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A hint of amusement glittered in the depths of his irises, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. He took a step closer, and his silhouette vanished and reappeared as the light bulb flickered.
“Watching you is my job.” He snarled.
I snorted, and the first thought that passed my mind left my lips. “You should resign then. It’s clear your boss lacks creativity.”
Any normal person would have taken the insult as a rough jab, but this man was far from anything normal. The corner of his lips curved upwards as he leaned against the bars, one hand gripping the steel, and the other tucked in his pocket.
“You have a smart mouth.” An evil tone ran through his next words. “But I’m not sure how smart it would be if I cut out your tongue. What do you think? Does my boss still lack creativity? I can show you ten different ways to carve it. He taught me.”
That shut me up instantly. Nothing in his eyes said he was bluffing. I glared at him, as intensely as I could, but didn’t say a word. It could be cowardice, or not. I treasured my tongue.
He pushed himself off the bars and rounded the cell; his eyes going up and down as if he was inspecting something ... me!
“Did you sleep well?” His voice bounced off the walls in a loud echo and I heard the faint dripping of water in the corner. To add to the damp smell, this part of the house had a leaking roof.
It was my turn to scoff. I mimicked his movement around the cell and flashed the sweetest pretentious smile I could. “Like a dog.”
“Don’t you mean log?”
“I’ve said what I’ve said.” I did a little spin and raised my hands in the air. Then I grabbed one of the poles and stuck out part of my face. “You can't compare a five-star hotel to this … Pigsty. It’s perfect.”
He stopped in front of me, and all the humor flew out of the only window in the room.
As he stood so close, I caught his scent. Masculine, earthy, and something else that could easily be compared to an intoxicating perfume. Every time I inhaled, I felt lightheaded.
“Good.”
The smile melted off my face.
“Glad to know you’re adjusting well to your new home.” He paused and his stare burned into me. He waited for me to blink away the tears that stood in my eyes. But I didn’t. “What, you’re not scared?”
I knew what he meant. That hollowness in his eyes? I mirrored it. I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Seeing me vulnerable would only make him stronger and more controlling. Besides, I knew something he didn’t. There was hope. My father would come for me, being the man he was, there was no way he would let me rot here.
“No.”
“Hm.”
I might have imagined it—maybe it was the reflection of the light bulb dangling from the ceiling on a thin chain—but tiny flickers of red, fiery flames danced in his eyes. “I wonder why. Your eyes hold secrets.”
I straightened my spine and arched a brow. “So do yours.” I fake smiled. “There’s no way chatting with the prisoner is part of your job description.”
I didn’t expect what happened next. One minute, he had the tiniest smile lingering on his luscious lips and, the next, I had my sweater snatched and dragged in a violent fistful bunch through the rusty steel bars.
I didn’t know what was scarier: his big, callous hand around my neck or how ridiculously close our faces were. Our lips were only a hair's breadth apart, but I could smell his cherry breath.
A scream worked its way up my throat, but his fingers curled around it and squeezed just tight enough to keep me quiet. I looked up at him with wide eyes, and he stared at me like a tasteless breakfast.
“Watching, chatting, and even fucking torturing you is part of my job description.” His thumb stroked my chin roughly, and he eyed the spot like he’d rather puncture a nail through it. “You are at my mercy, milaya.” [Sweetie]
I wanted to ask him what milaya meant but his hands on my throat told me he was in no mood to answer questions. I hiccupped, again.
“I’m guessing... you get off on that line.” I choked out and an amused twinkle settled in his eyes. “I know power-hungry men like you. This... This is what you live for. Grabbing innocent girls by the neck and threatening the hope out of them. But it won’t work on me, you hear me? Not... not me! I’m getting out... out of here!”
His grip loosened and he brought his face even closer, and when his eyes fell to my lips, my skin tingled in sudden awareness.
“What if I like you like this, milaya?” The cherry breath grew stronger when he opened his mouth, I could almost taste it. “What if I like seeing you all caged up, like a pretty dove, or pigeon? I think I like doves ...” he added, sounding partially absent. But his concentration on my lips didn’t falter.
My chest heaved and I found myself eyeing his too. I wasn’t sure why I suggested another bird, but something about this proximity scrambled with my senses.
