Page 2 of Burned

He’s set an invisible boundary to keep me safe.

He never called it that, of course. He made it sound reasonable. Practical.

“Stay within sight of the cabin.”

That was the first version.

Then it became, “Don’t go beyond the woodpile.”

Then, after one of the guards found fresh tire tracks two roads over, it became, “If you want air, you take Mack or one of Bayne’s men.”

And when I gave him the look that usually makes him half amused and half aroused, he leaned down, brushed his mouth against my ear, and said, “Don’t test me on this, Erin.”

Which, naturally, made me want to test him.

Not because I’m stupid.

I’m not.

I know what waits beyond these trees. I know Carlos is waiting, biding his time and preparing to strike. I know the Morettis are not finished. I know my old life did not die with Caleb on that filthy floor.

But I also know what it feels like to spend years surviving under other people’s rules.

And Lucian Bachman has a terrible habit of making imprisonment look like devotion.

The trouble is that I like his control.

I like it too much.

I like the way his eyes follow me when I cross a room. The way he reaches for me in his sleep. The way his voice drops when he says my name.

The way he stands between me and danger like he was built for it.

I like the bad in him.

That is perhaps the most concerning part.

I like the command. The control. The dark, terrible certainty of belonging to a man who does not ask the world for permission before taking what he wants.

I like being what he wants.

God help me.

I bend to gather another stick and shove it into the basket.

My cheeks sting from the cold. My fingers ache inside my gloves. The snow is thin under my boots, more frost than blanket, but enough to crunch as I shift my weight.

The woodpile is only a dozen yards from the porch.

I am being good.

Mostly.

I straighten, hugging my coat tighter around me, and catch the low murmur of male voices from the far side of the cabin.

I still.

The sound carries strangely through the trees. Not clear enough at first to make out words.