“Why are you helping me?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I consider her question for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “Because you need my help. And because I can’t just stand by and watch you self-destruct.”
Her gaze flicks down to the knife and the key and then back up to me. “Do you think you can save me from myself?”
I smile, a twisted, dark smile.
“No more than you can save me, Eve. Now, don’t move.”
I approach the bed, tracking her gaze as it fixes on the blade. Her pulse jumps at her throat, but she holds perfectly still. Good. She’s learning.
“You focus on the problem and not on the solution.” I wiggle the key, drawing her attention away from the knife. Her eyes narrow, following the metal’s glint. The mattress dips as I sit beside her, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body.
She tenses as I lean over her but doesn’t pull away. The scent of her—vanilla and something uniquely Eve—clouds my senses. I pause, letting her uncertainty build. Control is about timing, about knowing when to push and when to wait.
“What’s your play here, Remy?” Her voice stays steady, but I catch the slight tremor in her fingers.
“My play?” The knife’s edge catches the light as I turn it. “I’m giving you a choice. You can keep fighting me at every turn, or we can work together.”
A harsh laugh escapes her. “Those aren’t choices. That’s an ultimatum.”
“Semantics.” I shift closer, invading her space. “The question is whether you’re ready to admit you need me.”
Her jaw tightens. Even handcuffed and vulnerable, she radiates defiance. It stirs something primal in me, the urge to break through her walls, to claim what she keeps trying to deny.
I watch her eyes track the key, calculating. Her muscles tense a fraction of a second before she moves. Amateur.
Her fingers grasp the air as I pull the key back, catching her wrist in my other hand. The momentum carries her forward until she’s pressed against my chest, breath coming fast.
“Nice try.” I tighten my grip when she tries to jerk away. “But predictable.”
Anger flashes across her face. “Let go.”
“Not until you understand something.” I lean closer, enjoying how she fights to maintain her composure. “Every time you try to outsmart me, you prove why you need my help.”
“I don’t need—”
“You do,” I cut her off, voice hard. “You’re good, Eve. Better than most. But you’re letting emotion cloud your judgment. That’s how people end up dead.”
She stills at that, Roberto’s death hanging unspoken between us. The fight drains from her body, replaced by something more dangerous—resignation.
“Trust me first,” I repeat, gentler this time. “And you’ll have the key.”
I watch Eve’s shoulders slump in surrender, her sigh the only acknowledgment of our deal. Victory thrums through my veins, but I keep my expression neutral as I slide the key into my pocket. Control requires restraint, especially in moments of triumph.
The knife glints as I step toward her. Her sharp inhale echoes in the quiet room, but she holds her ground. Something shifts in my chest at her effort to trust me. Lesser people would have cowered, yet here she is, chin lifted, meeting my gaze despite her fear.
“Smart choice,” I murmur, moving closer. The mattress dips under my weight as I settle beside her. Her pulse jumps at her throat, but she doesn’t flinch when I raise the knife. The blade catches the light, and I see her fingers curl into the sheets.
Trust goes both ways. I could release her now, prove my intentions. But that’s not how this works. She needs to understand the stakes and feel the weight of her decision in every breath.
My free hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing across her lower lip. Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. Progress. Small but significant. Like taming a wild creature—every moment of stillness is earned.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I say, studying the flecks of gold in her eyes. “That you’re trapped. That you’ve made a deal with the devil.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Maybe you have.”
She swallows hard but maintains eye contact. “And what does the devil want in return?”
“Your trust.” The knife hovers between us, a reminder of power and possibility. “Your cooperation.” My thumb traces her jawline. “Your honesty.”
