He stands there, no plate in his hands. His gaze is actually on me this time, staring. Watchful.
“Up.”
That’s it. One word.
I blink at him. “Are we conserving syllables now?”
No reaction, not even a flicker.
He jerks his head behind him. “Come with me.”
My heart stutters. Hope and uncertainty tangle together in a way that makes my stomach dip. Leaving this room for the first time in a week feels dangerous, like walking down a flight of stairs knowing you’re going to miss a step. In this case, I have no idea how high up I am.
Not wanting to press my luck, I slide off the bed and follow him. I took my socks off at some point, so my bare feet are cold against the concrete. The basement is a lot more open than I noticed during my first trip out of my cell, probably too busy panicking and more focused on my attempted and failed escape. It’s all unfinished walls, exposed beams, and purely utilitarian lighting.
Then I notice the shower in the corner.
It’s not part of a bathroom. There’s no toilet or sink. It’s just a freestanding shower tucked into the farthest corner, two sides solid concrete, the other two glass.
My captor stops in front of it and crosses his arms. “Strip and get in.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Geez. Buy me dinner first?”
His gaze drifts pointedly over me. “You stink.”
“That’s hurtful,” I say with an exaggerated frown. Then I turn it right around into a cocky smirk. “But accurate.”
I knew, eventually, one of three things would happen. He’d let me go. He’d kill me. Or he’d let me take a shower. I was kind of hoping he’d have to take me upstairs for that so I could get a peek of where I am, butof coursethis psychopath has a shower in his goddamn basement like a fucking serial killer.
So, yeah, I stink on purpose.
He’s definitely not amused though.
He steps forward, and I get barely half a step back before his hand is around the back of my neck, squeezing hard and making me wince. Pulling me forward until his face is inches from mine, I feel the heat of his breath against my lips as he growls his next words.
“Clothes off. Now. Or I can hose you down myself.”
I glance at the industrial spigot mounted on the wall and swallow hard as I meet his gaze again. “You know…suddenly I’m very pro-cooperation.”
He roughly lets me go, and I stumble back a few feet. Once I catch my balance, I start to strip. Slowly. Not because I’m shy. I’m definitelynot. But if he’s going to watch, then I’m going to make himaware.
My fingers tease the skin over my waist as I slip them beneath the hem of my shirt, slowly lifting it to expose my midriff.
His jaw ticks.
Okay, so maybe he’s getting impatient with me for taking so long, but either way…
Small victories.
Removing my shirt, I drop it to the floor. It’s filthy anyway. When I find his eyes again, he’s staring at the tattoo that takes up a good portion of my upper left arm.
He arches a brow.
“Don’t you dare talk shit about Penelope.”
Penelope is the unicorn inked into the skin of my arm, majestic with waves of rainbow hair for her mane and tail.
He doesn’t react. Not even a roll of his eyes.
