I doubt he only threatened me. It had to be more. Maybe our mother. Maybe Greyson and the kids.
You don’t sit in a basement for two days straight, running the whole operation, without a clear plan.
This man is a fucking psycho. And Sabine—God bless her—knows it.
As the knife leaves my face and he turns back to her, I lock my gaze on her. She meets my eyes, and I hope she sees the message there.
Just a little longer.
The rope.
It’s loosening.
It’s slipping.
I just need a little bit more time.
The wrist hanging on by threads is pulp, but my fingers still twitch.
“I think it’s sweet,” he says, now seated across from her. “That you came. Usually, I have to work a little harder to get a date. But you even brushed your hair for me. Made an effort to look… more than presentable. You must love your brother very much.”
What a strange thing to say.
Sabine doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes flick to the wine glass, to the silverware, to the untouched steak beside them. Her hands remain folded in her lap, pale and stiff.
At last, she looks up. “Yes, but also… I wanted to make a good impression.”
He lights up.
“That,” he says, raising his wine glass in a mock toast, “is what I always loved about you. So considerate. So… graceful.”
He takes a sip.
Then he glances at me over the rim of his glass. “But tell me, does it run in the family? You both seem so uninterested in late-night dinners. I made this just for you—well, for both of you—and no one touches a thing.”
I stare back, chest heaving, the rope now hanging by threads and slipping loose.
“You make it sound like there’s something you don’t know about us,” I say, a little too sharply. The pain from fighting the rope bleeds into my voice.
Sabine’s eyes widen. She draws in a breath.
The man only smiles wider.
“Always quick,” he says. “Yes, I do know you prefer to eat earlier in the day. It’s interesting how those small things vary between families, isn’t it? I’m sorry if it was selfish of me to invite you to dinner like this, but you’ll have to forgive me. Old habits are hard to break.”
Sabine shifts. Her knee bumps the table leg.
He notices.
He seems to be noticing everything—except my hand moving.
Thank God he’s never had male captives before. Like he said, I’m the first. An exception to his usual routine.
And it might just be working in our favor.
“Restless, aren’t you?” he asks, leaning toward her. “Don’t worry. I know exactly what might help.”
Without warning, he stands. The entire table clatters with a sharp, jarring sound. Sabine jumps, instinctively grabbing the table’s edge. A moment later, she schools her expression with a calm I didn’t know she had.
