8
Ezra
Why me?
That’s the question I keep asking myself over and over the last couple of days. Why did this have to happen to me? I’m a good person, and I haven’t hurt anyone— not intentionally anyway. I help people all the time. I just don’t understand what I could have done in my life to deserve this kind of punishment. I’ve been standing in this shower for well over forty-five minutes, trying to figure out where I went wrong in my life.
I had a good life, a father who loved me in his own twisted way and offered the world to me on a silver platter. I had great friends and people I trust. It wasn’t perfect, but it was MY life—at least I thought it was.
My life went from being mine to me being a pawn in whatever dark shit my father was involved in a matter of seven days. I was doomed either way.
If Damien had let me go, I would have been made to marry Calum, and God only knows what he would do to me given the drug and weapon trafficking. I thought I knew him, but it seems I didn’t know him at all. I didn’t even know my own damn father. And now, I’m being forced to marry an Assassin— a contracted killer who still may very well kill me if I defy or betray him in any way.
Damien terrifies me. I keep replaying the unyielding look in his eyes when he was pointing that gun at me. Not one glimmer of humanity, just an empty hole of darkness. That’s what I see when I look into those gray eyes of his.
We’re complete opposites, like night and day. I wonder what could have happened in his life to turn him into such a cold-hearted killer. Who is he? Who was I being blackmailed into marrying?
I sigh and turn the water off. I picked up the towel and wrapped it around myself, walked out of the bathroom, and noticed the door was open. I look around warily. I’m sure I closed the door before I went into the shower. Was Damien in my room? Walking over to the door, I poke my head out and look out in the corridor. Slowly I move over to the master bathroom when I see steam emitting from the crack in the door. Damien must be showering too. I quickly shake off the images of him naked and wet and haul my butt back into the bedroom and close the door behind me.
* * *
After I gotmyself dressed in a pair of track bottoms and a t-shirt, I decided to go downstairs. Damien wasn’t around. I assumed he was still in the shower or his bedroom. I look around the living room, hoping I would find something…anything of his to help me understand him at least a little, but to no avail—no photos of family anywhere.
I look through the collection of books he has stacked neatly on the shelves. It was a selection of fiction thrillers and murder mysteries, and non-fiction books about World War One and World War Two. He’s a bit of a history buff.
I pick one of the books and read the blurb on the back as I walk over to the sofa. The fire was crackling in the fireplace. Damien must have lit it before he went to shower, which I was grateful for because I was freezing. Picking up a cushion from the sofa, I lay it on the rug in front of the fireplace and set the book beside it. I see a bottle of merlot on the bar, pick the bottle up along with a wine glass, and settle myself in front of the fireplace.
Pouring myself half a glass of wine, I open the book and lose myself in someone else’s story for a while. I was about ten pages into the book—which was rather dark and creepy—might I add when I hear Damien’s voice behind me, causing me to start.
“I thought you would be in your room.” I look up at him and gulp. Like me, he was in a pair of loose black track bottoms that hung low on his hips, but he had nothing on top. He stood there in all his six-foot-four glory, looking at me penetratingly, waiting for an answer. I shrug and turn my attention down at the book I was holding.
“Only so many hours in the day I can take staring at the walls,” I mutter and pick up my glass of wine and sip, trying anxiously to ignore the roguishly handsome, half-naked man standing across from me. As much as he scared the bejeezus out of me, I’m still oddly attracted to him.
I look up at him again when he leans over and picks up the bottle of merlot and smirks darkly when our eyes meet. “Helping yourself to my wine too, I see.”
“Well, you are going to be my husband. So, what’s yours is mine, right?” I utter, holding his gaze steadily and take a slow sip of the wine.
Damien wets his lips, watching me intently.
“If that were true…” I blink and swallow the wine in my mouth as he inches closer to me. “I would have you sprawled out and taking you as mine right about now.”
I gulp and lose myself in his fiery gaze. Get a grip, Ezra!
“I’m not a damn possession you can stake a claim over, Damien,” I tell him evenly, and the corner of his lips twitch.
My eyes close when his lips narrowly miss mine and brush against my ear where he speaks lowly. “That’s where you’re wrong, pretty girl,” Damien murmurs, and I bite back the groan. I can already feel that heat coursing its way through my veins. “I’ll possess every fiber in your beautiful body, and you’ll willingly submit to me so fast your head will spin.” There’s so much solidity and danger to his words that my stomach flips uneasily.
I pull back and meet his firm gaze. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
Damien's eyes slowly rake over my face before he picks up the bottle of wine sitting beside me. “Are you challenging me, Ezra?” He utters, pouring himself some wine.
“Power-hungry much?” I retort, and he smirks bleakly. “I will not submit to you now or ever. I’m not a plaything you can use to satisfy your twisted ego.” I drop my gaze from his and force myself to look at the book again.
“That’s mighty big talk for a girl who willingly spread her legs for me a few days ago.” I glare up at him as he walks over and sits on the sofa opposite me.
“You’re a pig.” He smirks, legs spread wide, one arm on the back of the couch while the other holds the stem of his glass, watching me intently. I can feel that damned pull at the pit of my stomach; it’s beginning to be a regular thing whenever I’m around him. I couldn’t figure out if it were fear or desirability.
I open my mouth to fire back a scathing remark, but a sudden noise from somewhere in the house made me stop short. I sit upright and look over at Damien, who was already up to his feet, a gun in his hand. Where the hell did he magic that from. It was daunting how quickly he went from being relaxed and mellow to full-on Assassin.