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That’ll be the first thing I ask when he opens my door. I mean, he has to. He can’t leave me here to rot, or can he? Was that the idea behind this? To change my location, but not the torture and isolation?
For the first time today, I start to pace the room. All things considered, I’m surprised I didn’t start before now.
Maybe I’d better stop and conserve my energy. Who knows how much longer I’ll be in here.
There’s a lot of movement going on out there. Enough to send a flood of ugly images rushing through my head. What is he doing? What if it isn’t Lucas at all? What if he really did give Quinton a key?
Dammit. How deep inside my head did that guy get? I figured surviving without turning into a raving lunatic meant I won. He didn’t break me. Now I’m starting to wonder.
When a familiar humming noise starts out there, I let out a sigh. The tension drains out of my muscles, all thanks to a vacuum cleaner. It must be the staff taking care of Lucas’s apartment while he’s busy.
For a moment, I wonder if I should knock on the door and let them know I’m here. No, that would be stupid. No way would they be willing to help me, even more so knowing their job depended on it.
I lose track of how long I’ve paced in front of the door when I hear the front door open and close. Once again, I hear movement coming from the living room area of the house, but nobody comes for me.
Dropping to my hands and knees, I peer out from under the door. There’s only a slim gap, but it’s enough for me to see two pairs of feet walking around a table.
The unmistakable sound of silverware clanking on the table tells me they’re staff, too, setting up dinner. I guess guys like him don’t have to do their own cooking?
The sound of Lucas’s voice makes me jump up, my heart in my throat. “Thank you,” he says, and a few seconds later, the door closes.
He’s back. I can handle this. Whatever he throws at me, I can take it. I’m not going to let him win whatever game he’s playing with me.
I back away from the door when a key slides into the lock. A moment later, the door swings open. “Were you planning on jumping me when I came into the room?” he asks, scowling, once we’re eye-to-eye.
“If I was going to do that, I would need a weapon, wouldn’t I?” I hold up my hands, shrugging. “Nothing here.”
“Because there was nothing in here for you to use. Don’t think I would ever give you the opportunity. I’d snap your slender throat before you even had the chance.”
“I mean, I could always jump you in another way.” I lift a shoulder and grin at the way his features darken. Yes, this is working. “You know, that offer is still on the table. After a long day of work, I’m sure you could use a little help unwinding.” I finish with a pointed look at his crotch and dart my tongue out over my bottom lip. I’ll play whatever part I have to if it means I get out of this place alive.
He takes a menacing step toward me, and I can feel the heat from his body radiating into me, but I can also feel his rage. Like the wind picking up right as a storm moves in.
“Didn’t you listen last night? I’m not like other men, Delilah, and I don’t just think with my cock. I’m not as simple-minded as the idiots you’ve fucked in the past. I mean what I say, and I will follow through with my actions. Do not cross or try to bait me because I promise you…” He leans in closer, and I can smell his cologne; it’s spicy and intoxicating, though I will never admit that out loud. “I’m not as forgiving as Aspen. I’ll kill you if you try to fuck with me.” Without warning, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me from the room, giving me only a moment to pull myself together, his words frazzling me, making me wonder if he’s bluffing or telling the truth? Could he kill me? Does he have that power? Of course he does. Everyone wants me dead, so he’d only be doing them a favor.
I can just about weep when he stops at the door to the bathroom. All day, I haven’t been able to go. Then again, it’s not like I had anything to drink, did I? He releases me and gives me a shove inside.
“If you want to piss, you better go now,” he orders gruffly.
A response sits heavy on the edge of my tongue, but I bite it back, not wanting to press my luck too hard. I take a moment and rub at my tender wrist, the flesh aches where he grabbed me.
