“What do you want from me?”
I rub my pounding head, still trying to understand what the hell Logan Colt is doing standing in front of me, calling me a big fucking problem.
“Where are we? Where is this hideous fucking place?”
His lips twitch into a smirk. “This hideous fucking place, as you call it, is my living room. And I agree with you. It is quite hideous.”
“You should fire your interior designer,” I add, wondering what has gotten into me.
I always get mouthy when I come face to face with bullies, but this isn’t just a bully. This is one of the Devil founders, and I can only assume he’s brought me here to kill me.
Though that doesn’t seem like a very wise move, since blood probably doesn’t wash out all that easily from cream carpets.
But he doesn’t seem angry or even annoyed at me. Just amused. “Oh, I did better than that. I killed her.”
He laughs outright at my shocked expression.
“Not because of that, though. Don’t worry. I don’t kill people just because they annoy me, most of the time. Otherwise, you’d have been dead a long time ago.”
I gulp nervously.
“No offense,” he adds in a smirking tone.
“None taken.” I know the wise thing to do would be to shut up,but that’s not something I’m very good at. Plus, I don’t want him to think I’m chicken. “I’m used to being called annoying. I don’t care.”
I’m surprised to find something like anger flash across his eyes.
“Write me a list of everyone who’s ever called you that,” he growls.
“Uhm.” I lick my dry licks, wondering if I’m hallucinating right now from whatever he’s injected me with. “I can’t. You tied me up.”
“Right.” He grabs a nearby chair—also beige—and twirls it around, sitting down on it so his arms are folded over its back. “We’ll talk about that later. You and I have a lot to catch up on.”
“Uh… we do?”
“Has anyone told you it’s not polite to start every sentence with a variation of ‘uhm’ or ‘uh’?”
“Has anyone ever told you it’s not polite to drug and tie people up?”
I bite my tongue, wishing again I wasn’t so mouthy, but to my surprise, Logan doesn’t look angry at all anymore. In fact, his face splits into a wide grin. “I see I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.”
Fuck.That sentence has got me sweating far more than when I thought he would just end me with a bullet to the skull or something. If what happened three years ago happens again today… I can’t handle it. I fucking can’t handle it.
Please, just kill me now.
He looks startled at the sudden change in my expression, and then his own changes just as swiftly.
“God, no,” he coughs out, looking more uncomfortable than I ever could have imagined he might look. “I would never do that. I didn’t mean it that way. I draw the line at killing.”
I let out a shaky breath. I guess he’s just admitted that heisplanning to kill me, but I believe him when he says he doesn’t do… the other stuff. There is literally no reason for me to believe him, but I do. He has a very believable face.
I try to remind myself forcefully that I’mverybad with trust. After all, I cheerily went along with Quill all while he secretly planned my ruin. Even after he texted that cruel message after his friends raped me, I went right back to him when he drunk-dialed me a few weeks later. Then I let him fuck me as he choked me and sobbed out how I was a worthless whore, and after, I held his hair back while he vomited.
The only reason I managed to stay away from him for three whole years is because of the massive loan I took out to go to UCLA.
And even now, after all that, I’m listening to any sound of a door opening, any sign of him. I’m still hoping he’ll come save me.
Yeah, right.
