“I don’t! I just…” I swallow hard. "I heard voices last night," I say. "Arguments. In Russian."
His entire body goes still. "So?"
Fuck. "So something's happening. Isn't it?" I bite my lip. “Because your men kidnapped me instead of… whoever it was supposed to be?”
"Don't ask questions about things that don't concern you."
“It… does, though, doesn’t it?” I frown at him. “I’m here because something got fucked up. And I think you killed those men… the gunshots I heard… because of it.” I trip over my words, realizing that once again, I’m talking too much. Why do I talk so much around him? Why do I even feel like I can?
He’s my captor. A killer. And yet… a part of me doesn’t want him to leave. I want him to stay there, looking at me like I’m some particularly interesting specimen under a glass, those pale blue eyes fixed on me while my heart tumbles around in my chest.
I must be really, really lonely. And bored.
He's irritated. I can see it in the way his jaw clenches and the way his eyes narrow slightly. But he's also—intrigued, maybe, that I'm putting it together. That I'm not just sitting here passively waiting to be ransomed.
"It’s not your problem," he says flatly, his accent thicker. Definitely irritated.
“Okay.” I bite my lip, and his gaze flicks to my mouth again. “So what about the things that are my problems, then?”
His eyes narrow. “Like what? I’ve given your father two more days. You won’t die today. I would think you would be happy.”
“I…” I can’t say I am, because that would be a lie. “I would just like a few things, to be more comfortable.”
Now he looks even more irritable than before. “This isn’t comfortable enough for you?”
“I… well, what if I could open the window? Just to get some air? I’ve been in this room for two days.”
"No."
I huff out a frustrated breath despite myself. "Why not? I'm not going to jump. I'm on the third floor and surrounded by your men."
"No."
"That's not a reason."
"It’s the only reason you're getting." His jaw tightens.
I stand up and walk toward him. Not close, but closer. I see him tense at the two steps forward that I take, and file that away.Interesting. He doesn’t seem to want me near him, and I wonder why. "You're very controlling."
“And you’re a brat,” he says flatly.
I smile sweetly at him. "Is that a problem?"
"Yes." He draws in a breath, his gaze holding mine. “And if things were different,soplyak, it would be a problem I would very much enjoy solving.”
It’s my turn for my eyes to widen. I go to suck in a breath, but there’s no air. His eyes have darkened, pupils wider, and I can’t possibly have mistaken what he meant by that, can I?
Maybe he meant he’d solve it by killing me. Slowly. He probably likes that, right? As much as he probably likes…
Now Idosuck in a breath. Not that. I can’t think about that. Not when he’s standing there looking likethat, veiny, muscled forearms on display, chiseled jaw tight, those wintry blue eyes fixed on me.
I swallow hard, trying not to notice the way his gaze flicks to my throat and then back up again. “What about books?” I venture. “Or something to watch? It’s really boring just looking at the wall?—”
“I will see. I am a very busy man, Liesl Baumann.” His tone has turned hard. I force myself to keep my eyes on his face, and not think about whatelsemight be hard, after his last statement. “I don’t have time for these games.”
“I’m not playing games.” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly irritated. “I didn’t ask to be brought here, and locked up, and threatened. None of this ismyfault. So you could at least make sure I’m not bored…”
“I am giving you two more days to live while your father figures out whatever it is he needs to do. Liquidate assets, I suppose.” He waves a hand. “You should be on your knees, thanking me.”
