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A wave of panic tightens my lungs, and I walk back to the room then over to the door to open it. If he’s here, I need to speak to him.
But when I turn the handle, the door won’t open.
It’s locked.
Frantically, I rattle the handle every which way I can, but it’s not opening, and it’s quite clear someone locked it from the outside.
“Malik!” His name pours out of my mouth like the air leaving my body.
I slam my fist into the door, and suddenly, I’m calling for help.
Whatever this is, it’s all bad.
Because I think someone has kidnapped me.
Through the hammering of my fists on the door, I hear footsteps on the other side, then it’s my heart that’s pounding against my ribcage.
The click of the key in the lock echoes off the walls of my soul, and I back away, suddenly very afraid of who is going to come through the door.
What if it’s not Malik?
What if Conrad came back to the house and took me, and I’m being prepped for sale?
I step even further back, hardly able to breathe.
The door swings open, revealing Malik.
According to the thoughts I had not even a few seconds ago about Conrad, seeing Malik shouldn’t terrify me.
But it does. A lump the size of the universe has swelled in my throat, and every nerve in my body is standing to attention, telling me to open my eyes and look at this man much closer than I have since I met him.
Dressed in full black with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up his arms, he hardly looks different from that night at the restaurant when he came to find me, but that night, he was different. It was like I was getting two versions of him.
Here had a darkness about him that possessed me and crippled me.
That seems to be the version of him I’m getting now, and it feels like the real him.
“Where am I?” My voice comes out choked and shaky with a question that might not be as relevant as the millions of others waiting in line to be asked. That’s just the one that came out first.
Without breaking that dark gaze, he lifts his chin, and if possible, I feel even smaller next to him.
“Boston.”
Boston? What the fuck?
“What am I doing in Boston? Why have you brought me here?” I despise the way my voice shakes, but what I hate even more is that feeling in my soul telling me I’ve been played for a fool again.
Malik steps forward, and my instincts move me one step backward.
Unlike at the restaurant, I’m fully aware that I’m moving away from him.
Back then, my instincts were trying to warn me about him. But I didn’t listen.
I didn’t listen as the universe practically screamed at me to run from danger. Now, what am I up against?
“There are certain things we need to talk about.” His voice is far too calm. It reminds me of the villain in those films about psychotic madmen who believe their bizarre actions are completely justified.
“The only thing I want to talk to you about is getting me backhome.”
