Destroyed

The heaviness in my soul grew as I accepted the inevitable: I would never be free.

I’d been able to break other commands, but touching had a special hold on me. After all, they’d gone to a lot of trouble to make it my first instinct.

The cane came from nowhere, walloping me around the back of my knees. My hands flexed around the knife as I faced the target of bundled hay dressed in kid’s clothing of dungarees and green t-shirt.

“Stab it, Operative Fox.”

They struck me again, and this time it was instant. The moment pain radiated in my joints, I stabbed the dummy with all my strength.

Again and again they hit me until the hay and clothing were a shredded mess at my feet. Sweat ran under my thick winter jacket even as snow flurried around us from the icy Russian winter.

Pain equalled pain. To be inflicted meant to inflict. Touch meant to kill. Simple.

It was freeing to obey such a basic code.

I shook my head, frowning at the piece of paper. Damn f**king flashbacks. They came more often when I was stressed.

Returning to the paper, I finished writing:

Fox agrees to pay Hazel one hundred thousand up front, and another one hundred thousand dollars at the end of one month. If Hazel leaves without Fox’s permission before the time is up, the contract is null and void and no money shall be exchanged.

Scrawling my illegible autograph, I looked up.

Zel hadn’t moved, her eyes focused on my scar. Interest and pity etched her face.

I growled, “Another rule I forgot to mention. Don’t you dare pity me. I don’t want your pity. I don’t deserve your pity. Understand?”

She flinched, but didn’t look away. “It’s not pity. It’s curiosity.” Her hand flew up to spin a delicate chain around her throat. I’d noticed it before. A single star.

The way she touched the silver in reverence hinted that it held a tender history. It meant a lot to her.

It made me jealous.

“I’m just trying to understand you. That’s all.” Her voice was firm and not in the least bit scared of my minor episode of throwing her to the floor. She was so damn strong. Idiotic hope sparked once again. Was she strong enough to withstand me?

My lips tingled, remembering her taste. Remembering the brutal need in her—the summoning from her body to mine.

My heartbeats changed from low and measured—how I always was when I slipped into conditioning—to fast and hard with need.

I wanted her.

Shifting, I rearranged my f**king hard-on. Her lips curled just a little, almost as if she knew what caused my discomfort.

It was her. All her. Damn woman.

“Sign this.” Shoving the paper across the desk, I motioned for her to come forward.

In bare feet, she stood and padded closer. Perching on the edge of the desk, the gold and silver dress hitched up, showing a split to mid-thigh.

Goddammit.

My stomach twisted as my c**k lurched, growing hotter and thicker until I was sure it would self-combust.

With slightly shaking fingers, Zel took the piece of paper and read it. Her eyes narrowed and she nibbled on her bottom lip. I expected an argument, but she only nodded and looked up. “I need your pen.”

Silently, I passed her the fountain pen and held my breath as she signed with a pretty flourish. I felt like a full-blown ass**le. I’d made her submit for money. What sort of bastard did that? It couldn’t be helped that she really had no concept of survival. Selling herself to a stranger for a month? What woman did that? We were both as bad as each other.

The thought had a strange appeal.

Keeping my face completely neutral, I took the signed contract from her, keeping my fingers well away from hers, and placed it into the top drawer and locked it.

A smidgen of relief filled me. She was mine for exactly thirty days. It was time we got acquainted.

Her eyes swept upward, connecting with mine only briefly before dropping to the scar. Her pouty lips thinned while thoughts swirled in her green eyes.

The scar had been a punishment—a reminder of just how deep I’d fallen. It’d been retribution for not obeying.

I couldn’t even think about that night without breaking into a cold sweat.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” Checking the time on my phone, I added, “What time do you normally go to bed?”

She paused, surprise written on her face. “Same as everybody else I guess. About midnight, get up at about six or whenever Cla—”

She snapped her lips together, avoiding my eyes.

“Don’t do that—cut yourself off mid-sentence. Whatever you were going to say, I want to know.” I hated her keeping things from me. Even though I had full intention of keeping everything from her.

She pulled her shoulders back, fighting me with her gaze. “I was going to say when Clue gets up for work. She has a range of jobs, and some days she’s up very early.”

The lie rained from her lips like the truth, but I knew different. The decibels of her voice were odd.

Shaking my head softly, I whispered, “I know you just lied, but after what I did, I won’t push it. But next time…it better be the truth.”

She held her ground even as a flash of apprehension filled her gaze.

I cocked my head, drinking her in. “Where are you from originally?” I guessed Europe—Spain perhaps. I’d become quite an expert on guessing nationalities. Another hazard of my previous employment.

She shrugged, eyeing me warily. “I don’t need to lie about that. I only knew my father. Or at least, I think he was my father. He looked after me until he just disappeared one day. I think I was five when he left. I vaguely remember him speaking another language, so it’s entirely possible I’m from overseas and not Australian originally.”

I didn’t have a retort to that. Seemed we had yet another thing in common. Missing lineage. Missing pieces from our past.

She glanced at the phone in my hands.

“I want that phone call. I need to arrange something.”

Shit, I’d forgotten about that. I didn’t want her talking to anyone—spilling the details of what we’d agreed to. It wouldn’t paint either of us in a good light.

Reluctantly, I dropped the phone into her waiting palm. “I’m not giving you privacy, so don’t bother asking.”

She huffed, but didn’t argue. Pressing a sequence of numbers, she paced toward the graffiti artwork, chewing her bottom lip.

“Come on. Please, pick up,” she whispered.

It seemed an age before she slouched and sighed heavily. “I thought you weren’t there. Did you get home alright?”