He walks toward me with the rope in one hand and a blindfold in the other.
“You are not to say my name,” he says, voice flat. Commanding. “And don’t cry.”
“What?”
He approaches me, lifts the blindfold.
“Koa—”
“Tiger, I said no names.” He pauses, holding the blindfold but not putting it on yet. “We’re going to be in there for a few hours tops, but you need to listen to my rules.”
“What’s happening right now?” I plead, hating how small my voice sounds. “Tell me and I’ll do everything you say.”
He shakes his head. “If you want to walk out alive, you’re going to listen to me.”
Walk out alive.
The words hit me like ice water.
He puts the blindfold over my eyes, and my world goes black.
He pulls me close to his body. I can feel his heart beating against my chest—steady, calm. How is he so calm?
“You trust me?” he whispers.
I shake my head. “I don’t like this.”
“Come on.”
He takes my hand and leads me into the trees. I stumble over roots I can’t see, catch myself on his arm. We walk in silence. Five minutes. Ten. I lose track.
The forest sounds surround me—wind through leaves, distant bird calls, the crunch of our footsteps on dead branches.
Finally, we stop.
“Stand here,” he says.
He positions me against a tree. The bark digs into my back through my shirt.
Then he starts tying the rope around me.
“Please,” I say as he tightens it. “Why are you doing this?”
He leans in close, lips brushing my ear. “When you hear other voices, don’t speak. Let me deal with them.”
Other voices.
Oh god.
He kisses me. “I protect what’s mine.”
I bite his lip. Hard enough to break skin. Afraid if I let go, he’ll walk away and never come back.
“Don’t do this,” I whisper. I taste copper—his blood on my tongue.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Tiger, baby.” He grabs my cheeks, thumb stroking my skin. “Don’t do that. I’m getting hard.”
He kisses me hard. Desperate.
