Oh, God. Of course. When he took a step back, I followed, and that’s when the bolt shot my leg. This is… insanity. It means that even if I managed to sneak away from him, the traps could still trigger and keep me inside this house. Then again, there must be a system in place for him to turn them on and off standby, or he wouldn’t be able to live here.
My brain is frying.
As soon as I put my weight on the injured leg, it buckles under me, but Sevastyan is quick enough to catch me. I’m burning everywhere he touches me. Which isfucked up, because he has a saw and knives on the wall. It shouldn’t matter that his face matches his pictures, that he’s tall, strong, and smells better than I ever imagined.
I hate him. This bastard has ruined my life. Just because I also have a slightly unhealthy obsession with him doesn’t mean I find him attractive.
Who wouldn’t? Killer psycho or not, he is insanely beautiful.
“My apologies. You’re less resilient than I assumed,” he tells me, and before I can challenge him about offending me, he sweeps me into his arms, as if I’m a tiny princess and he—the Prince Charming carrying me to safety.
Too badheis the danger here.
My hands are zip-tied behind my back, so I have no way of stabilizing myself. I have to depend on him not dropping me. “And you’re… nothing like I thought,” I whisper, unable to look away from his blue eyes. How can a man be both this beautiful and this cruel?
He seems to like that.
“What did you think I would be like?” he asks, carrying me out of the minimalist torture chamber, back into the hallway I’d barely noticed on the way in. Each concrete wall displays art, and while I don’t recognize most of the paintings, they’re all quality works.
Figures. With a house like this, he surely isn’t strapped for cash.
“Not so… scary? I’m sorry! Forget that, I didn’t mean it,” I scramble in panic. I shouldn’t have said that. I should probably flatter him, endear myself to this monster instead of babbling out of sheer terror.
We pass through a grand room with a tall ceiling and massive windows beyond which the storm is still raging. I didn’t know what to expect from his house either, but it’s definitely not the clear spaces with minimal décor and furnishings. The place is like a modern art gallery.
He laughs as we step into a spacious kitchen. Not only does it offer ample counter space but appears like a place that’s actually used.
“I try to keep that part of me secret.”
I smell the hint of sugar and butter even before he carries me between the large cooker and the kitchen island, which has all kinds of saucepans and utensils hanging off a rack above. On the edge of the counter is a used baking tray, and next to it—a large plate of bird-shaped cookies.
Did he… bake those?
He’s so handsome when he laughs it’s unbearable. After what he did to me tonight I should hate him even more than I already did, not simp for him.
“I can see why. Fun fact about me? I’m really good at keeping secrets.” I’m also fighting for my life here.
Fuck, his eyes are so blue they appear almost translucent when he looks at me from up close. “That won’t matter. Cookie? They might still be warm.”
“Y-yes?” I need to please him. If he wanted to kill me, he would have just done that in the torture room, not created some elaborate poisoned cookie scheme.
The way Sevastyan watches me when he sits me on the counter is though he can see right through me. As if none of my thoughts are mine anymore, and he’s methodically peeling away all my layers.
I’m scared, but my body heats up with every passing moment. Maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie and didn’t know it until now?
“Tell me what you think. New recipe,” he says and offers me one. I’m not sure if we’re having a gay little moment, or if he’s toying with me like I’m a racoon he found in his trash.
I don’t even have to lie. The cookie is simple, buttery, vanilla, but with a hint of lemon. I’m so stressed it’s hard to swallow at first. “It’s delicious,” I finally say once I’m done with the whole thing.
He chews on that for half a second, then picks up a second cookie, which he then puts to my lips. “You may take a few, in case you get hungry at night,” he offers as if he hasn’t put a crossbow bolt in my leg and threatened me with torture.
Maybe… he’s lonely? Could that be my way out? He’s a known recluse. He never leaves this house. If I’m entertaining enough, will he keep me alive?
I eat the cookie like a good boy, even though I’m definitely not good.
“Oh. Okay. And… where am I going?” I ask once he picks me up again which… yeah, is a bit swoony and confusing.
“Your bedroom,” he offers, walking past a huge self-portrait depicting him in front of an ocean. All hispaintings are like that—large-scale and in rich colors. His dark hair is often finished with highlights of real gold leaf, face stunningly realistic in contrast to the blurred scenery behind him.
