I don’t answer, glaring at my hands instead.
Carson shifts beside me, watching me too closely. “Thinking about him?”
I stiffen.
His mouth twitches, the teasing still there, but tempered now. “I know you are.”
My stomach knots. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He chuckles, tilting his head. “Liar.”
I grit my teeth. “Fuck off, Carson.”
He doesn’t.
He leans in instead, dropping his voice. “You read that file. You saw everything. And yet you still want to go to him, don’t you? You like the danger?”
I should say no.
I should tell him to shut up and leave.
But my silence is answer enough.
Carson exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jesus, peaches.”
I swallow hard, not meeting his eyes.
A beat of silence follows, then he says, “You know, I could let you see him.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
Carson shrugs, all nonchalance, stretching his arm along the back of the couch giving the impression that we’re just two friends having a casual chat instead of me being a prisoner and him being my captor. “I mean, if it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well do it my way. Controlled. Safe.”
My pulse kicks up. This is a trick. It has to be a trick.
“You’d just willingly let me see the guy you all locked me up to keep me away from?”
He lifts a shoulder, casual as ever. “I like breaking the rules, peaches.” His smirk curves slow, lazy. “Like I did with you?—”
Heat prickles up my spine.
Damn him.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
I cross my arms, my stomach twisting. “And you’d help me see him, knowing he wants me?”
His gaze drops, dragging deliberately over my body before flicking back up to meet mine. “You’re hard to resist. I know that.”
He leans in just slightly, his voice dropping into something warm and coaxing. “So, what do you say, peaches? Want my help?”
I stare at him, waiting for the smirk, the tell that this is just another elaborate game to keep me caged, dressed up as care. A gotcha moment.
But Carson isn’t playing. There’s no mock in his eyes, no curve of his mouth that says he’s toying with me.
Not entirely, anyway.
“You’re serious?” My voice comes out quieter than I intend, laced with suspicion, but not outright disbelief. Because the truth is?
