Keep Me

Just like we both lost Beth.

“It was the nursing assistant at the clinic.” My voice comes out sounding cold and distant as I place my champagne glass back on the tray. “Angela. She was on Al-Quadar’s payroll all along.”

Nora’s eyes glitter brightly. “That bitch,” she whispers, and I can hear the pain and anger in her voice. Her hand shakes as she puts down her own glass on the table. “That fucking bitch.”

I nod, trying to control my own rage as images from the video Majid sent me slide through my mind. They tortured Beth before killing her. They made her suffer. Beth, whose life had held nothing but suffering since her asshole of a father sold her to a brothel across the Mexican border at the age of thirteen. Who had been one of the very few people whose loyalty I never questioned.

They made her suffer . . . and now I will make them suffer worse.

“Where is she now?” Nora’s question brings me out of a pleasurable reverie where I have each member of Al-Quadar strung up and at my mercy. When I look at her blankly, she clarifies, “Angela.”

I smile at her naïve question. “You don’t have to worry about her, my pet.” All that remains of Angela are ashes, scattered on the lawn of the clinic in the Philippines. Peter’s brand of questioning is brutal but effective, and he always disposes of the evidence afterwards. “She paid for her betrayal.”

Nora swallows, and I know she understands exactly what I mean. She’s no longer the same girl I met in that club in Chicago. I can see the shadows in her eyes, and I know I’m responsible for putting them there. Despite my best efforts to keep her sheltered on the island, the ugliness of my world touched her, tainted her innocence.

Al-Quadar will pay for that as well.

The scar on my head begins to throb, and I touch it lightly with my left hand. My head still aches occasionally, but other than that, I’m almost back to my normal self. Considering that I spent a good portion of the last four months as a vegetable, I’m quite content with this state of affairs.

“Are you all right?” There is a concerned expression on Nora’s face as she reaches up to touch the area above my left ear. Her slender fingers are gentle on my scalp. “Does it still hurt?”

Her touch sends pleasure streaking down my spine. I want this from her. I want her to care about my well-being. I want her to love me even though I stole her freedom—even though, by all rights, she should hate me.

I have no illusions about myself. I’m one of those men they show on the news—the ones that everyone fears and despises. I took a young woman because I wanted her and for no other reason.

I took her, and I made her mine.

I make no excuses for my actions. I feel no guilt either. I wanted Nora, and now she’s here with me, looking at me like I’m the most important person in her world.

And I am. I am exactly what she needs now . . . what she craves. I will give her everything, and I will take everything from her in return. Her body, her mind, her devotion—I want it all. I want her pain and her pleasure, her fear and her joy.

I want to be her entire life.

“No, it’s fine,” I say in response to her earlier question. “It’s almost healed.”

She pulls her fingers away, and I catch her hand, not ready to forego the pleasure of her touch. Her hand is slim and delicate in my grasp, her skin soft and warm. She tries to tug it away reflexively, but I don’t let her, my fingers tightening around her small palm. Her strength is insignificant compared to mine; she can’t make me release her unless I choose to let her go.

She doesn’t really want me to let her go, anyway. I can feel the excitement rising within her, and my body hardens, a dark hunger awakening within me again. Reaching across the table, I slowly and purposefully unbuckle her safety belt.

Then I stand up, still holding her hand, and lead her to the bedroom at the back of the airplane.

* * *

She’s silent as we enter the room and I close the door behind us. The area is not soundproof, but Isabella and Lucas are at the front of the plane, so we should have some privacy. I don’t normally care if someone hears or sees me having sex, but what I do with Nora is different. She’s mine, and I don’t intend to share her. In any way.

Letting go of her hand, I walk over to the bed and sit down on it, leaning back and crossing my legs at the ankles. A casual pose, though there’s nothing casual in the way I feel as I look at her.

The desire to possess her is violent, all-consuming. It’s an obsession that goes beyond a simple sexual need, though my body burns for her. I don’t just want to fuck her; I want to imprint myself on her, to mark her from the inside out, so that she will never belong to any man but me.

I want to own her completely.

“Take off your clothes,” I order, holding her gaze. My dick is so hard, it’s as though it’s been months, instead of hours, since I had her. It takes all of my self-restraint not to rip off her clothes, bend her over the bed, and pound into her flesh until I explode.

I control myself because I don’t want a quick fuck. I have other things in mind for today.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to stay still, watching as she slowly begins to disrobe. Her face is flushed, her breathing coming faster, and I know she’s already aroused, her pussy hot and slick, primed for me. At the same time, I can feel the hesitation in her movements, see the wariness in her eyes. There is a part of her that still fears me, that knows what I’m capable of.