“Sit, you animal,” the guard said. While the words were strong, the tone full of repulsion, the guard was doing nothing more than providing us with a show. What in the fuck was going on?
Without Samuel looking me in the eyes, I could tell a lot about his treatment. He hadn’t been abused and had certainly been fed well. He was even wearing a necklace.
A cross.
What the hell?
Even with his head lowered, I could tell he was smiling, the look strange, almost as if I was seeing a comic book drifting into real life.
I braced myself as he lifted his head. What struck me first was that he studied Maverick as his first order of business, dropping his gaze ever so slowly before switching his concentration toward me.
There was no look of surprise, no sense of recognition. The second strike was based on his reaction. I was floored, enough that the initial shock of seeing him wasn’t as horrible as I’d expected. With a slight cock of his head, I could swear I noticed his wheels churning, processing where he’d seen me before.
He was excited to see me.
Swaying slightly, I gripped the edge of the table to remain standing. As I stared into his eyes, I was drawn back to the first time I’d seen him in the bookstore.
“Do you dream in color?”
The question startled me and I was certain Samuel had asked it out loud. Every creepy-crawly in the world skittered across my arms and legs, warmth rising in my chest. Maverick noticed, inching closer without making my discomfort too obvious to anyone.
I waved him off, carefully rubbing sweat from my brow while concentrating on my breathing. I refused to allow the bastard to get the better of me. I glanced at Maverick, shaking my head.
Samuel wasn’t paying any real attention to my presence nor had the question been directed toward me. He was currently being dragged into the seat, placing his fists on the table so his wrists could be shackled. His ankles already were.
“Fifteen minutes,” the guard said before walking out. “Don’t get too close to him.”
I had no intention of doing so.
He shifted in his seat, clanging the handcuffs against the metal bar. Like a kid would do when placed in a highchair. I was taken aback by my thoughts, reminding myself that killers were magnificent manipulators.
Maverick was leaning against the wall, his foot propped up casually. He was used to playing a role as agent whereas I was used to comforting clients in the courtroom. This was completely out of my comfort zone.
“Samuel Wells,” Maverick said to him. “We have a few questions for you.”
“And you are?” He lifted his head and I was caught in the moment, a strange and twisted frenzy of emotions. Staring into his blue eyes.
His face was right there, only the one grinning like some loon was from before. He was leering at me just before he raked his hand down my face. “When I return, it’s our time, baby girl. Finally. Just you and me. You’re the prize I’ve been waiting for. Are you eager for my touch?”
Oh, my God.
Adequate words to describe the way I felt weren’t in the English language. I felt outside my body while tingling sensations swept through me like a tidal wave. All sound ceased. All thoughts stopped in their tracks.
Every terror-filled dream.
Every rage-tinged tantrum.
Every roar of survivor’s guilt.
They all hit at once, leaving me breathless and angry, uncertain yet determined.
And every thought of sparing his life for whatever reason was tossed aside. I’d questioned whether or not if I’d had the chance to kill him if I would have bypassed my beliefs. The answer was an easy hell, yes. Given a single chance, I’d drive a stake through his obsidian heart.
Over and over again.
Maverick cautioned me with his eyes, supportive yet reminding me without words I’d insisted on being a part of unveiling the charade. If that’s what Samuel was involved with. A quick reminder that I’d only received a single threat slithered into my mind.
While Samuel was older, his close-cropped mousy brown hair little more than stubble, the same arrogant attitude was carved into his expression.
