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“I can still get work done without the support of the FBI,” I say, instead of agreeing to his terms. “I can help women. There are not enough people helping. What I do is important.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he says with very little emotion, as if he’s just stating a fact rather than actually caring.
The man makes my fucking head spin.
“I might be able to save more women and kids before that happens.”
“You sound resigned to it, like you have no control over what happens to you.”
I have to look away from him. I’ve always known how things would end for me, and honestly, it’s taking a lot longer than I had originally planned for.
“Why do you even care?”
“I don’t,” he answers quickly, and I’m unable to hide the wince from his truth.
He doesn’t look pleased at my reaction to his insult.
Hell, I don’t even know why it has the power to hurt me. People not caring for me hasn’t been a problem in the past.
The FBI didn’t give a shit if I completed a mission, past them worrying that getting myself killed would’ve been a waste of federal resources, since a lot of money and time has gone into training me.
Maybe that’s his game, making me wish for things, want things even subconsciously, only to remind me that I’m worthless.
It’s the type of pain I feed on, the shit I need more of.
I’m worthless, useless, undeserving.
It’s why I like to be dominated, controlled, degraded, insulted. If it’s a bad thing, I love it. If it physically hurts, even better.
“The next captor is likely to kill you.”
He’s said this already, and despite his declaration, it proves that he does in fact care.
My heart sings with it, all the while also hating him a little for it.
“Maybe the next guy will be the one to finally put me out of my misery,” I mutter.
“The misery you feel because you couldn’t save your sister, or the regret that Daddy didn’t love you enough to fuck you like he did her?”
I fucking lose it, fighting against my restraints and screaming at him to eat shit and die.
All I get from him is a smile as he backs out of the room.
Chapter 27
Angel
Lauren’s head jerks, her eyes opening wide when I reenter the room a few hours later.
Her eyes follow me, and for a second, it makes me feel more like prey than the predator I claim to be.
I’ve never met another woman like her.
Where most would expect the bravado to fade, to turn into begging, Lauren is standing her ground.
She could’ve easily agreed to my terms, but maybe she realized I was lying, that I’d never let her go. I spilled blood for her. There’s nothing she can do to pay that back in full, and that means she’ll owe me… forever.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she growls when she sees the plate of food in my hand. “You made me a sandwich?”
