He shrugs, a physical dismissal of my words. “You’ll be much happier now. You just need some time to adjust. I know what you saw upset you. I never intended to frighten you.”
I can’t hold back my bitter laugh. “Didn’t you? You terrified me when you put on that skull mask and assaulted me in the dark. You threatened me with a knife.”
“Just like you told me in your fantasies.” He bites out the words, clearly agitated. “I acted out your deepest desires.”
I breathe through my nose and suppress the urge to vomit.
He knows all of my secrets because he positioned himself as GentAnon.
“I confessed those fucked-up fantasies because I thought it was a safe space to express them. I thought I was talking to someone anonymous. Someone who understood me. I trusted you.”
I told my illicit pen pal my most vulnerable secrets, and I’d felt secure in purging my inner darkness with him.
Instead, I made myself a target for a sadistic psychopath.
“How did you find my screenname?” I ask through numb lips.
My mind spins as I try to piece together what’s happened to me. How long has Dane been watching me?
“You said we met at the bar before you came into the café for the first time. That was a few weeks before GentAnon messaged me. How did you find my erotica?”
He cracks an egg over the pan, a little too sharply. “You don’t want to know that.”
“Yes, I do,” I insist, even though I really would prefer not to hear the sickening extent of his stalking.
But I have to understand him. I can’t talk my way to freedom if I don’t know everything about my situation.
“I’ve been watching over you ever since the night we met,” he admits. “I think that much is obvious now.”
“Watching over me?” I repeat, incredulous. “You meanstalking me.”
His jaw tenses, but his movements are deft as he removes the cooked food from the pan. He places a full plate on the island in front of me, along with a glass of water.
Then he takes a knife and fork to cut my food into bite-sized pieces. He places the knife in the sink, well out of my reach.
Clearly, he’s not going to tempt me with a potential weapon. Not after I attacked him with the heavy brass lamp almost as soon as I woke up from the drugs.
“Eat,” he commands.
My stomach rumbles as the rich scent of bacon suffuses my senses. Even though I still feel queasy, I’m painfully aware of the fact that I haven’t eaten in a full day. I have to keep my strength up and my wits sharp.
I take a bite of eggs. It tastes like ashes on my tongue, but I force myself to chew and swallow.
“Are you going to answer my question?” I press when half my plate is empty. “How did you know to position yourself as GentAnon?”
“No.” He takes a bite of his own bacon, and I realize he’s not planning to say more.
“No, what?”
“No, I’m not going to answer your question.”
I gape at him. “You owe me the truth, Dane.”
His brow furrows, as though he’s struggling to process my declaration. It occurs to me that he probably doesn’t think he owes me anything. Judging by his puzzled expression, in his mind, he’s never owed anything to anyone.
“You’re upset,” he says after a long moment. “I don’t want to tell you when it will only make you more upset. I don’t like how you’re looking at me.”
“And how am I looking at you? Like you’re a monster who stalked and kidnapped me? Does that make you uncomfortable? Because I’m not remotely sorry.”
