I swallow hard, trying not to look concerned, which is damn near impossible with how terrified I am.
Perhaps I’m being silly. After all, he did just treat my wounds. Why would he do so if he intended to torture and kill me?
But who’s to say how psychopaths work? And I’m pretty sure I have that diagnosis correct. Something is off with Hunter, and it’s very likely he has the whole dark triad thing going for him,or at least two of the three personality types, because he doesn’t strike me as a narcissist.
Maybe if I can get him talking, I can figure out what he’s about.
“How do you know Caspian?”
His jaw clenches ever so subtly. “He was a work acquaintance.”
“Like…you have a job during the apocalypse? Does your employer at least offer good benefits?”
“I’ve recently found myself unemployed.”
“He brought men called Vultures to the place he held me. He told them the Keep was out for them, whatever that means. He offered them an alliance and used me to sweeten the pot.”
“How’d you get away from him?”
“He’d leave for days at a time. During one of those stretches, a man he’d spoken with came back. I said if he freed me, I’d go with him. He let me go, and the first chance I got, I ran.”
“And you’ve been alone ever since?”
“Yeah. It’s not too bad. I have a warm place to stay. It doesn’t have electricity, but it’s comfortable and there aren’t a lot of bugs and rodents. I’ve been trying to insulate it for the coming winter.”
He says nothing, which is weird, but I guess some people aren’t good at small talk.
Which is honestly refreshing. I didn’t end up on Salem Street because an awkward psychopath introvert put me there. It was because of a smooth talker who knew exactly what to say to get me to drop my guard.
Still, Hunter is the very definition of unnerving.
“Why did you rescue me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to murder me?”
“I hadn’t intended to.”
“But death isn’t off the table.”
He cracks a smile. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Are you going to screw me?”
His mouth returns to a straight line. “I’ve considered it.”
“You don’t seem very interested.”
When he says nothing, I return to bathing, scrubbing the filth from my nails. Hunter sets a razor down on the lip of the tub.
“What? Do you expect me to shave my pussy for you like it had been before?”
“It was offered as a polite gesture. I hadn’t expected anything, but if that’s your ambition, go ahead.”
And for the first time since the apocalypse broke, I laugh. Really laugh.
Hunter is clearly depraved, which should be terrifying, but when I’m with him, I don’t feel as though I’m in danger.
