Page 45

“I don’t know what to think! That’s the problem. I don’t know what’s real and what’s manipulation. I don’t know if you’re keeping me here because you need me or because you want me or because you haven’t figured out how to dispose of me yet.”

“I’m not disposing of you.”

“It looks a lot like you’re treating me like property. Something you own. Something you control.”

“I’m protecting you.”

“From what? From the same people who work for you?”

“From everyone.” He steps closer, and this time I don’t step back. “From the agency that sent you here without telling you the risks. From the men who would hurt you if they got the chance. From yourself, apparently, since you seem determined to throw your life away.”

“My life is not yours to protect!”

“No, then whose is it? The agency’s? They’re the ones who put you in this situation. They’re the ones who sent you into my territory without backup or extraction. They left you here when things went wrong.”

“At least they didn’t plan to kill me.”

“Neither did I!”

He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with visible effort, and I can see the tension in every line of his body.

I step toward him, closing the distance until we’re face-to-face, until I can see the way his jaw tightens and his eyes darken.

“The only reason I’m still here,” I snarl, “is because you can’t stand to lose something that you think is yours.”

“Careful.” The word comes out low, almost a warning.

“Why, or you’ll kill me when you’re done with me? I already know that’s an option. Your men made that very clear.”

“They were wrong.”

“The only difference between your original plan and your current plan is that you’re getting something out of me first. You’re still treating me like I’m yours to do with as you please.”

“I never—” He stops, his jaw working. “That’s not why.”

“Why, then? Tell me why. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t keep running.”

“Because I can’t let you go.”

The words come out like they’re torn from him, raw and unwilling. His eyes are fierce, almost angry, as if he’s furious at himself for saying it.

“I can’t let you go,” he repeats.

I stare at him, my chest tight, my mind racing. “That’s not a reason.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

I want to scream at him. I want to hit him, shove him, make him understand that what he’s feeling isn’t an excuse for what he’s done. Except I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do anything but stand there and feel the weight of his confession pressing down on me.

“I’m not going back,” I say finally. “You can drag me, carry me, force me, but I’m not going back willingly.”

“I know.” He reaches out and takes my arm, his grip firm but not painful. “You’re coming back anyway.”

I yank my arm free. “Why, because you said so?”

“Because there’s nowhere else for you to go. The agency isn’t coming for you. The roads around this estate are monitored for miles. Even if you made it to the main road, even if you found someone to help you, what then? You think they can protect you from what’s coming?”

“What’s coming?”