He mistakes my silence for understanding.
“We’ll have candles,” he continues, dreamy. “Music. I’ve been working on the playlist. Something a little sad, a little romantic. Lana Del Rey, maybe? She’s been listening to her a lot. Especially these past couple of hours, after she begged Grayson to go and find you. She’s sweet like that—can’t stop worryingabout you. He told her not to, not to upset your mother even more, but she can’t help herself. She can’t stay strong for her sake.”
My whole body goes cold.
She did what? Asked Grayson to find me?
I think about the hours I’ve spent here. This bastard’s been in the room the entire time. He never left. He didn’t play anything specific on those screens since showing me his camera locations. I know he has a live feed on Grayson’s house, or wherever Sabine and Ma are staying now, but he didn’t watch it. Moreover, how would he know what they were saying if there wasn’t any audio played in the room either? I’d know if there was. I’ve been straining every sense, listening for anything that could hint at their safety.
So what is it? A bluff?
He smiles wider at my expression, clearly pleased he’s hit a nerve.
“There are limits to what I’m willing to share,” he says. “But rest assured, I only tell you what you need to know. I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
He leans back, stretching his arms like he’s just accomplished something worth applause, and lets out a long, satisfied sigh. His fingers start tapping a tuneless rhythm on the table, each beat dragging my mind closer to the edge.
My thoughts splinter.
If he knows Sabine asked Grayson to find me… if it’s not a bluff… then someone told him.
I realize who.
Eli.
That fucking mole.
But how does Eli know anything? Did he worm his way in, pretending he needed protection from Grayson’s men? Play the part of the helpful friend who’s been driving Sabine to workthese past few months? Pretend he’s worried, for her safety, for his own?
Is he feeding all of it back to her stalker while convincing the police he’s on their side?
No… Grayson wouldn’t fall for that. Sabine wouldn’t.
But if she’s worried about me, if her defenses finally cracked, she might be too lost in it to think clearly.
Shit.
A fresh surge of adrenaline hits. I fucked up. I fucked up bad letting this man catch me. There’s no one out there who can protect my sister better than I can.
“You should eat, you know,” the man says again. His tone is gentle now. Fatherly, even. It makes me want to break something. “I don’t want you to pass out before the big event. Wouldn’t that be a tragedy?”
I look down at the bowl of rice. Steam curls lazily into the air, mixing with all the mold around me. I don’t touch it. Not that I could, even if I wanted to. My hands are tied. This is about him trying to break me. Trying to get me to ask him to feed me.
Too bad for him, I don’t give a damn about hunger.
He stands and stretches again, just as casual as before, then walks to the far end of the basement where his screens are. He taps something on a panel I can’t see.
“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “But you’ll regret it once you see our little date. There’ll be steak. Nice and bloody.”
The way he says it—
I know that feverish look is back in his eyes.
Even if he’s no longer looking at me.
The next couple of hours are nothing short of a nightmare. The man is doing everything he can to drag me toward unconsciousness. And he’s damn good at it.
First, he brings a heater into the basement to raise the temperature by a few degrees, slowly, steadily. Not enough to notice right away, but enough to make sweat bead across my back and chest. Enough for dehydration to slip in silently.
