity was killed.”
My jaw drops. “I’m so sorry.”
“He at least destroyed the people who took us. They were an up-and-coming internet company that he blew up.” Thorn’s eyes glitter. “However, my father and I were never close, and I knew he planned to kill me at some point—even heard him talking about it to his second in command once.”
I gulp. “Why would your father want you dead?”
“I’m more powerful than most, and my connection to the garnet stone is a crucial part of the way we’ve learned to harness the energy of social media. He was threatened by me, figured he had plenty of longevity, and had started making plans.” There isn’t an ounce of hurt in his voice. “All threats require eradication, but he pushed me too far one day, and I guess I won that battle.”
“What happened?” My heart hurts for him.
Thorn exhales, pressing his chest against my aching nipples. I gasp and try to cover the sound with a cough. The slight amusement filtering into his hard-flint eyes shows I fail. “I killed him. I was fifteen and Justice thirteen, and our father was beating Justice almost to death for some silly infraction. I chose my brother, and I guess, myself.” Thorn shrugs. “I always blamed my father for Charity’s death, anyway. She was Justice’s mom. Almost my mom, too.” His grinds his back teeth together.
I dig into the sides of his jaw with my thumbs, forcing him to relax. “Why? Your kidnappers killed her.”
He presses a kiss to my nose as if he can’t help himself. “She was taken from both of us, Justice and me. Charity was good and kind, and her words tasted like blueberry jam.”
My heart aches for him. “Why blame him if he didn’t kill her?”
“She was his,” Thorn says simply. “He took her as his wife, and it was his job to keep her safe. His woman, his responsibility. Anything that happened to her was on him.”
Whoa. Old-fashioned thinking, there. “Welcome to the current century, caveman. The game has new rules.” I lessen the pressure on his jaw hinge. “We women can take care of ourselves.”
“You might want to look where you are right now.” His face is immovable, but his tone remains indulgent.
He isn’t wrong. Worse yet, there’s a strange allure to his worldview. With his unyielding strength and primal attraction, I can’t help but feel safe. And confused. Worse yet, a veil lifts inside me. We’re both damaged by who we are and by our families in the same way. That lost desperation inside me, that dark void I won’t admit to anybody, has found an answering one in him.
Together, we click.
No. That’s crazy. I am not clicking with a sociopath. Panicking, I start to babble. “I have a scar, too, on my lower rib cage. From the car accident when my mother died.” We’re both survivors.
He rolls to his side and lifts my shirt, palming my stomach and caressing until he finds the long scar. “That had to have hurt.”
“I don’t remember, really.” His touch is killing me. If he just goes a little lower . . .
