Then something in the room seems to shift.
It’s in the lighting behind him. My gaze is pulled over his shoulder, and at first, I think it’s my drugged brain glitching again. But then I realize the shadows on the wall aren’t behaving normally.
Theymove.
And they absolutelyshouldn’tbe moving.
It’s not dramatic, not in some horror movie, swaying tree branches kind of way. Just a subtle ripple along the concrete like something is breathing beneath the surface of the dark.
I shiver, and Reese notices.
“Don’t worry.” His other hand comes up, his knuckles brushing my cheek with a deceptively gentle touch. It takes everything in me not to lean into it. “They won’t hurt you.Yet.”
Those arenotcomforting words.
And my dick is definitely not hard anymore.
My gaze meets his again. “The sh-shadows?”
His mouth curves slightly, revealing almost a hint of the man I remember. “Side effect.”
“Of what?”
He stares at me for too long, then drops his hand from my cheek, leaving it cold.
“Dying.”
The shadows stop moving, and the room goes quiet and still. The air falls about ten degrees. I still haven’t caught my breath, and it feels like I might never catch it. I’m very aware of where Reese’s hand is touching my throat again. I’m scared of him and desperate for him all at the same time.
“Youdiddie?” I ask.
“Yes.”
My stomach twists as the memory plays out in my mind. There’s a part of me that wants to cry for him all over again, which is fucking ridiculous considering what a mean asshole he’s being right now.
And, you know…the fact that he’s kidnapped meagain.
“Then how the fuck are you standing here? And what the hell is going on?”
His head tilts. “You should ask your uncle.”
The words hit harder than the punch I threw earlier.
“Wh-what?”
He doesn’t repeat himself. Instead, his gaze dips down to my mouth. Instinct has me looking at his too, and I want to fucking weep. Because it was barely a second. A sweeping touch. It was all we ever got to have before everything crumbled to dust.
Because of Malcolm?
I peer over his shoulder to distract myself. The shadows behind him are still. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe he wasonly trying to scare me.
“Everything that happened,” he says as his thumb brushes along my pulse point. “Your kidnapping. My death. The media attention.” His voice is calm, detached. “It all went exactly according to his plan.”
Ice crawls up my spine.
I just want to fucking breathe, to understand.
“You’re saying that Malcolm—”
