Chapter Seven What I Didn't Say

Three days.

That's how long I avoided Frank.

Three days of treating minor injuries, organizing supplies with Rosabella, and pretending I wasn't thinking about his offer.

Stay or go.

Simple question. Impossible answer.

"You're thinking too loud," Rosabella said, pulling me back from my thoughts.

"Sorry.”

"Don't apologize, you have to decide if you want this or not.”

"How did you know?"

"Everyone knows. This isn't exactly a large operation. So what's it going to be?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You're just scared to admit it."

She was right. I'd known since Boston what I was going to choose.

I found Frank in the compound's private lounge at sunset. He sat at the bar, laptop open, whiskey beside him.

"Jane. I was wondering when you'd show up.”

“I have an answer.”

“Alright.” He closed his laptop, gave me his full attention. 

I took a deep breath, counted to two then let it out. “I'm leaving.”

His expression didn’t change, no anger, no disappointment. Just… nothing. 

“I see.”

“I can't do this. Can't be a part of your world.” The words came out harsher than I intended.

“Understood.” He picked up his phone, typed something. “I'll have a car ready in an hour. Passport, cash, everything you need.”

“That's it? You're just letting me go?”

“You are not a prisoner, Jane, never were.” He stood, walked to the bar shelf and grabbed another bottle of whiskey. “I gave you a choice, you made it and I respect that.”

My chest ached, like part of me had vanished. But this was what I wanted, so why did it feel wrong?

"The car will take you to a private airfield. From there, you can go anywhere. You should pack. Don't want to miss your window.”

Dismissed. Just like that.I should've felt relieved. Instead, I felt disappointed.

What did I expect? That he'd fight for me? Beg me to stay?

"Thank you," I said quietly. "For everything.”

He didn't answer, didn't look at me as I 

walked away.

Packing took twenty minutes, I didn't have much. Clothes Rosabella had given me, toiletries, the envelope of cash Frank had provided.

I sat on the bed, staring at my duffel bag. This was the right choice, the safe choice. Except Rosabella's voice echoed: "Whatever you're running from, it's worse than him."

I'd been running for two years. Faked my death, built a fake life. And for what? To keep running?

The Sanctuary. That red door with Cyrillic script. Maybe his world wasn't what I thought. Maybe I wasn't as principled as I believed or maybe my principles had been survival in disguise.

The knock made me jump.

“Come in.”

Frank entered. He had taken off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt, letting the fabric fall open and reveal the hard planes of his chest.

I was staring. He definitely noticed.

“I wanted to say goodbye properly.”

“You didn't have to.”

“I know.” He closed the door behind him. Locked it.

My heart beat kicked up

Respiratory rate: Elevated

Core temperature: Increased.

Diagnosis: desire, anticipation

Prognosis: Uncertain

“I lied earlier when I said I respect your choice.” He walked towards me slowly, there was a strange silence between us enough to hear the sound of his steps. He came really close, I could feel his breath, warm against my face.

“I think you're running because you're scared of what happens if you stay.”

"I'm not scared."

"Yes you are." He stepped closer. "You're terrified of admitting you want this. Want me."

"That's not it."

"Isn't it?" His hand came up slowly, tilting my face. "Your pulse is racing. Your pupils are dilated. Your breath catches every time I move closer." His thumb traced my jaw. "Your body already told me everything I need to know."

"My body doesn't speak for me."

"Doesn't it?" His other hand found my waist.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this."

“I…”

His mouth crashed into mine before I could complete the sentence, his tongue exploring every bit of my mouth. His mouth tasted like whisky mixed with mint.

The sudden delicious taste made me deepen the kiss, trying to get a taste of everything.

His hands slid into my hair, down over my back squeezing my rounded buttocks, his mouth pressed against my neck, his tongue working over my sensitive skin.

My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. I could feel the hot fluid between my legs dripping down.

“Mmhmmmm.” I moaned.

"Lie down," he commanded.

I did. Spreading my legs wide open, as if being held by an invisible force.

His hand cupped one of my breast, his mouth on the other lavishing my nipples with attention.

I tilted my head back to give him better access.

He knelt between my legs, hands sliding up my thighs.

Neurochemical response: dopamine spike, oxytocin incre—

 His mouth found my center, tongue circling my clit. He thrust two fingers inside me, crooking them and hitting me in my g–spot.

Medical assessment: systems over overlo—

I couldn't finish. I couldn't think, could only feel.

I shuddered against him, my legs quaking.

Diagnosis: complete surrender.

And when he finally slowed he looked up at me breathing hard. 

"Tell me Jane. Tell me you want this."

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

He searched my face, looking for the words I couldn't say. Then something shifted in his expression - determination, maybe frustration.

He stopped. 

"That's what I thought." His voice was rough, disappointed.

He released me, stepped back. My body protested the loss immediately, still trembling, still aching.

"The car is waiting." He adjusted his shirt, trying to regain his composure. But I could see the tension in his shoulders.

He wanted this as much as I did. And he was walking away.

He turned towards the door. Each step felt final. His hand reached for the handle.

“Wait.”

He didn't stop, didn't turn.

“Wait. I…” I swallowed hard. “I agree. I'll stay.”