Trapped in his End Game (Series)

Searching for wisdom in my head is a fruitless enterprise. Nothing but optimistic nonsense flashes in my mind, phrases I’ve come across in children’s books and ones my mom used to utter all the time.

No, there’s no positive spin on the fact that I’m a captive, possibly for life. In the end, what did I expect would happen? That they would just let me go on with my life, no problem?

I sink into the car seat and let out a long sigh, wondering why I’m not angrier about this. I wonder about a lot of things, like why a pleasant shiver runs through my body when he strokes the transparent skin on my wrist. My hand finally links with his, and a smile hitches on my face. I don’t understand it.

The Manhattan skyline stretches in front of me as Tommy drives over the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s midday and the skies are bright blue. Perfect for taking a walk or a bike ride. It’s one of those days where you feel guilty for staying inside.

“Where are we going?”

“To my house. You’ll feel at home, I promise.”

He promises.

I stare at him as he gives me a secretive smile and his hand gently squeezes my leg. The pressure sends warmth through my skin. Honestly I have no idea what’s going on anymore. I don’t know what game he’s playing at, bringing me to his house.

“Tommy, what the hell is going on? Why are you taking me to your house where anyone can see me?”

The car thunders across the bridge, the bars casting shadows over his face as he grins. “We want to be seen, hon. There’s a charity dinner tomorrow that you’ll be attending with me. Everyone will be there.”

Everyone?

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Through the snarl of traffic, we finally arrive at Tommy’s home in West Village. He lives on a quiet, upscale street. Snow is shoveled to the side in dirty mounds, and I grimace, thinking of the cold wetness on my bare feet.

“Wait,” he says as he parks the car.

He gets out, his boots crunching on the snow as he moves to the passenger side and opens the door. A gust of cold air blows into the car and my teeth chatter. Smiling, Tommy bends to his knees and beckons to me.

“C’mon. I’ll pick you up so you don’t have to walk through the snow.”

“Tommy, it’s okay-”

But he slides an arm behind my legs and neck and stands up with hardly a grunt before I can utter another word of protest. I squeal in delight as he lifts me into the air, swinging me around as if I’m a rag doll in his arms. His chest erupts with laughter as I tighten my arms around his neck, toes curling against the cold.

God, we almost seem normal.

It’s freezing outside. The cold bites my toes hard as all the hair stands up on my arms, and Tommy’s breath billows out like smoke.

“Hopefully I don’t fucking slip on these steps.”

I cling to his shoulders as he carefully climbs them. I expect him to put me down when he reaches the top, but he doesn’t. He somehow unlocks the door and we walk inside the heated, narrow hallway. He shuts the door, finally letting me down to my feet. My face heats as I slide down his chest.

“Thanks. You didn’t have to carry me like that.”

It was sweet, really.

He says nothing as he bends down, removing his shoes. I turn around and take tentative steps forward into his apartment. So this is Tommy’s home. I wander through it, checking out the living room first. Bright, white walls and soft, blue couches. There’s a small glass coffee table and two black leather chairs, with a brick accent wall. It’s a beautiful apartment, really. The kind of place I dreamed I’d have when I made it. I find it interesting that he’d live here, and not in some fancy high-rise downtown. Here, it’s quieter.

I stand next to the window, gazing down at the silent street as Tommy moves behind me. His arm snakes around my waist as he plants a kiss on my neck.

“Come see the bedroom.”

He takes my hand and leads me from the living room to his room. The sheets and comforter are dove-gray. The headboard rests against another brick accent wall, and he pulls me into the closet, flicking on the light. On the left, there are all of his suits and ties of ranging color. The right side has more variety of color-blue, green, even shocking pink. I reach out and slide one of the hangers to the side, realizing that they’re all women’s clothes. In my size.

I take a blouse from the bar, the hanger shaking in my hand. My voice is hardly a whisper.

“How did you get these?”

“I have my ways. I’ve seen you naked enough times to know what size you are.”

He smiles at the blush burning my cheeks and kisses me as a whirl of confusion seizes my body. Tears suddenly prick my eyes, and I don’t know why. Everything is just so fast, and I can’t untangle it from my mind.

“What’s the matter, hon?” he says in a gentle voice.

“Why are you doing all of this for me?”

I search his hazel eyes for the truth. Oh God. Is any of this real, or is it just another trick to placate me?

“You mean, why am I doing this for myself? That’s easy. I’m a selfish man, and I want you for myself. There will be times where you’ll have to leave the apartment, and you can’t go out looking like that.” He smiles, looking at the men’s t-shirt and the ill-fitting sweatpants.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

His calm gaze irritates me. “What does this all mean? What is this between us, Tommy?”

The calmness on his face warps into a mask of pure unadulterated lust. He advances on me like a predator, his presence stifling the walk-in closet. His eyes smolder like bright, glowing embers.

“It doesn’t mean what you think it does.”

My breath catches as he lifts a hand to my neck, the contact burning my skin. “Then-what?”

“It means that even if you’re freed from Jack, you’ll never be free from me.”

His mouth burns my lips, his hand painfully clutching my neck. I open my mouth and lift the flimsy shirt separating us, and then he moans when my breasts flatten against his chest. I don’t know how to explain why his possessive words drive me insane with desire. It always pissed me off before, when he assumed that I must’ve been into him. I was, of course, but that didn’t stop me from being annoyed. Now, it’s the opposite. I need him to control me. At the same time, my heart clenches. I want more than his lust. I want his heart, too.

But I don’t even know if he has one.

Mine hammers hard against my ribs, the sleepy smile on his face enough to make tendrils of something warm and thrilling curl around my heart. The muscles in his chest are like steel. His breath catches in his throat as I slowly unbutton his shirt and spread my palms over his warmth. The dimples carve deeply into his face.

How could I ever think of going back to my old life? What was that, anyway? Pining after college students and living with an unseated desire that burned my insides. Tommy gives me everything I wanted. He makes me feel truly alive.

I don’t want to leave him.

Holding my breath, I expect my heart to gallop ahead. I expect horror. Regret. Something.

Not calm acceptance.

My hand stills. “Tommy, can we talk?”

He grins at me, hair hanging around his face and his shirt half open. “You want to talk? Now?”

Then I meet his gaze and he balks under my stare. “How long is this going to last?”

“Until I say so.”

Goddamn it. I just want a real fucking answer.

“Melanie, I’m having way too much fun with you right now to just give you up to Jack, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

It’s not.

It feels like a swift blow to the sensitive area right underneath my ribs. I care about him. Why can’t he see that?Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

Whatever, just go along with it.

“Swear it on your mother’s head.”

I hold his head, feeling his rapid heartbeat through my palms.

Good, so I’m not the only one who’s affected.

He laughs handsomely, placing a hand over his heart.

“On my mother’s head, I swear.”

Like any promises a mobster makes are worth a damn.

I raise myself on my toes, my lips bumping against his hard enough to make him stumble backward. He laughs as his hand squeezes my ass, a low growl reverberating in his throat.