Three years in hell, and the man who sent me there was waiting at the gates. "Get in," Ethan ordered, voice like a blade through the rain. "Or I’ll drag you in myself." My fingers dug into my palms, run. But the prison gates were already locked behind me. His gaze dropped to my scarred ankle, the one he’d paid them to break. "Pathetic," he murmured, leaning in. "You really think I’d dirty my hands on you now?" Then why did his touch still burn like a brand? And why, when he whispered "last chanc