A cry sat on the tip of my tongue but I bit it back, pressing my lips against Growl’s chest, his skin hot and soft. I could control the sounds I made, but my body shook with the wave of sensations crashing over it. Everything was quiet except for Growl’s and my rapid breathing. I swallowed, trying to make sense of what had just happened. But again Growl didn’t give me time to ponder. He released me and I almost lost my balance.

“I’ll order pizza. What do you want?” came his matter-of-fact question as he grabbed the phone.

I felt like someone had plunged me into cold water. Now that the pleasure was fading, guilt and shame and loneliness reared their ugly heads again. The brief moments of passion had made me forget what kind of arrangement this was, what kind of man Growl was. I was nothing more than his whore, cheaper than the ones Made Men usually used in Falcone’s whorehouses, and unlike them I hadn’t even pretended to enjoy what he was doing. Stop it. You’re doing what’s necessary.

I sank back down on the sofa. My legs were shaky and I felt drained, emotionally and physically. I needed to make a decision. Either I was going through with this and trying to make Growl trust me that way, or I’d have to figure out a way to get out of this situation without him. There was no other option.

“Cara?” Growl repeated. Hearing my name from his mouth always sent a shiver down my back. That voice, so deep and rough. “What do you want?”

I shrugged. I didn’t care. Pizza was the last thing on my mind right now. It was obvious that Growl enjoyed being with me physically, but on an emotional level I wasn’t getting anywhere. It seemed like he always withdrew after sex. As if he couldn’t bear physical closeness after the actual act. I wasn’t sure how to change that. The worst was that I actually wanted to be close to him. The physical intimacy of sex made me long for more afterward.

Growl sighed. “I’ll get you tuna,” he said. “You need to eat enough or you’ll get sick.”

At least he was concerned about my physical well-being in a way. Though he was probably only looking after his possession. “I don’t think food will be the reason I’ll get sick,” I muttered.

Growl didn’t say anything, but I thought perhaps he’d caught the hint. It was difficult to say since his eyes were always blank or guarded, and his expression just the same. He picked up his phone and ordered two pizzas, still stark naked. I couldn’t stop myself from admiring his muscled butt. When he turned around, I could read the inked text over his breast for the first time. So far I’d always been too busy with other things. The huge black letters read “I shall bathe in the blood of my enemies and feast on their fear.”

Martial words that crossed Growl’s entire broad chest. Why had he chosen them? To remind himself of who he was? Perhaps it had something to do with how he’d gotten his scar, but I still wasn’t sure how to breach the subject without making him close up completely. It was obvious that he didn’t like to talk about the topic. Growl grabbed his pants from the floor and put them on. My own shirt was ripped, and I wasn’t really in the mood to put on my tight-fitting jeans. “Do you have a shirt for me?”

For a moment Growl seemed stunned by the request, but then he went to his room and returned with a black T-shirt. He held it out to me with an almost hesitant expression. I took the shirt from him, then pulled it over my head. It reached my knees but it was very comfortable. I could feel Growl’s eyes on me the entire time. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was wistfulness on his face. Why? What was he thinking?

His expression turned blank again. I stifled a sigh and sank down on the sofa. Growl sat down beside me. Close enough that I could smell his musky scent mixed with sex, but without touching me.

“Why don’t you buy kitchen furniture so we can eat there?” I asked when it became clear that he didn’t mind sitting in absolute silence. His head had to be an incredibly exciting place considering how much time he spent there.

“I never needed it. I don’t eat breakfast and I can drink coffee while standing. And we can sit in the living room,” Growl said, pointing at the table in front of us.

“I know, but it would be more cozy to sit in the kitchen than in front of a TV with a table that’s barely reaching our knees.”

Growl shrugged. “I don’t need much.”

That was true.

“Don’t you ever have guests?”

“I don’t have guests.”

“What about family?” I was treading dangerous ground, but it was time to find out more about the man who controlled my body in a scary way.

“I don’t have a family.”

But I did, and I needed to return to them. I couldn’t imagine being without my family forever. The mere thought stung in my chest. I would do anything to save the family I had left. I moved a bit closer to Growl and pressed my hand against his chest.

Growl peered into my eyes, brows pulling together, then he glanced down at my hand. He seemed unsure how to react. I could see that he was uncomfortable from the way his shoulders tensed, but he didn’t push me away.

“You never had a family?” I asked to distract myself from my worry over my own family, and the way my own body was springing back to life just from touching Growl’s chest.

My fingers traced the many ridges on Growl’s chest, scars of all shapes and textures, always finding new paths across his body. Tracing his muscles and scars was a good way to quiet my nervous mind. As long as my fingers remained in motion, my brain seemed to slow down.

“I had a mother,” he said in a low voice.

My fingers froze over his collarbone, surprised by his words. I would have thought he’d avoid the topic. Did that mean he was beginning to trust me?

My gaze rose to his face, but he was looking up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. He didn’t want me to see his eyes, and that only made me more curious. “What happened to her?”

Silence reigned between us for a very long time and I began to worry I’d messed up my chance to gain Growl’s trust, when he finally said, “She’s dead.”

“How?” I asked. Growl’s hand went up to his throat but he didn’t touch himself there. He seemed to avoid touching his throat altogether, not just the scar.

“The person who slit your throat killed her?” I risked a guess.

For a moment, Growl was silent, and he even seemed to have stopped breathing. “He did. He killed her right in front of me. Made me watch her bleed out. He cut her throat too. But first mine to punish her. He thought I’d die quickly, but my mother was dead within a minute and I kept living.” He sounded almost sorry, as if he wished he’d died that day.

My mouth became dry. “What about your father? Where was he?”

“He’s not dead.” Why wasn’t he answering my second question?

“I can’t believe anyone would do this to an innocent boy.” I traced the letters on his chest. These words, all the scary tattoos, everything began to make sense.

“I wasn’t innocent, not even back then.” His words rumbled in his chest—I could feel them against my palm.

“Why would you say that? How old were you back then?”

“Five.”

God, how could anyone hurt a five-year-old like that? People called Growl a monster, even I thought of him like that, but whoever had almost killed Growl as a small boy was so much worse. “Everyone’s innocent at that age. Nobody’s born bad. You were so small. Why didn’t you try to hunt down the person who did this to you? You’re not the small boy of the past—you have connections and power now. I’m sure Falcone wouldn’t have cared if you’d gone and avenged your mother.”