“I’m just curious.” She quickly diverts.
Right. And I’m not thinking about how much better it would be to lay her out on this table and eat her as my meal instead.
“She’s the branch’s intel expert. She’s a genius who uses her tech skills to help erase footage and infiltrate businesses from the inside. You’ll meet her soon, too. She’s dating another assassin who lives on the compound.”
I notice the visible relaxation in her. Her shoulders sink as if a weight has been lifted, and it toys with that sick side of me that wants to own her.
She takes a bite, moaning at the flavor, and my cock responds to the sound. “This is so good. How did you learn to cook like this?”
I subtly adjust myself, attempting to eat with some poise despite the feral need this woman brings out of me. “I taught myself. I had to.”
“The most I can make is box Mac and Cheese,” she takes another generous bite.
“I can teach you,” I shrug. “If you would like?”
Her eyes connect with mine, and it’s like the whole world around us ceases to exist. All I can see isher.
“I think I would like that.” She answers before continuing to eat.
It isn’t much, but it seems we’ve established a fragile truce. It creates a flourish of hope in me, and I eat as a comfortable silence fills the dining room.
Chapter Nineteen
Addison
Calling this a mini vacation is my way of coping with being drugged and kidnapped. Since waking up, my mind has been running a mile a minute, but sitting down with Rowan really helped to quiet some of the noise. There’s just something magnetic about him that smooths over all of the what-ifs and reminds me that everything will be okay.
I shouldn’t be finding comfort in my captor, but he’s all I have.
Stockholm syndrome at its finest.
Part of me knows this is intentional. He wants me to cling to him and depend on him. Another part of me is starting to see that this is who he is. He’s the fixer. He dedicates his life to those around him without considering the mental toll it takes on him.
He could really use a therapist. It’s pretty obvious that he has unresolved trauma, and I hate that it makes a twinge of sadness uncurl in my chest. When he tried to reason not killing his mother after years of abuse, it lit a fire under me. I’m a fixer too, and in my fucked up head, Rowan is close to me now.
Oh, god.
I sound just as insane as he does.
I can’t deny the attraction or pull I feel for him, but thinking about it is making it all far too real. I don’t know what we are. I’m still upset with everything that happened, but talking to him has helped me to understand a little. I was in danger, and he helped rescue me. Did he go about it the wrong way? Yes. Am I still thankful for him being there despite ourfucked up circumstances? One hundred percent.
It’s all so confusing. One minute, I find I’m seething with rage. Next, he’s offering to help teach me how to cook, and that wrath dies a quick death.
I feel like I’m playing right into his hands, but can anyone blame me? I saw past that hard exterior and brought out a playful side of him that’s addictive. I like pushing him, and he likes pushing me back. I’ve never been challenged in this way, and it’s unlocking something strange and excitingly new in me.
And Ihateto admit it, but the sex we had was unreal. No man has ever looked at me the way Rowan does, and I’ve definitely never come twice in one night. Much less while I wassleeping. He slammed me into bliss without hesitation, and it makes my body cravemore.
How can I want so much from a complete stranger? Is this normal?
Am I clinging to him because he’s kept me safe?
I bite my lower lip, not liking the last thought. Hekilledpeople! I shouldn’t think of him as a safe space. He’s a cold-blooded killer and I’m…confused.
I groan in frustration, burying my face in my hands. The sofa beneath me is comfortable enough, but the show playing softly on the massive flat screen is only background noise to the chaos unfolding in my head. After a thorough search of the house, I made the painful discovery that my captor had thought of every possible way I could escape. The back sliding door wouldn’t budge, the front door is locked from the outside, and the windows won't open, no matter if I unlock them or not. I spent ten minutes flipping the locks and tugging on them until I broke a nail, and my shoulders hunched in resignation.
Then I tried one of the upstairs windows and celebrated when it slid open. Only for my joy to wither away when I saw the drop below, and I weighed my options of breaking both of my legs to escape. I can’t run if I’m useless.
Rowan watched me from his office situated across the hall, his brows lifted and his fingers thrumming as if he was ready to catch me if I tried it. I grumbled at him as I retired to the living room and flicked on some drama that’s gotten popular over the years. I watched one episode, cursing my captor in my head.
