“I can’t let you go to the police,” he reasons. He’s unnervingly calm, and I recognize his bedside manner voice.
My vision blurs as tears surge. I desperately blink them away so that I can keep the threat in sight.
His thumb traces the line of my cheekbone as he wipes away the wetness on my cheeks.
My entire body goes cold, and a violent shiver makes my bound limbs quake.
“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes over the sound of my muffled pleas.
Let me go,I try to beg.You don’t have to do this.
But the words are garbled behind the gag, and my assailant seems unfazed by my distress. He’s still touching me as though he intends to comfort me, but he’s coolly composed. I recognize the merciless, flat expression that sets his handsome face in stony planes. It used to make me tremble with desire. Now, I shudder in pure terror.
“Try not to struggle,” he says, a gentle command. “You’ll only strain your muscles. I have to go to my place to get a few things, but you’ll be safe here.”
He gestures in the direction of the nightstand. My phone is propped up against a lamp, the camera directed at me.
“I’ll have you on video call the whole time.” He says it like a reassurance. “I wouldn’t leave you alone like this if I didn’t absolutely have to. I’ll watch over you, even when I’m not here.”
Ice encases my bones. How long has he been doing just that:watching over me?
He twirls my purple curl around his finger before withdrawing regretfully. “I’ll be back soon.”
He stands and starts walking away.
Please!I scream into the gag.Dane!
He seems to recognize his name, because he flinches like I flung a knife that hit its mark deep in his chest. Then he shrugs and strides out of the bedroom, disappearing into the living room. I hear the front door open, then close. The lock engages.
I scream for help, for mercy, for salvation.
But no one hears my smothered pleas.
No one comes to save me.
I’m notsure how much time passes, but my muscles ache and my throat is sore by the time Dane returns.
He’s holding a large, leather duffel bag in one hand. My passport is in the other.
My stomach drops, and I jerk against my restraints.
Why does he have my passport? How did he even get it?
I keep it in my nightstand drawer, and I locked my apartment door when…
My heart sinks as the awful reality of my situation weighs on my chest like a lead weight. Of course, Dane is able to easily access my apartment; he’s the masked man. He’s already been able to break in far too easily.
His sensual lips press together in a grim line as he sets the bag down and rummages in it for a few seconds.
My head starts swinging back and forth in horrified denial when I see the syringe he’s holding.
“I had to get this from work,” he explains, calm and cool. “It won’t hurt.”
He sits beside me and uncaps the needle. I writhe in a frenzy—prey caught in a trap.
One hand settles at my nape, pinning me with a firm but careful grip.
“Just a little pinch,” he says, voice soft in that bedside manner.
