Not just facts, patterns, intimacies, things that should belong only to us.
“You’re sick,” I say.
“Maybe.”
“You think this gives you power?”
His gaze settles on me with almost pity. “No, sweetheart. This is power.”
I force myself to breathe through the wave of nausea.
He crouches in front of me then, just close enough to make it impossible to forget he could if he wanted to.
“That’s the part you still don’t understand,” he says. “This isn’t about hurting you because you don’t matter.”
A beat.
“It’s about hurting him because you do.”
He doesn’t have to say the word. I hear it anyway.
Still, I make him.
“I’m not a bargaining chip.”
A flicker of amusement touches his face. “You’re exactly that.”
“I’m not yours.”
“No,” he says. “You’re his.”
The room seems to tilt for half a second.
Anger flares through the fear. Bright enough to hold.
“I don’t belong to anyone.”
“Does he know that?” Cole asks, almost idly.
I stare at him.
He shrugs like it doesn’t matter one way or the other. “Either way, he’ll come.”
My throat tightens.
Of course he will.
That is the worst part.
Cole reads the answer on my face and smiles faintly. “See? You know it too.”
“You let me go, and you walk away from this unscathed.”
He studies me, as if deciding whether to admire the attempt.
Then he shakes his head. “No. He’s going to get a message. A clear one. He comes alone. No backup. No club brothers. No quiet little strategy session with Jenson. No Finn. No Zane.” His eyes lock on mine. “Ryder comes alone.”
My pulse goes jagged.
