I hugged myself, missing the warmth of his suit jacket. “I don’t want it.”
His hand shifted to stroke the edge of my jaw before drawing the tip of his finger over my bottom lip. “Later, it will be my great pleasure to satisfy your every want and need, but for now, I didn’t ask what you wanted. I told you to drink. Now do it.”
I resisted the urge to lick my lip where he’d touched it and reluctantly took the drink from his hand. To appease him, I took a small sip. He placed the tips of his fingers under the glass and tilted it up, forcing more of the fiery liquid past my lips. I chokedbefore wiping the back of my hand over my mouth. Glaring up at him, I asked, “Satisfied?”
He tugged on one of my curls. “Not yet, but I soon will be.”
This time, I willingly took an inelegant gulp of the liquor. My throat burned and my vision blurred as it warmed my stomach.
Greyson took the glass from my hand. “Easy now, that’s hundred-year-old Scotch.”
Despite his admonishment to me, he drained the glass and set it aside.
He sat on the glass-topped coffee table in front of me. His knees splayed open to rest on either side of my thighs, trapping me.
The room swayed. I pressed my palm harder into the cushion.
Unable to hold his stare, I focused on my fingers, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. “Where am I?”
“My home.”
“So you’ve basically kidnapped me.”
“I wouldn’t call bringing a woman who fainted in my arms to my home kidnapping.”
“So I’m allowed to leave?”
“No.”
One word.
No.
That was it, no explanation or apology, just no.
“Is this some kind of hostage situation?” I bit out.
“Why? Would someone pay to get you back?” The way his eyebrow cocked made me want to slap him across the face.
“So wrongful imprisonment then?”
He tilted his head back and forth for a minute, like he was weighing his options. “Let’s call it being a captivated guest with no exit strategy.”
My stare clashed with his as my lips thinned. I tried to rise, but he stopped me mid-motion with his palms on the tops of my thighs.
It was a simple gesture, one I could have easily broken free of, and yet I instinctively knew escape was impossible. His hands were tanned and scarred around the knuckles—the kind of scars you only got from bare-knuckle fighting.
I inhaled deeply, trying to rally my courage. “You have to let me go. I have to help Madison.”
“You can’t help her.”
The air left my lungs. Tears blurred my vision. “She’s dead then?”
He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. He was always touching me. Small caresses and grazes, as if I were a prized possession he was admiring. “No, she’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
He shrugged. “Pierce isn’t the only one with contacts inside the police force. There were no fatalities reported by the police or any of the nearby hospitals after the shootout in the parking lot.”
