Page 21 of Trust

I snatch the towel out of his hand and wrap it around myself, glad it’s big enough to cover me from shoulders to knees. I hurry past him with my head down. He doesn’t stop me, but he doesn’t leave either. He picks up another towel and hangs it on the hook near the shower while I continue to eye him suspiciously. Whatever I anticipate next, it isn’t this. He sheds his clothes with a terrifying lack of shame.

I catch a glimpse I wish I hadn’t. My cheeks go up in flames. Oh my God.

Pretending we’re in some shared gym locker room, I try to brush my teeth without risking another peek.

A reflection glints at the edge of my vision. He actually left his phone by the sink. I slow my brushing, keeping the tempo steady. If I could just tap it to check for a signal or whether it’s locked. My left hand inches closer while my right keeps moving the toothbrush.

“Who would you call?” he says from behind the glass. “Your grandparents or the friends you don’t have?”

My hand stills. How does he know that?

His mocking voice grates on my nerves. He thought he knew which numbers I’d reach for first. I’m not stupid. That wasn’t the plan. I’ll get my chance.

When he’s done, he shuts off the water, towels off casually, and throws on a fresh T-shirt and gray sweats like I’m not even there. Without a word, he unlocks a second door and pushes it open. Finally acknowledging my presence, he nods toward the next room. I enter first.

The bedroom is clean and unmistakably masculine. It’s the kind of room that stays immaculate because no one really lives in it. A faint scent of cedar and detergent lingers. A bench sits in the corner, some weights set up alongside dumbbells so heavy I’d need both hands to move one, let alone lift it.

Wait, why are we here?

My thoughts collide in a frantic rush. Anxiety flares in my chest like a warning siren.

Oh hell no. Is this where he plans to—

He glances behind him and catches the look on my face. He halts mid-step, reading me like a headline. “No!” His hands shoot up, palms open in surrender. “This is my room. You’re not staying here.”

I stare at him, not trusting a word. The panic is too close to the surface to hide.

He moves aside and points past the bed to another door on the far wall. How many doors does this place even have?

It’s open a crack.

I pass him, and cautiously peer through before nudging it wider. A walk-in closet big enough to call a room awaits. It’s spacious with hardwood floors and one overhead lamp casting long shadows. If it wasn’t completely stripped down and clearly meant to keep me, it could actually be comfortable.

I step farther inside because anywhere is better than where I thought I was about to be. There’s nothing but empty shelves, a folding bed, a straight-backed chair, and a small table. This was no last-minute solution. He must have planned this for a while.

“This is your space,” he says, like it’s a guest room and not a prison cell.

The door closes behind me with a finality that settles deep in my core. Only then do I realize how tightly I’ve held the robe around myself. I force my hands to unclench.

I’m alone in a perfectly repurposed cage.

DAY ONE

Chris

What the hell did I get myself into?

After locking her up, I sit down on the edge of my bed and run a hand through my hair. I pull my phone from my pocket and bring up the camera feed. The high-resolution view of my former closet shows her standing motionless in the center of the room, robe clutched around her. She’s taking it all in or planning her next trick. Hard to tell.

That stunt with the van caught me clean. I’ve been in combat, real combat, and I’ve never been taken off guard like that. I underestimated her. Thought she’d be some pampered brat I’d have to babysit for a while, slap a little sense into if needed, nothing I couldn’t handle. Now, I’ve got this wild-eyed tempest who doesn’t know when to quit.

Throwing her into the water wasn’t part of the plan. That was impulse, and I don’t do impulsive. That’s what rattles me.

The bathroom wasn’t any better. That tension could have snapped a dozen ways, all of them bad. Handing her the towel the way I did, making it a “lesson,” wasn’t helping the situation either. I know that, but I don’t tolerate disrespect from anyone, and I do not accept excuses. Never again will I allow somebody to speak to me like that.

The expression she had in the bedroom haunts me. She thought I brought her here to violate her, and I hate that she did. I would never.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Especially not on day one, and it isn’t even over yet.