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When he does, the searing heat of the mug makes me hiss.
“Sorry,” he says, immediately pulling it away. “I guess that was stupid of me.”
As he gets up again, I say, “Wait.” When there’s no response, I add, “I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some water instead.”
The door creaks and then closes, and I’m alone again. I’ve never felt so much solitude as I do now. The cage was different. I shared it with people … with Cage and Ella.
God. Just thinking about them makes me tear up.
Graham pulled me away from them, and I never even got to say goodbye.
How are they doing now? Are they still alive? What’s going to happen to them?
I wish I could send them something, anything, to let them know I’m okay.
At least, for now.
The door opens again, and my whole body tenses as Brandon sits down in front of me. “Here.”
A glass is placed against my lips, this time cold, and I let it sit there for a while even though he’s urging me to drink.
“Don’t worry … it’s not poisoned,” he says, laughing. “If we wanted to kill you, we would have. Trust me.”
How comforting. Not.
Still, I take a sip. The cold liquid feels too good not to. I’m so fucking thirsty that I gulp it down until the last drop.
“I’ll get you some more soon,” he says, and I can hear a hint of a smile as he blows out his breath. “Anyway, since you’re blind, I just wanted to let you know … there’s a bed to your right and a toilet to your far left. In case you need to use them.”
Interesting, but nothing I couldn’t have found out on my own. I don’t know what he wants from me. Does he want me to thank him? Fuck that.
It’s quiet for some time. Neither of us speak. I don’t know if I can trust him or Chase.
Anything I say can be used against me.
I’m a prisoner in a home of a man I don’t know, and nothing will stop him from doing whatever he wants to me.
I can’t make it easy for them.
“You don’t have to worry,” Brandon says, placing a hand on my knee.
I inch back, afraid.
“Don’t be scared. We won’t hurt you.”
“He already did,” I utter, barely able to say it because I’m choking up again.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why he’s left for now.”
Left us? Chase is gone?
“He needed to cool down.”
From what? Buying me? Hunting me? Keeping me?
Or all the above?
“But I know he’ll take good care of you,” he says.
“Who are you people, and what do you want from me?” I can’t stop myself. The words just spill out of me.
I can hear him smile again. The glass is placed on the floor. “Call me Brandon. I help out Chase sometimes with things that are … difficult.”
Difficult. Does he mean me?
“Why?”
“He and I go back a long time.” He snorts. “But anyway, what I want to say is … I don’t want anything from you, and I promise you I won’t hurt you,” he says. “But I want you to be careful around Chase.”
I suck in a breath.
Did he just tell me to be wary of his partner?
Are they even partners?
“He has a … temper that can get out of hand quickly.”
“And you?” I mumble.
“You don’t need to worry about me. I won’t be here long.”
Why? Where is he going?
“I just want to say … Chase isn’t a bad man. I know he won’t hurt you. If you do what he says.”
“I’m not someone’s puppet,” I growl back.
I don’t know where I find the sudden courage to speak up.
“I know. That’s why he … bought you,” he says. “To save you.”
I struggle not to snort. I doubt that’s true.
“He attacked me. With a knife,” I say, swallowing away the lump in my throat.
It’s quiet for a second.
“I know.”
A shiver runs up and down my spine.
The air in the room moves as he gets up and walks away.
When the door closes, I know he’s gone.
Chapter Four
Accompanying Song: “Thin Ice” by Jeff Russo
Chase
It’s already midnight by the time I get home.
I took my sweet-ass time. A necessary evil.
When I close the door behind me, the silence in the room is irrefutable … even though I’m not the only one here.
Brandon is sitting on the windowsill, staring out into the empty darkness. A full cup of coffee sits next to him, but it’s no longer steaming, so I bet it’s gone cold.
He doesn’t even look at me as I walk to the kitchen and turn on the faucet. I stick my hands underneath and wash off the red, watching it disappear down the drain. My clothes seem fine, luckily. I’d hate to see them ruined. But I took measures beforehand.
I dry my hands, still holding the towel as I walk toward Brandon. He’s turned around now, and he picks up the cup to take a quick sip, only to pull a sour face. Then he pours the coffee into the plant beside him.
