“Yeah, the last few days really say you’re perfectly safe to me.” He gave me the look again, the one that screamed he saw right through me, to the little pieces I hid. “I have to go out. So, you’re going to have to stay here, in my room, until I get back. Can you handle that?”
I frowned, pulling my knees up to my chest. “I don’t love the idea of being your prisoner, Winder.”
“You aren’t my prisoner.” A beat of silence followed. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d stay here, where I know you’ll be safe.”
A prisoner in different words.
“How do you know I’ll be safe here?” My nerves were already chewing at me. Maybe it would be better to go to the office. The fact it was a public place could be a benefit, even if it made Winder nervous.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to work.”
Shit. I was beginning to wonder if he really could read my mind. The other possibility was that my poker face sucked. “I’ll stay here.” I stuffed another handful of cereal in my mouth, and smiled. “Promise.”
“Cute.” Winder grabbed the sweater hanging on the back of the door, shrugging into it.
“Wasn’t trying to be.”Didn’t need to be.
He turned, meeting my gaze one last time. “Lock the door behind me, and for fuck’s sake, stay put. I don’t want to tear apart the city looking for you, but I will. And I promise you, if I have to do that, you’ll regret leaving.”
I rolled my eyes. So dramatic. “Promises, promises.”
“Don’t be a brat.” With that, he closed the door behind him.
I stuck my tongue out at the door, but got up to twist the lock just the same. I could almost hear him smirking from here. He knew I would.
Collapsing on the bed, I stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Three days ago I was normal. A normal woman, working a normal job, waiting for a normal career. And now…
If I could pinpoint the one thing that changed it all, maybe that would make a difference. But I couldn’t.
Even though my sleep the night before had been broken, it was still better than what I had been getting. Realistically, I shouldn’t be tired. A panic attack would take it out of you, though, leaving you feeling like you’d been hit by a truck. It was funny how such a small thing could have such a massive effect.
Except…I had been working toward a promotion for years. The least I could do was respond back to some emails, right?
I groaned, flopping facedown. The company’s firewall meant I couldn’t do emails on my phone, and my laptop wasn’t at home. I had left it at the office on Friday, trying to put some separation between myself and my stress to see if the distance helped the nightmares. Little did I know, my worst dreams were going to become reality regardless of where my computer was.
Flinging myself into a sitting position, I thought about it for a second. Showing my face when I was supposedly on death’s door wouldn’t be the worst thing. It could demonstrate my commitment to work. I wouldn’t have to worry about getting dressed up, because the messy clothes would add to the story Winder had told them. Besides, I could be in and out before anyone—including Winder—noticed I was gone.
I chewed on my lip. It wasn’t the worst idea.
Small prickles of anxiety nipped at my wrists, making them ache. I wanted to leave. But the idea of leaving also terrified me. I wasn’t sure which scared me more.
Enjoying being Winder’s prisoner.
Being someone else’s prisoner.
I sprang to my feet, pacing Winder’s messy room. If I could outrun a burglar, then I could push through my anxieties enough to get to work, and get my laptop back in my possession.
Besides, Winder only said he didn’t want to rip apart the city looking for me. I’d come back, so that solved that problem.
I could do this. Absolutely.
Only a small, tiny, insurmountable bit of doubt lingered in my mind. Barely anything to notice, really.
I should look out the window first. Just to make sure the coast was clear. Winder’s curtains were rough to the touch, and I pulled them back as far as I dared. The outside world was bright and sunny. I would’ve felt more comfortable if it was raining, a downpour soaking everything in sight. My gaze traveled the length of the porch, but only a few stragglers lingered, smoking something. No big deal.
But a man on the other side of the street looked out of place. Thick, dark hair, built like a linebacker, he stood with his hands in his pockets, just watching the smokers. My gut sank, the nerves taking over again now that they had found a hole in my defenses.
He probably was just nervous to buy something. Weren’t you?
