“Who,” he starts, speaking slowly, making sure I hear every word, “did you think you were hunting?”
Well,thatis definitely not what I was expecting.
Then again, if your abductor from seven years ago who’s supposed to be dead kidnaps youagain, there’s probably very little that wouldn’t shock you.
At first, I can’t figure out what the hell he’s talking about. These past three years have felt twice as long with nothing to urge me forward. But if that’s what he means, I can’t even begin to guess where he’s going with it.
His thumb shifts slightly against my throat, feeling mypulse.
“Who did you think hired me to kidnap you?”
My brain is still scrambling to keep up with the fact that he’s here and alive and breathing, and now he’s interrogating me likeI’mthe criminal.
“Which time?” I snap back.
I’m rewarded with several more seconds of a lack of oxygen. His grip around my throat is tight, but neither one of us backs down from the way we glare into each other’s eyes. It goes on long enough that I feel lightheaded again. His eyes are so fucking cold that I think he might actually make me pass out.
Aaaand…my dick’s hard.
Fucking awesome.
I couldn’t get it up for a hot, masc, pansexual goddess, but when it comes to my abductor who I’ve thought was dead the past seven years damn near choking the life out of me?
Choke me harder, Daddy.
And there it is.
Rock bottom.
Get it the fuck together, Cason.
I try to convince myself it’s just the sight of the gun hanging from the shoulder holster under his arm and the memories that come with it, but…well…
That doesn’t make it any fucking better.
Worse, probably.
He lets me breathe, and common sense rushes in along with air. I gasp and wheeze and cough, convincing myself instead it’s just the asphyxiation that has me ready to throw my dignity out the window as easily as I did before.
I’mnotthe same twenty-two-year-old from that basement.
It’s obvious Reese isn’t the same either. He may not be dead, but clearly a part of him died that day. Even when I rememberthe times he aimed his gun at me, he wasn’t as cruel then as he is now.
I slump back against the wall, practically held up by his hand still around my throat.
“Who?” he asks again.
I swallow, and I know he can feel it against his palm.
“All I know is it was someone targeting the Institute or my uncle,” I tell him, my voice even more fucked than before. “Someone with a grudge against the Bellrose name.”
“Convenient.”
Data and memories zip along the neurons in my brain as I make sense of what he’s implying.
So everything I thought I knew was a lie, an illusion. Okay, fine. I can roll with that. All I ever had anyway was a lot of anonymous usernames and codes. However, he better tell me what the fuck is going on, or I’m going to throw a worse tantrum than anything he’s ever seen.
But all he does is stare at me, searching my face like he’s trying to decide whether I’m lying.
