“It’s the only one you’re getting.” He doesn’t move, tension filling the space around him.
I’m not sure if it’s survival or stupidity that kicks in, but I take a step closer, my arms at my sides. “How long are you planning on keeping me here?”
“As long as it takes.”
“As long aswhattakes?”
His eyes track me, hyper-focused on every little move I make. It’s so intense, his gaze feels like a physical weight pressing against my skin, and my muscles seize beneath it.
“I still don’t know why me.” I’m careful not to raise my voice, needing this conversation to stay calm if I want to get answers out of it. “I don’t even know who you are.”
He doesn’t drop his gaze from mine, doesn’t blink. “That’s intentional.”
“Why?”
“You can’t fear what you don’t know.”
I swallow, acutely aware of the pulsing beat in my throat. “I’m already scared of you.”
Silence stretches between us, a bare thread threatening to snap under the weight of the unspoken. He’s studying me, I canfeel it in the sharp, calculated way his eyes move over me. Yet he says nothing. The room is suddenly too small, my skin too tight. Everything in me itches to move, to run, but there’s this inexplicable need to stand my ground. To not let the silence break me.
“I need you to tell me why I’m here,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I need to know what you want from me.”
“What you need is to eat. Take a shower. Put on some clean clothes.”
“What Ineedis to get out of here, but since that’s not an option, I at least need to know why I’m locked in this house with you.”
His eyes flick over my face—my mouth, my throat, my racing pulse. “Here I can control what happens to you.”
“Control what happens to me?” For a moment, the words hang in the air between us. A thin veiled threat that makes my skin prickle with unease. “That’s not comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be.”
This time I’m the one who falls silent. I have no idea how to catalog this conversation, no idea what the hell is going on. And if I don’t know what the game is, how do I plan my next move? It’s impossible to think three steps ahead when you don’t know where you’re going. My mind is filled with questions, each one struggling to be heard. I want to hurl them all at him, demand he answer them so I can fucking survive him.
It’s a subtle movement when he tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as he regards me. “What are you thinking?”
“Who says I’m thinking anything?”
“Quiet means someone’s thinking.”
Everything in me stops. “What did you just say?”
His brow barely shifts. “I asked what you were thinking.”
“No. After that.”
Something flashes in his eyes, a flicker that darkens the blue to slate gray for just a heartbeat. His jaw tightens beneath the buff, a subtle movement that pulls the fabric taut across his cheekbones.
“Where did you hear that?” I press.
He turns his back on me, moving toward the front door. “Nowhere.”
“Where did you?—”
“I’ll be gone a few days.”
I balk. “You’re leaving?”
