She peered around the edges of the mirror, trying to take it off the wall or pry it away enough to see behind, and I stepped closer until I couldn’t step anymore.

Standing up straight, she held out her index finger and touched her nail to the surface, leaning in close to see if the reflection touched the tip. A little test to determine if a mirror was two-way or not.

The corner of my mouth curled up in a grin.

Her chest caved and she froze.

Uh-oh.

She stayed there a moment, and then…she rose up and stared through the glass, searching for whoever was watching her.

I raised my fingers to the mirror, less than a foot from her face as I stared into her stunning eyes. I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth.

Nine years. Nine years, and I still wanted to fuck her.

Only now I wouldn’t give her sweet and gentle. Shit had changed.

“You have to take,” she said, staring through the mirror.

I trained my ears, listening.

“Because you’re too weak to know how to win what you want. That’s why you’re in here.”

She backed away and then shot out her foot, kicking the glass with a snarl on her face.

I stared.

“Come on, Will,” she begged. “Stop the waiting and come on.”

She kicked the glass again and again, baring her teeth, and I almost smiled again, remembering that night in the lab. How she challenged us, so ready to face danger.

So tough. So cocky. I liked stubborn. I liked women who took control.

But then she spoke up again, inhaling hard and shallow. “It’s not my fault,” she bit out. “It’s not my fault that you wrapped your entire happiness up in some delusion you’d cooked up in your head where I loved you and life would be right as rain if we were together.”

My amusement fell, and I flexed my jaw.

“I did what I had to do, and I’d do it again,” she growled, her voice cracking. “I’d do it again.”

She gasped for breath and closed her eyes, dropping her forehead into the mirror and punching the glass. “I’d do it again,” she choked out, her voice thick with tears.

I moved my palm to hers, staring down at her, centimeters away as I rubbed her cheek with my thumb.

“No worries, baby,” I murmured. “I intend to deserve it this time.”

Excitement fluttered through my stomach, and I curled my fist, almost feeling her in it.

A knock sounded on the door, and it opened wide, Aydin entering and carrying a plate.

My heart hammered, and I watched as he stopped and looked at her, his golden, brown eyes dark with mischief.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her.

She shot her head up and whipped around like she hadn’t heard him knock. Unsheathing the knife, she held it tightly at her side, backing up to put more distance between him and her.

He set the plate and silverware down and looked up at her as he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I said I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I don’t remember you saying that.”

“No?” He smiled. “Well, I meant to.”

He said no one would touch her. They weren’t synonymous, I’d learned here.

He gazed at her, and I folded my arms over my chest, watching him watch her and waiting for any movement.

But he simply drew in a deep breath and turned around.

“Eat,” he said, walking to the door. “And bathe. You’re filthy.”

He pointed to the white porcelain tub in the corner of the room.

“Or I’ll bathe you,” he warned over his shoulder. “And there’s five of me to hold you down.”

He closed the door, locking it, and she stood there for a moment, glancing from the door to me and back to the door again. Taking the chair at the desk, she fit it underneath the door handle as if that would keep us out, and then she walked over, lifting the plate up to her face.

She sniffed the pasta.

He wouldn’t poison her food. What fun would that be?

He was just getting started with her.

I closed my eyes, turning away.

• • •

I clenched the window frame on both sides, staring out into the vast, silent night high above the rest of the house.

Michael.

They’d sent her here. I knew it. But why? To motivate me?

It had to be them, and if they could get someone in, why not one of them?

I had my plans for her, but there were bigger things at play right now, and it wasn’t the time.

Fuck.

I squeezed the frame, hearing the wood crack in my fist.

Did they know what she did? They would’ve had to in order for Rika, Banks, and Winter to be on board with this.

It was kind of cool, I guess. I figured they’d find me, and never doubted they’d look, at least, even if it did take them forever.

Unfortunately, none of it was necessary. I knew exactly what I was doing, and even though it pissed me off, I couldn’t blame them for doubting that I was in control.

The stairs creaked, and I heard a voice behind me as someone entered my room. “Can you finish it?” Aydin asked.

I glanced over my shoulder, seeing him stand at the top of the stairs leading into my attic room. He walked over, carrying his shirt in his hand and holding my eyes like a snake.

Always like a snake, coiled for the kill, and when it struck, you didn’t even know what had happened until it was over.

I nodded, pulling off my T-shirt and tossing it on my bed. I grabbed my kit and joined him at the leather bench I had sitting against the wall.

Setting his shirt down, he laid on the bench and tucked the other arm under his head as I poured the rest of the black ink I’d siphoned into a small dish.

I sat down and picked up the needles I’d tied to a pencil and dipped it in the ink. I approached him, leaning down to his right shoulder.

“So, what should I do with her?” he asked.

I faltered for a moment but then pressed the three-needle tool into him, breaking the skin as the ink seeped immediately into the wound.

I didn’t answer, because I knew better than to answer.

“You didn’t help her,” he mused, unfazed by the pain. “She clearly expected you to.”

I pressed again and again, redipping the needles into the ink every few moments as I tattooed the final line and colored it in.

His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, not missing a beat. I had some professional ink on my body, but a lot of mine was homemade like this, and I knew well it hurt.

Like Damon, though, it was the pain or it was nothing with Aydin.

“She’s a fighter,” he said.

He gazed up at the vaulted ceiling of my little hideaway that I’d moved into after my first night here. The white rooms and white rugs and white everything chilled me downstairs. I wanted my space, and I wanted it dark.

Plus, the windows opened up onto the roof up here. I liked the view.

“I love that about her,” he continued. “As long as she doesn’t hang herself with what little rope that I’m giving her. Did you notice that?” He looked at me. “It was like she didn’t actually realize the gravity of her situation. Trapped, with no way to survive if she leaves, and with five men who want to have the kind of fun we’ve been deprived of for so long, that a simple matter of money can make go away if she complains.”