And tried to sleep with her, too.

“This’ll be the last time, Fitzpatrick. A farewell. There’s a reason why your brothers pay me extra not to touch you, and you just got a taste of it tonight. I’ll make your life a living hell and a short living hell at that.”

“Newsflash, Sam, you’re already doing that.”

He shifted closer but still far enough that I realized that despite everything—who he was, what he did, the general callousness of him—he was waiting for an explicit offer. He didn’t want to pounce and take me on his own terms. He wanted me to come to him willingly, desperately, lovingly.

Neither of us made a move.

I didn’t invite him into my bed.

He didn’t leave the room.

My thoughts swirled around in my head like the snowstorm outside, and I dug my heels into the mattress, refusing to give in to the urge to feel his body over mine, his skin against my own, his hot, sweet breath everywhere. His heat was irresistible in more ways than I could count.

“Well?” he spat out, all but sneering. “Am I going to stand here for long?”

Kicking off the blankets, I darted past him, out the door. He whirled, his brows pinching in a frown, following me to the living room.

I plopped down on the carpet, jamming my feet into my sneakers, lacing up.

“What are you doing?” he growled.

“I’m tired, Sam. Tired of you. Tired of us. Tired of this cat and mouse game. There’s only so much push and pull I can tolerate before it gets repetitive and abusive. You want me? You’ll have to get me. The hard way. I’m going to run, and you are going to catch me. If you don’t, you’ve missed your chance. How about them apples?”

He stared at me like I was crazy.

It was nighttime, and we were in the middle of the woods, in the midst of a never-ending snowstorm, with no cellular reception, no heat, and no food.

He had a point.

Scooping my phone, I slid my arms into the long plush sleeves of my coat. Sam stood there, motionless, watching me.

“You’re not roaming the woods,” he said dryly.

“You can’t tell me what to do, Brennan. You’re the hired help,” I spat out, bitterness exploding on my tongue. I was hurting because of him, so I wanted to hurt him back.

That was the excuse I gave myself, anyway, yet it didn’t make me feel any less horrible.

It was probably exhausting to be him. To constantly look for people’s weaknesses, press them where it hurt, and never allow yourself to be exposed.

The word ‘help’ seemed to set him off. He pounced on me so quickly his movements were a blur as he slammed me against the floor, my back plastered against the parquet wood. His arms bracketed me on either side of my head. His body was flush against mine. I tried to kick him in the groin, but he dodged me easily.

“I don’t fucking think so, Nix. You don’t get to call me the help and live to tell the tale unharmed.”

Feeling my eyes flaring, I was surprised to discover I didn’t fear him. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me. Not physically, anyway. After all, he said it himself—his kingdom was on the line. His fate was entwined with my family’s. This was the way it had always been.

It boggled my mind that I’d ever thought he would stand against my father and my brothers. Insist on being with me. Even if he hated my family, he still needed it. For more money and power. We were his door to Boston’s upper crust, and he wasn’t going to let it slam in his face. Not because of me.

If the men in my family paid him to keep his hands off of me and found out what we did in secret, in the dark, it would be the end of their business relationship.

I also wouldn’t put it past Sam and Cillian to try to kill each other.

“You can’t harm me more than you already have, you fool.” I writhed underneath him, attempting to push him away. “Unfortunately, I’d never be able to hurt you the way you hurt me, but at least I can stop loving you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that,” he said grimly, reaching for his boot and yanking out a small dagger. He took my fingers and curled them around the handle. He directed my hand to the center of his throat.

“You want to hurt me? Go ahead. You should know where my carotid is, Doc.”

I slid the blade across his neck, to the pulsing artery calling for me, faint blue against his endless, smooth brown skin. My hands shook and my teeth chattered.

His eyes bore into mine. “Now be a good monster and kill me, Nix.”

I tried to poke the blade against his skin, to push it through, to cut him, even a shallow nick, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t inflict pain on him. I caught my lower lip between my teeth, struggling, panting, trying desperately to push through, to make him bleed.

I shook all over.

The knife fell to the floor with a dull thud beside us.

“I can’t!” I roared. “I can’t hurt you, no matter how much I hate you. And I do hate you. Because I love you. I love you and you treat me like garbage. What do you want me to say? That I’m jealous of your dreams because you belong to them at night? Because I am. I cannot breathe, eat, or blink without thinking about you, Sam Brennan. You’ve conquered every inch of me before you’d even touched me. After you did, things got worse. Way worse. I’ve always loved you, Monster, but the more I get to know you, the more I wish I didn’t.”

Getting it out there, in the open, felt like shedding old, dead skin. Even if I knew I was putting myself in a position of weakness, I was still happy that I did.

If my confession stirred anything inside him, Sam didn’t let it show.

In fact, he made it a point to keep my arms pinned with one hand as he jerked down his slacks, kicking my legs open and pushing my pants down.

“Rape? That’s the only thing you haven’t done to me yet,” I spat in his face, seething. Having him was a torture because it reminded me he would never be mine.

He stopped undressing us.

“You think I’ll rape you?” His eyes were hooded, the hint of a sneer on his face.

“I know you will, if you enter me,” I kept my voice steady, “because I don’t want you to touch me.”

“Then what the fuck was that love declaration a second ago?”

“A confession, not an invitation, you moron. I don’t trust you. I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not even sure what part you play in my life. My father is MIA. My mother is an addict and a cutter. My brothers left me with this mess. And the only thing I know for sure is that the person I’ve been pining for over a decade doesn’t want me back but is willing to play with me whenever it tickles his fancy. I’m done.” I shook my head. “Let me go. I don’t want this anymore.”

We stared at each other. He knew this time was different from all the others. Because all the other times I tried to make light of things, to playfully banter with him while drawing closer and closer to him.

Now, I wanted to leave.

“You’re serious,” he rasped.

I jerked my head in a nod.

He sat up and let me go, allowing me to scurry backward toward the wall. I tugged my pants up.

The truth of my statement hit me all at once.

I was done with his games. Done with giving him what he wanted, whenever he wanted it. Done hoping he would someday wake up and realize he cared for me, too.