"You've got this, Amara. Concentrate."
Several minutes later, a soft snick has me breaking into a grin despite my thighs burning from crouching in front of Malcolm’s desk for so long. It’s a small victory, but I’ll take whatever I can get at this point. Clearly Stone’s crash course on manipulating electricity wasn’t enough, because try as I might, pulling on the current in this place leaves me feeling like I ran a mile knee deep in mud.
Yanking open the bottom drawer, I take a mental snapshot of where everything is laid out before diving in to search for anything potentially useful. An override code for the security system, a disposable cell phone; anything. It was the only drawer he bothered to lock, so there has to besomething.
“Well, shit,” I breathe, horrified.
Flipping through the contents of one envelope, I reach for another, finding more of the same. Hundreds upon hundreds of photographs, going back to the day after I ran away nine years ago. But the real punch in the gut are the snapshots showing just how closely he was watching me, Kodiak, Raiden, and Stone. Pictures of me walking out of the gym with Carina. Raiden and Kodi covered in blood spatter walking the streets of Khalida at night. Stone slipping a wad of cash to some guy in an alley behind a tattoo parlor.
My fingertips brush against something hard and I shove aside envelopes to reveal a leather bound address book. Sifting through the list of contacts I’m sure Raiden would give his left nut to get his hands on, I try to memorize as many names as possible. Without somewhere to hide it and an escape route I can immediately utilize, it would be incredibly stupid to steal it now. Holding my breath, I search the entire book cover to cover, sighing in relief when Evren’s name is nowhere to be found.
At least he didn’t sell me out.
I don’t trust the scheming fox, especially after inviting Malcolm to the black market auction and spiking everyone’s drinks to negate their abilities, but knowing he wasn’t part of the plot to kidnap me is good to keep in the back of my mind for future problems if I survive this one.
“Darling, I’m home!” Malcolm’s cheery tone carries throughout the house, and my stomach cramps instantly.
Quickly putting everything back exactly the way I found it and snapping my anklet in place, I slip out of his room. Compared to the open space of my bedroom, the hallway is downright claustrophobic. The ceiling is barely higher than the doorway, harsh lighting illuminating cement on all sides like an artificial, curving tunnel. With my bedroom as the center, ringed by the hallway, the rest of the rooms offshoot it like an underground sun. Well versed in the affinities of dragons, the exit has a retinal and fingerprint scanner, as well as a double door system of both steel and cement.
Unless I scoop out his eyeball and chop off his thumb, I’m not going anywhere until I figure out how to shift.
Under the guise of washing a coffee mug in the sink as I rush into the kitchen, I discreetly catch my breath as Malcolm searches for me. When he walks into the room, I plaster on my game face.
“H-how was your day, dear? Did things go as you hoped at today’s meeting?”
Oblivious to my internal panic, Malcolm snags a hand towel and offers it my way with a massive grin. “Better. In fact, it wrapped up early enough that I was able to pick up that housewarming gift I mentioned the other day.”
My heart drops into my stomach. His recent ‘gifts’ have been bad enough, and I fight the urge to tug my short tank top down to cover my stomach, knowing it’ll only reveal more of my chest. Every day I wake up to a new outfit left out for me, each smaller and more revealing than the last, but my old clothes are missing from the bathroom by the time I’m out of the shower. He hasn’t pushed farther than that yet, but with the way his heated gaze lingers on my scars, has been going out of his way to draw attention to the matched set on his skin by walking around shirtless, it’s only a matter of time.
Three days of sleeping with one eye open, and I’m so exhausted that it’s getting hard to think straight.
It’s not a gift if you want something from me in return.
“You didn’t have to get me anything.”
Scoffing, he grabs my hand, dragging me out of the room.
“I owe you endless apology gifts to make up for how long it took me to rescue you from those monsters. Admittedly, though, this one is as much for me as it is you.”
The guys have had a good run. They’ll forgive me for taking them out with me if it means not having to endure whatever Malcolm wants to do to me.
Already nauseous imagining what the hell he might consider a gift for us both, when Malcolm throws open the door to the basement, my attempts at keeping the peace go up in smoke. As he flips on the pathetically dim lights, I dig my heels in, nearly sending us both tumbling down the staircase.
Catching himself on the handrail, he turns to me in confusion. “Amara? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Not the basement again. For the love of everything unholy, please don’t make me go down there.
Heart sprinting out of my chest, I open my mouth, but only a pitiful squeak comes out. Clearing my throat, I manage a weak, “I’m not a fan of the dark.”
Brow furrowed, he points out, “You can create your own light.”
“Not much, and not steadily,” I argue, carefully extracting my hand from his.
Lips pressed into a flat line, he stares at me for a small eternity before glancing down the stairwell. Gradually, his expression hardens. I slink back a few steps as he retreats into the hall, coming back a few minutes later with a power drill. He makes quick work of taking the basement door off its hinges, propping it against the wall. Rushing down the hall again, he returns with a flashlight that he presses into my palm, wrapping my fingers firmly around it.
“Stupid and careless,” he mumbles, fingers strumming in agitation against his thigh. “Obviously she doesn’t trust you not to lock her in the basement again.” Clenching his hand into a fist, he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he has a calm, reassuring smile on his face. Slowly unfurling his fingers, he offers me his hand palm up. “You have free range of the house this time, Amara. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice; trust me.”
Can shifters heal from a broken neck? It would be so easy to push him down the stairs right now…
