As much as I want to avoid him, I know I can’t forever. Not when he is my means to everything right now.
Following the faint sound of movement up ahead, I keep going until I find the kitchen. And there he is.
Wyatt stands with his back to me at a section of counters, broad shoulders filling up far too much space. He braces himself on the marble surface, while the other grips a coffee mug, and the smell fills the room. Dressed in a simple dark shirt that matches the one I have on, with his hair still damp after having a shower, he looks strangely domestic. It feels like a scene I’m not supposed to see, especially not after last night.
Instinctively, I want to turn around and leave. To retreat back to the bedroom and lock myself in before he notices me. But as strong as that urge is, I don’t.
Straightening my spine, I pull in a steadying breath and brace myself to confront him. I won’t run away from him, even if he likely expects me to.
Immediately, he notices. His gaze lands on me, sharp and assessing, like he’s expecting me. Then, he drops into something more neutral.
“Morning,” he murmurs flatly.
Not feeling the need to return the greeting, I fold my arms over my chest to anchor myself. “You left the door unlocked.”
“Yes, I did.”
“So it wasn’t an accident?”
“No,” he says simply, as if completely unbothered by me and the situation. His calmness makes me uneasy now that I’ve had the chance to sleep and barely begin to process what happened last night.
“Why?”
Wyatt turns fully, leaning back against the counter while he sips his coffee. “Because you’re not a prisoner.”
I huff out what sounds like an amused breath, but it’s more bitter than anything. “You locked me in last night.”
“I had to keep you secured for the night,” he corrects without hesitation. “It’s different.”
“It really isn’t.”
His eyes don’t leave mine, and there’s a notable yet quiet dominance in them. “You slept, you’re alive, and you’re standing in my kitchen instead of trying to break your way out. I think I made the right call.”
“Because I’m not an idiot.”
“Good,” Wyatt murmurs, sending a strange thrill down my spine at the subtle praise that shouldn’t mean anything. “I prefer it that way.”
He’s so flippant and casual about everything, and it makes me feel like I’m moments away from losing my mind. But I refuse to let him control every inch of space between us, so I take another step forward.
“Whatever game you’re playing, my brothers will find me,” I warn him, trying my best at intimidation, even if it’s not usually my strong suit. “And when they do, they will kill you.”
Something flickers in his eyes, and despite assuming it’s fear at first, I know better. It’s a calculation.
“They won’t.”
I scoff and narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t know them, but apparently you already know what they’re capable of.”
“I know enough,” he mutters, staying calm regardless. “And I know that Vito has already given me something.”
My brows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means…” he begins, setting the mug down while keeping his attention on me. “That if there’s any footage of your capture from last night, be it security cameras, phones, whatever, Vito’s face is the one all over it. Not mine.”
I pause at the claim, immediately realizing that he’s right.
Vito was the only man I saw there, and he grabbed me himself. Wyatt wasn’t anywhere near the club, which wouldn’t make him a lead.
“He was sloppy because he assumed he’d have enough safety measures after getting his payout. If anyone tracks your disappearance back to the club, then they’ll follow the trail back to him.”
