Chapter Thirty-One
The door slicked closedbehind them with a soft, deliberate click.The sound landed heavier than if it had slammed shut.
Aiden forced Chloe to walk in front of him with the gun at her back, down several hallways and up a short set of concrete steps.Suddenly, he shoved her forward, and she stumbled into a room.
Her breath caught at what she was seeing.A bed was neatly made with a cheerful blue comforter and pillows aligned with unsettling care.There was a dresser with a lamp glowing low and warm, casting the walls in honeyed light.It smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something else she couldn’t place.
This wasn’t a dungeon.It was someone’s bedroom.
Aiden stepped farther inside and turned, lifting the gun again with the same casual precision he’d used since he’d dragged her through the tunnel.He didn’t look panicked or frantic.He looked settled and frightfully calm.
Before he could speak, the question burst out of her, honed by panic.
“Where’s Danica?”Chloe demanded.“Where is my sister?”
Aiden’s gaze flicked to her, assessing and unreadable.Then he tipped his head slightly.“We’ll discuss her,” he said calmly.“Not yet.”
The casual deferral chilled her more than a threat would have.
“Sit,” he said quietly, gesturing toward the edge of the bed.
Her legs felt distant and disconnected, but she forced them to move.The mattress dipped beneath her weight.Her hands clenched in her lap because if she didn’t hold them together, she was afraid they’d shake apart.
“Why?”she asked.The word scraped raw from her throat.“Aiden, why are you doing this?”
He studied her for a long moment as if deciding how much truth she’d earned.
Then he exhaled.“Because you took it,” he said.
Her heart stuttered.“Took what?”
“The gym.”His mouth tightened.“You took it.You smiled and bought it and turned it into something clean and bright, and you never once asked what it cost.”
“I didn’t know you wanted it,” she said immediately.“I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t look,” he cut in, sharp now.The gun lifted a fraction higher.“You worked there for years and never looked.”
The accusation landed where her own guilt already lived.
The room felt suddenly smaller, the walls inching closer.
“Donald and Pam Scoggins,” he went on, his voice flattening.“They owned it long before you did.Before you ever filmed a workout or laughed with clients or talked about favorite movies or sports teams.”
The names struck like a blow.Her former bosses.Her onetime friends.The people who’d hugged her and brought her soup when she was sick.The ones whose arrest had gutted her world and launched everything that came after.
