And I want so much more.
“First rule,” he whispers in my ear, hand still at my throat, “Idecide when the game begins.”
“Of course you do.” I shake my head. “Control freak.”
“You have no fucking idea.” He shakes his head. “Second rule,” he says, backing away. “You can run, little brat.”
His smirk is deadly.
“But you can’t hide.”
He’s not a captor. He’s not a jailer. He’s the goddamn game master.
“Run,little ghost. I’ll catch up.”
In a flourish, he’s gone, I assume to clean up the mess of the mutilated body ofthe man he just killed for touching me.
Right, right.
My mind races.
I could run, and I could even have some fun with it. I’m damn good at it. But hewantsme to.
And if I get away? It’s not freedom.
It’s a head start.
And I’ve never been more thrilled in my life.
So I’ll go home.
For now.
To wait for him.
I’m a fucking mess, so I pour myself into a cab and go back to my apartment. I feel like I’m in a daze. This time, he didn’t drug me. This time, he didn’t need to.
I walk to the kitchen and open the cabinet to get a glass for some water.
And I see it—all of my favorite foods, neatly arranged just for me.
My stomach twists.
He cleared the bar and fucked me up against it with a pool stick. I wonder.
Is he still hard?
Does he want to fuck me?
He said I belonged to him. That I’m his little brat.
His voice was low. Intimate.
Why do I love that?
And then he told me to run.
This is fuckingunhinged.
