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GENEVIEVE
After a while, the icy wind has me shivering, so I let go of Booker’s hand and curl my fingers inwards to retain the heat of his touch. I almost want to grab it again, missing it, but I force myself to stand. He probably needs some time, and I shouldn’t get too comfortable, too close, so I force distance between us.
“I’ll see you back inside,” I murmur, and without waiting for a response, I hurry back to the house…only to realise I’m voluntarily going back inside to my kidnappers.
Idiot.
I feel his gaze on me the entire time, and when I reach the rear door, I glance back to see him sitting there alone, but in his eyes, there’s a calculating, confused look that has my heart racing. I push the door and hurry inside. I feel vulnerable and exposed. I shared my pain to help him with his, and now his gaze nearly pierces through to my soul, where I’ve let no other in. Dangerous. I’m getting far too comfortable here.
The interior of the house is quiet. I don’t see the others, but I know they are around somewhere, so I hurry upstairs. I need some space to rebuild my walls, to remember who they are and what they have done. This friendship, kinship I feel with them can’t last. Itshouldn’t.
Not after what they did to me.
That thought, though, is filled with less anger than usual.
I spend nearly all day in my room. I even feign sleep when Archer comes to check on me at dinnertime. I need the silence and boundaries so I don’t forget all the things they did. When the smell of food reaches my room and makes my stomach rumble, those repetitive words start to fade, and when I find Eric in the kitchen, singing and bobbing to music no one but he can hear, they disappear entirely.
I lean against the doorway, watching as I attempt to stay distant, but he turns and spots me, and with a wide flirty smile, he dances over and spins me into his arms before whirling me around the kitchen. A laugh breaks free before I can control it as he holds me and twists and turns. My eyes catch on his, and our smiles dim for a moment as something shifts between us.
Something big.
He clears his throat, as if the change is something he can’t quite focus on, and spins me again before catching me. “Thank you for the dance,” he whispers as he kisses my cheek before moving back to the stove.
“No, thank you, sir.” I mock bow before hopping onto the counter to perch beside him. “Need a hand?”
“Always. Here, chop the carrots.” He hands over a knife without hesitation as I hop down and move to his side. It doesn’t even dawn on me until I’m cutting the carrots that I could use it on them. I could drive this blade into their hearts while they sleep, take the car, and be out of here before sunrise.
But I don’t.
Instead, I work side by side with him as he gives me instructions to help make tea. It’s a comfortable routine we fall into. He jokes and flirts, and I find myself flirting back. In another world, it would have been a lovely date. It’s almost easy to forget who I am, where I am, and what happened, until the TV’s news broadcast pierces the fog around me.
“The prominent socialite, Genevieve Dalton, is still missing, and police have no suspects. Her fiancé made quite a moving plea in hopes of her kidnappers returning her. Whatever the case, wherever Ms. Dalton is, we are all wishing for her safe recovery.”
My hands freeze under the tap, where I was washing them, the tea towel thrown over my shoulder. All other noise fades as my heartbeat kicks up and bile rises in my throat. People are worried and out there looking for me, and I’m here playing house with one of the kidnappers.
“Genevieve,” Eric murmurs, reaching over to switch off the tap as I stare at my reddening hands, realising the water had been burning my skin and I didn’t even notice.
“I can’t do this,” I croak out, my eyes going to him pleadingly. “Please.”
He flinches and closes his eyes. “Don’t,” he begs.
“Please, Eric. Let me go home.” My voice is desperate, and I reach out, covering his hand with mine. “Please.” A hiccup escapes my throat as I hold back the sudden flood of tears wetting my lashes. My throat closes and my body shivers, and when his eyes open, they are filled with regret and sadness.
“I can’t,” he whispers as he steps back, and everything comes crashing down around me. “I’m sorry, Genevieve,” he rushes out as I turn away, my eyes locked on the sink before me, even as I blink and tremble through my tears.
Are they ever going to let me go?
Or is this place where I die?
