If she thinks that's crazy, wait until she gets a load of our sleeping arrangements...
"I never said I belonged to a decent Family," he said, one brow lifting at the clink of silver against the less elegant ceramic. "Nor can I deny its fucked up-itude." A smile curved the left side of his mouth. He slathered gel on her other ankle, rubbing it in gently until one could barely feel it smooth the surface. While he might have considered her feelings on the matter, it never crossed his mind that she'd stop him from touching or tending to her, nor that she'd even consider it; he simply took everything thus far as his due. "This is the world we live in, Piper. I was born to it; you had the misfortune of being drafted and no, you're not the first, and no, you won't be the last. Hell, you've effectively seen my father's basement. You can't believe cruelty starts and ends under that roof, can you? If his men were able to treat you like that in his home, what exactly do you think they'd do if you were out there, without his rules to keep them in check? Never mind keeping you quiet: What do you think he'd order them to do, just to make sure no one else could have you?"
He considered her wrists next, marred the same as her ankles by having been bound so tightly. "In a sense, yes. This is business as usual. I've taken others from under my father's nose. Just...none in your condition. And...you are also the first one I can't allow--" He cut himself off, reaching forward to lightly grip her jaw, forcing her gaze to his. "Right now, he can't touch you. By his own rules, he considers you mine. He is not happy with that--because his interpretation of that word is far different from my own. But if I let you go?"
His father would be more than delighted to see his acquisition back on the street. Connor might have had those particular guards dealt with, but there were always others willing to step up. He shook his head and his hand released its hold on her chin to open, palm up, in a silent request she let him tend to a wrist. Whether or not she granted his touch willingly, the result would be the same.
"I believe you, Piper. A lovely woman like you? I'm sure those you knew have already begun," Connor said. It wouldn't do her any good to speak gently here. So he gave her honesty, and prepared to take a punch--verbal or otherwise--from the wounded being before him. "It's certainly been more than 24 hours and so your father probably also involved the law, yes? And so long as they never find you, they, too, will be safe." He continued sliding slick fingers over her skin, gripping her other wrist firmer once the gel had settled into the bruises there, his fingers less slippery in the hold. A piercing green look that demanded her full attention and held nothing but cold, sick truth. "Piper. No one will find you. Walter Kristi does not make mistakes. Your trail will not simply be cold--it will have never existed."
Perhaps if she'd remained under that roof, her father might indeed have found her. In a week or so, and only in a gutter, or the morgue, or scattered in bits across the city. Here though? She was less than a whisper, lost in the bustle of the city and the depravity of its inner workings.
He'd thought himself prepared for the worst she had to throw back in his face. And if she'd stopped at that anticipated declaration, he would have been right. The thought of this slip of a woman providing entertainment for the off-duty members of their household in her efforts to breach security from the inside-out was far more amusing than he'd admit aloud.
But the tears...the sobbing...darker spots of green flecking the shirt he'd given her...the ache in his own gut was worse than he'd expected. He didn't let it show, cocking his head at her as she collapsed, simply moving the tray to the nightstand, plucking the linen napkins from under each of the bowls. Connor wiped his hands with the first though he wasn't done--he'd seen far more bruises during her bath, and they, too would need care. He moved, lithe in a motion that spoke of hours in a gym as he closed in on her collapsed form. Not touching her again, not yet, instead waiting her out. It had to be a difficult thing to hear, that one was but a ghost who couldn't go home--that doing so would be the end of everyone she loved. And who did Piper love? he found himself wondering. The thought wasn't as distracting from her tears as he'd hoped.
When she finally straightened, he shrugged. "Valesport."
He was far from feeling as casual as the lift of his shoulders implied. The expression on her face before she'd pulled from her remaining stores of strength tore at him, made him want anew to have killed his father's soldiers slowly instead of having them snuffed in the night. Whether his Piper felt safe or not was not Connor's concern. Whether she accepted what was to be her fate, continued to rail against him, or even sought to flee their home didn't matter. What mattered was that he knew she was protected now, here, that she was safe with him and in his care, that she wasn't twisting under knives or cocks or fists or whatever the fuck the twisted bastards had brought against her in the Pit, and that he held this small, fierce woman in his arms again to prove as much to the ragged edges inside his chest.
And so he held out a hand.
"Come here, Piper," he said, nodding his head to one side. "Now."
"I never said I belonged to a decent Family," he said, one brow lifting at the clink of silver against the less elegant ceramic. "Nor can I deny its fucked up-itude." A smile curved the left side of his mouth. He slathered gel on her other ankle, rubbing it in gently until one could barely feel it smooth the surface. While he might have considered her feelings on the matter, it never crossed his mind that she'd stop him from touching or tending to her, nor that she'd even consider it; he simply took everything thus far as his due. "This is the world we live in, Piper. I was born to it; you had the misfortune of being drafted and no, you're not the first, and no, you won't be the last. Hell, you've effectively seen my father's basement. You can't believe cruelty starts and ends under that roof, can you? If his men were able to treat you like that in his home, what exactly do you think they'd do if you were out there, without his rules to keep them in check? Never mind keeping you quiet: What do you think he'd order them to do, just to make sure no one else could have you?"
He considered her wrists next, marred the same as her ankles by having been bound so tightly. "In a sense, yes. This is business as usual. I've taken others from under my father's nose. Just...none in your condition. And...you are also the first one I can't allow--" He cut himself off, reaching forward to lightly grip her jaw, forcing her gaze to his. "Right now, he can't touch you. By his own rules, he considers you mine. He is not happy with that--because his interpretation of that word is far different from my own. But if I let you go?"
His father would be more than delighted to see his acquisition back on the street. Connor might have had those particular guards dealt with, but there were always others willing to step up. He shook his head and his hand released its hold on her chin to open, palm up, in a silent request she let him tend to a wrist. Whether or not she granted his touch willingly, the result would be the same.
"I believe you, Piper. A lovely woman like you? I'm sure those you knew have already begun," Connor said. It wouldn't do her any good to speak gently here. So he gave her honesty, and prepared to take a punch--verbal or otherwise--from the wounded being before him. "It's certainly been more than 24 hours and so your father probably also involved the law, yes? And so long as they never find you, they, too, will be safe." He continued sliding slick fingers over her skin, gripping her other wrist firmer once the gel had settled into the bruises there, his fingers less slippery in the hold. A piercing green look that demanded her full attention and held nothing but cold, sick truth. "Piper. No one will find you. Walter Kristi does not make mistakes. Your trail will not simply be cold--it will have never existed."
Perhaps if she'd remained under that roof, her father might indeed have found her. In a week or so, and only in a gutter, or the morgue, or scattered in bits across the city. Here though? She was less than a whisper, lost in the bustle of the city and the depravity of its inner workings.
He'd thought himself prepared for the worst she had to throw back in his face. And if she'd stopped at that anticipated declaration, he would have been right. The thought of this slip of a woman providing entertainment for the off-duty members of their household in her efforts to breach security from the inside-out was far more amusing than he'd admit aloud.
But the tears...the sobbing...darker spots of green flecking the shirt he'd given her...the ache in his own gut was worse than he'd expected. He didn't let it show, cocking his head at her as she collapsed, simply moving the tray to the nightstand, plucking the linen napkins from under each of the bowls. Connor wiped his hands with the first though he wasn't done--he'd seen far more bruises during her bath, and they, too would need care. He moved, lithe in a motion that spoke of hours in a gym as he closed in on her collapsed form. Not touching her again, not yet, instead waiting her out. It had to be a difficult thing to hear, that one was but a ghost who couldn't go home--that doing so would be the end of everyone she loved. And who did Piper love? he found himself wondering. The thought wasn't as distracting from her tears as he'd hoped.
When she finally straightened, he shrugged. "Valesport."
He was far from feeling as casual as the lift of his shoulders implied. The expression on her face before she'd pulled from her remaining stores of strength tore at him, made him want anew to have killed his father's soldiers slowly instead of having them snuffed in the night. Whether his Piper felt safe or not was not Connor's concern. Whether she accepted what was to be her fate, continued to rail against him, or even sought to flee their home didn't matter. What mattered was that he knew she was protected now, here, that she was safe with him and in his care, that she wasn't twisting under knives or cocks or fists or whatever the fuck the twisted bastards had brought against her in the Pit, and that he held this small, fierce woman in his arms again to prove as much to the ragged edges inside his chest.
And so he held out a hand.
"Come here, Piper," he said, nodding his head to one side. "Now."
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
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