"Couldn't sleep?"
I don't jump. I don't. But I do spin around fast enough to slosh water on my hand, and he is standing in the doorway in a t-shirt and sweatpants, looking almost human for the first time since I met him.
Almost.
"Jesus Christ." I press my non-wet hand to my chest. "Do you just materialize out of shadows? Is that a skill they teach at Evil Overlord Academy?"
"I heard you moving around." He walks past me to the coffee maker, starts it up with the ease of long practice. "Nightmares?"
"Something like that." I lean against the counter, watching him. Without the suit, he looks younger. Less like a dickhead and more like a person who maybe, once upon a time, had normal human experiences. The t-shirt pulls across his shoulders, and I notice for the first time that he's built like someone who works out with purpose rather than vanity. Functional muscle. The kind that comes from knowing how to hurt people.
Great. My captor is hot. That's definitely not going to complicate things.
"You?" I ask, pushing that thought aside.
"I don't sleep much."
"That tracks. Sleep requires letting your guard down. Can't imagine you're big on vulnerability." I gesture at the coffee maker. "Is that your secret? Just mainline caffeine until consciousness becomes optional?"
"Something like that."
"Wow, we're practically twins. Next you'll tell me you also cope with trauma through inappropriate humor and a complete inability to process emotions in a healthy way."
He glances at me. Just a flicker, but I catch it.
"Ah." I nod sagely. "So that's a no."
"The coffee is for me. If you want some, you can make your own."
"Generous. I can see why they made you head of hospitality." I take a swig of water. "So, how does this work? The memorytesting thing. You going to hook me up to machines? Show me flashcards? Play word association until I remember all the terrible things you did to me?"
His hands still on the coffee mug. Just for a second.
"I'm going to ask you questions," he says. "Show you documents, photographs, names. We'll see what triggers recall and what doesn't."
"Sounds fun. Really looking forward to reliving my greatest hits." I hop up onto the counter, legs dangling, because I know it'll annoy him. Sure enough, his eye twitches. "What happens when I remember everything? All the stuff you worked so hard to erase?"
"Then we'll deal with that."
"'Deal with.' That's ominous. Is that your way of saying you'll kill me once I'm not useful anymore?"
He turns to face me, coffee in hand. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes... there's something there. Something that almost looks like conflict.
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you," he says. "That's the truth."
"Wow. Honesty. From the guy who literally built his career on lies and manipulation." I salute him with my water bottle. "I'm touched. Really. I might cry. Do you have tissues? They're probably organic, free-range tissues, knowing your aesthetic."
"Get off my counter."
"Make me, Daddy J." The words are out before I can stop them and I suck in a sharp breath.That was stupid as fuck.Exactly the kind of thing that gets people killed.
His eyes narrow. For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Oh fuck.
Then he sets down his coffee cup and walks toward me.
My heart rate spikes. I hold my ground, because backing down now would be worse than whatever's about to happen. He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath, close enough that I'd have to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
