"Kiss me again, " he says, drunk and foolish. "Kiss me until I am sick of it." - Holly Black, The Wicked King

+++

Caden's POV

"Hello," I mumble groggily into the phone.

Not checking the caller ID, the voice is unfamiliar. "Um, is this Mr. Sanders' personal assistant?"

"Yes, this is she," I yawn out, still half asleep and ready to bury myself under my bed sheets.

My back still aches from Cole's lashing.

I don't remember much after the beating.

All I recall is standing under the patter of cool water, releasing some of the pain still flaring my back.

The next thing I know, I hear the annoying ring tone of my phone.

"Um, your boss is here at Tony's Bar drunk as hell," he speaks through the phone. I can barely register his words until he says, "Um, Mr. Sanders refuses to leave the premises so either you pick him up or we call the police."

I shoot up from my bed which I quickly realize was a big mistake and my back explodes into another episode of unbearable pain.

Grimacing, I mumble through the phone. "I'll be there soon."

+++

It's two in the freaking morning!!

Two in the morning which means no bus.

Yeah, I am now walking in the middle of the night, alone in the city, with some loose jeans and a sweatshirt.

Not only is my pace hindered by my pained back, but my flats are making my feet ache, and I know that I'll have a world of blisters on my toes in the morning.

This is great, just freaking great!

Why couldn't Silas just go home after the ball?

Now I'm freaking trekking across the city alone. And it's freaking cold!

I swear to god, I am going to kill him when I get there.

I entered the bar's address on my phone and begin my trek across the city to find this godforsaken bar.

Ten minutes into my walk and I feel a burning gaze on the back of my head.

Oh no.

Walking tentatively on the side walk, I try to discreetly open my phone and dial 911 just to be cautious.

"Hey there, pretty girl," a rough voice sounds out in the darkness. "Why you walking alone all by yourself?"

My heart paces up in point five seconds and my strides become faster and quicker.

Walk, Caden! Just keep walking and maybe he'll go away.

I can't go through this again!

God, the human species is such a disappointment on how we treat each other. If one more person forces themselves on me again, I swear I'll-

A hand plants itself along the center of my back, exactly where my lashes are imprinted on my skin, and my feet halt. The touch was anything but feather like and my nerves are screaming in pain as to where his palm is located.

"Come home with me. I promise I'll give you a good time."

The voice disgusts me. Tears start building in my eyes at the thought of reliving another experience of sexual assault and I cannot control another emotion stirring inside my belly.

Anger. Red, hot, flaring anger.

I will not be treated like trash.

I had sworn to myself with Silas, and now I'm swearing to every freaking human in this planet!

No longer will I be a door mat ready to be walked on or blamed upon. With that thought, I recall what I had sworn just a few hours ago.

And I knew at that moment, that the next time he raised that belt at me, I would fight back.

I would fight back.

With one quick movement, I dig my elbow into his crotch area, which makes him groan and fall onto all fours.

My feet move to the side of the stranger, and I grab his ear by my fingers and pull them towards my mouth. "Touch someone else like that and I promise you're going to regret it."

Adrenaline is coursing through my veins and the mix of emotions complete with exhaustion is starting to make me light-headed.

Quickly dialing 911, I meet an operator and quickly rehash the details of the last five minutes.

I wait about seven minutes before the cops arrive and after quickly being quickly interrogated by the police, I make my journey once more to find the man that has now become a burden in my back tonight.

After about twenty minutes, I finally spot the bar which just so happens to be across from the ballroom.

So this was where Silas went after the ball. Why?

Walking in, exhausted and sore, I see Silas drinking a large pitcher of beer while he hollers at the waiters to get him another drink.

What in the world is he doing?

When the waiter looks up to see me, his eyes light in relief. Stalking towards me, he says, "Please tell me you're his personal assistant?"

I nod apologetically. "Sorry it took me so long. I got into a bit of a situation on the way."

"No worries." He gives me a short-panned smile before stating, "Please take your boss out of here."

I groan internally. "Oh, god, what did he do?"

"Nothing too serious. Just ran out our stock of alcohol but he refuses to leave and keeps asking for more drinks."

"Oh," I sigh in relief.

"But please get him out of here because he's scaring some of the customers," the waiter pleads.

"Of course, thank you." Before navigating my way to the bar's counter, I stop the waiter once more. "How did you know to call me?"

The waiter faces me and says, "He kept talking about this girl who got him fucked up tonight and how much he hated her." My heart skips a beat at his words.

Is he talking about me?

No, he can't be.

"I asked who she was and she said his personal assistant. Then I asked for your number and he said something along the lines of 'Sure, you can have her. I don't even like her.'"

"Oh," I whisper, too shocked to say anything else.

What? No seriously, my mind is just confusion.

Was it because I didn't want to dance with him?

He hates me?

Wait, if he hates me, why would he care that I rejected- ugh this is so confusing.

"Thank you," I reply politely. "Sorry about him, by the way." The waiter gives me a kind smile before stalking off behind the bar.

Making my way to the counter, I see that his eyes are hooded and bloodshot and he looks absolutely exhausted. "Silas, how about we go home?" I mutter behind him.

He doesn't reply so I sit beside him on another stool, and reach out to take his drink away.

"Go away, Wilson," he complains, his voice hard and slurred. "Nobody fucking wants you here." My chest sink at his words.

He really does hate me.

But then my brain catches up to my heart.

So what if he hates me. I don't like him either. He's treated me like utter garbage from the moment I stepped into his office. He made me cry on my first day of work, he left me stranded in the city with no way home, he almost fired me knowing I had no other job, he ignored me for weeks for God knows what, and he's infuriatingly annoying that it makes me want to rip my eyes out.

With that thought in mind, I muster a stronger tone, one I've never used with him before. Or anyone really.

"Well that's too bad, isn't it." I cross my arms at his rude words. "Now, let's get you home."

I try to tug his arm to get him to stand up but he doesn't budge, instead snarling, "Don't fucking touch me!"

He pushes my palms away from him and I take an instinctive step back. Jesus, this is going to be harder than I thought.

Frustration is gripping at me and it takes me a few seconds to think of another plan. "How about we go to your penthouse and you can have as many drinks there?" I suggest, my words soft as to try to appeal to some emotion in this robot of a man.

"No! I want it here, and you can't fucking take that way from me," he stubbornly slurs back.

I let out an aggravated sigh which he hears and begins to taunt me. "Oh no, are you frustrated, Wilson? Can you not believe that I'm not listening to you because you think you're fucking better than everyone else."

I step back from him for a second, a mixture of hurt and confusion bubbling in my chest.

Why does he hate me so much?

I turn away from him for a second to gather my thoughts and calm my emotions.

Chill, Caden. You got this. Just take him home and you can sleep.

After a few minutes, I turn to face him and yank his drink away, which he responds with a shocked glare. "Listen, Mr. Sanders, if you don't leave on your own accord then they are going to call the cops. And what would the media say when they see that a big-time CEO refuses to leave a restaurant that cops had to be called?"

He just stares at me, completely dumbfounded.

I wait for him to contradict me but he doesn't, however his anger doesn't dissipate. "Fucking fine! I'll drive," he announces.

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

Snatching his keys from his hand, I turn around and make my way to the exit.

But he stops me, pulling me at my wrist and forcing me to turn around. "Give me my goddamn keys, Wilson!" he demands, his breath reeking of alcohol.

"No, you're drunk out of your mind, and unlike some people, I would like to live to see 50, so I'm driving!"

A new commanding tone is etched into my words and for once, he doesn't argue, although his glare speaks a thousand words.

I'm sure he's shocked with my newfound confidence in standing up to him but I don't freaking care.

I'm tired, annoyed, and in pain and I don't have time to argue anymore.

Walking away from him, I start towards the exit, Silas close behind until he trips over his feet.

How someone could simply trip over literally just walking is beyond me but I don't have time to think about it when his giant-sized frame is now crashing down on me.

Specifically on my back and OH MY GOODNESS!!

I hiss loudly at the response of the pain and it doesn't go away because Silas is still freaking on me.

I don't have the energy to tell him to get off because my mind is too preoccupied at the moment. I can feel every muscle in his front against me and while that would usually be weird and something that should not be happening in our relationship, right now, it is the source of the burning white pain that is dancing across my spine.

I'm sure he registered my pained hisses because he guilty mutters, "Sorry."

He begins to roll himself off my back which causes another wave of excruciating pain to meet my senses. The thick fabric of my sweatshirt is now rubbing against my skin while Silas moves above me and it is creating burning hot friction.

Another groan elicits out of my mouth and I close my eyes as to stop the tears that have now welled up inside my eyes.

When he finally stands up and still notices me on the ground, his lines of fury soon turn to ones of worry and concern.

"What's wrong?" he asks, probably confused that I'm still on the ground and that I'm making pained noises.

Slowly picking myself up, I try to ignore the ache as I exit the bar. "Nothing," I ground out. I blink away the tears and I try to stand as normal as possible but I probably look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

This is officially the worst night ever.

Silas follows behind me, and he unintentionally grazes the small of my back with his palm which sends another hiss out of my mouth.

He stops when he hears me. "What did I do?" he asks, his drunken anger soon fading, replaced by innocent confusion.

"Nothing." My voice falters slightly and I can tell he notices it too. His mouth opens to say something else but I move to his car before he could speak.

I seriously deserve a raise after tonight.

He continues to stare at me while I open his Tesla.

Carefully maneuvering myself into his seat, I make sure not to press my backside to the chair. Adjusting the mirror, we're soon leaving the bar's parking lot.

After a few minutes on the road, Silas murmurs, "How did I hurt you?"

I shake my head, not wanting to get into this, and especially not with him. It wouldn't even matter because he wouldn't remember any of this by morning.

"Nothing. You didn't do anything." My voice is gruff from the pain and exhaustion but at the moment, I don't care.

I don't care that Silas is looking at me with guilty sad eyes or that he muttered "I didn't mean to hurt you," to the thick silence that has now engulfed the car.

My brain isn't functioning correctly and I've felt more emotions tonight than I have in the past four years and it is scary.

My rationality is gone and all I want to do is scream at this frustrating man for making me walk 30 minutes in the dark, where I was almost raped to come pick him up.

Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I force myself to focus on the road.

"Why are you upset?" His voice is seriously making me want to throttle him right now. "I'm not upset."

"Liar."

My head begins to pound again, my back still feels like it's on fire, and I'm so unbelievably tired, I don't even think I can see the road through all my sleep dazed blinking.

I don't want to argue with Silas anymore. In fact, I'm just done arguing with him.

Our relationship has moved beyond professional boundaries and I 'm tired of feeling guilty or hurt whenever he treats me like garbage and then acts like a freaking angel.

Just take him home. Take him home, and you can sleep.

A relieving silence ensues and I can finally clear my head.

"Why are you upset?" he repeats again, his voice soft and innocent in his drunken haze.

"I'm not upset." My voice is barely a whisper as I try to calm my emotions of anger coursing through me.

"Yes, you are," he presses on, not taking the hint that I don't want to talk. Seriously, Silas acts like a stubborn child when he's drunk. "Tell me."

I grip the steering wheel harder, willing myself to keep my emotions in check.

"Tell me," he repeats in a commanding tone, and that just sends me over the edge.

"No!" I yell. My breathing has turned ragged and all the emotions that have swarmed me the past few hours are finally being released into the hands of my drunk boss. "I don't need to tell you anything, Mr. Sanders."

He looks like he's about to argue back, but I don't let him. "Do you understand what I did tonight to get you?" I scold. "I had to walk for thirty minutes, in the cold, at 2 am, with no freaking protection other than this dingy sweatshirt and my phone. I almost got raped, not to mention the fact that my brother-" My voice stops instinctively.

Holy crap! I almost just told him about Cole!

I've never told anyone what Cole does to me.

For some reason, there's always been this pull that has stopped me from revealing the monster I've lived with the past four years.

Maybe it's the fact that he's my blood and family don't betray each other. Could also be the small morsel of me that is waiting for my old Cole to come back. Whatever the reason, I have never mentioned Cole to anyone. I don't even think Agnes knows I have a brother.

I'm praying to the high heavens that he doesn't notice it but my hopes are futile. "What? What did your brother do?" Even in his drunken state, he still manages to have an authoritative tone, although this time, concern is laced into his words.

"Nothing, sir." I sigh. "I'm just tired so please, let me just take you home."

He doesn't say anything, just stares at me with a fixed gaze that makes me want to squirm.

Finally, he turns his head to the window, stubbornly ignoring my presence like he's done for the last few weeks, and I heave out a relieved sigh.

+++

"Here," I say, handing him a glass of water.

He takes it, not sparing me a glance as he downs the whole thing in one gulp. "You shouldn't drink like that in public," I advise, mostly out of annoyance.

Why would he drink so recklessly? Even if my actions during the ball was the one that triggered him into wanting a drink, Silas should no better than to get that drunk so publicly.

He could have gotten hurt, someone could have taken advantage of him, he could have done something so unspeakably horrible that would have ruined his life.

Seriously, I want to throttle this man for his careless actions.

Not to mention, I don't ever want to wake up at 2 in the morning to drag this oaf to bed again.

"Make me," he replies defiantly, and I'm reminded of our after-kiss conversation just hours ago.

I let out another frustrated sigh.

Would it be illegal if I kneed him in the balls?

"Okay, let's go to your room so you can change out of those clothes." Grabbing him by his hands, I attempt to pull him up but he doesn't budge. "No, you're not the boss of me." He pulls his hands to his chest and crosses his arms, looking away from me like a child having a temper tantrum.

Will I have to force this man-child to change out of his dirty clothes?

"Silas, you will listen to me or else," I threaten, but the threat doesn't go anywhere other than giving him another reason to smirk.

"Oh yeah? Or else what?"

UGH!

Dang it, this man is so frustrating! I want to wipe that smug little smirk off his annoyingly gorgeous face.

I can't even freaking take care of him without fighting him or him reminding me that he's the one with all the power, even when drunk!

I tense my jaw.

Relax, Caden!

"You know what, fine, sleep in those clothes," I finally relent, annoyed.

If he wants to act like a big baby, then so be it. I'm done.

I walk away from him, feeling my resolve break at how difficult this imbecile is being, and head for the kitchen.

Jesus, I need water.

It dons on me how dry my throat has become and I quickly grab a glass of water and fill it to the brim with mouthwatering water.

I feel relief as the cold liquid glides down my throat, bringing moisture back into my mouth again. When I finish the glass, I look up to see my boss looking at me with a small glare and furrowed brows.

"Fine, I'll change. Jeez." He stalks away from me with his arms crossed and that still same flat-lipped line across his face

He's actually listening to me. Wow.

He's still annoying though.

Setting the glass into his sink, I follow Silas upstairs.

He sighs tiredly as he flops onto his bed, face first.

When I enter his bedroom, I am immediately met with his powerful masculine scent that makes me feel light-headed. His room is exactly as I'd last saw it.

Modern, clean, organized, and slightly lifeless.

But I don't expect anything less from a man who rarely shows his emotions.

"Yeah, okay, I'll just get your clothes for you, I guess," I mutter under my breath as I realize he's not moving to get changed.

Entering his closet, I find a white t-shirt along with some knee-length shorts. This'll do.

I would also like to point out that his closet is absolutely ginormous. Filled to every hanger with shirts, suits, tank tops. His collection of shoes could make any person envious and don't get me started on his watch collection... Yeah, rich people have it best.