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“Go,” he demands, his voice hard. “I will be outside. If you try anything, you will be made to go in a bucket where we can watch.”
“That’s fucking demeaning,” I reply, almost snarling, but I hold myself in check as he slowly shuts the door, his eyes locking me in place. His gaze also sends a spark of heat through my insides. How fucking inappropriate. When it’s fully shut, I slump as I’m released from his gaze and turn to face the dated bathroom.
It’s dirty, like the rest of the house, with a stained mirror and yellow medicine cabinet above an old yellow sink. Next to it is a small basket, which was obviously meant for clothes. There’s a bath on the back wall, and yep, it’s yellow too, and a toilet to the right. The tile is black and white, and the walls are covered in peeling floral wallpaper.
Lovely.
I move to the window above the bath and climb into the tub. I quietly rage at it, attempting to pry it open with my numb fingers, but either time or weather has it stuck. Despite my attempt to be quiet, he must hear my movements, because the door opens as I hop from the bath. His eyebrow rises, and he points at the toilet. I don’t particularly like the condescending glimmer in his gaze.
“Really? Where will you go, Genevieve?” The way he curls his tongue over my name like a lover almost has me stumbling where I stand. Someone who kidnapped me shouldn’t be this sexy. “Go,” he demands again. “I’m leaving the door ajar.”
Shit.
