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“I hate you.”
He nods as if he’s suspected that all along. “Understandable. I’d hate me, too, if I were you.”
“Don’t you feel even a sliver of remorse?”
“You desperately want that to be a yes, don’t you? But you already answered your own question when you labeled me a villain. Tell me, Lenochka. Do villains feel remorse?”
I purse my lips. I know what he’s playing at. He wants to make this about me. Since I already picked a name for him, I shouldn’t be surprised by his actions. If anything, I need to expect them and act accordingly. But if he thought he’d get a lamb, that’s far from reality.
Adrian grips my chin and lifts it up with two fingers, forcing me to gaze into his merciless eyes. “Answer my question. Do they?”
“No.”
“Correct.”
“But that doesn’t give you free access into someone else’s life to wreak havoc as you please. To come in as you see fit and get out when it suits you.”
“That’s exactly what the lack of remorse gives me, Lenochka. The freedom to do what I want without feeling that little thing called guilt.”
He really is a monster. There’s no other word to describe the man within. When you’re dealing with someone without any moral compass, it’s impossible to beat him.
But I’m already caught in his trap and I’m more than certain that he won’t let me go. If I fight, he’ll subdue me, and considering his sadistic nature, he’ll probably enjoy it, too.
If I flee, he’ll follow.
To have any chance of winning, I need to start speaking his language. To take as much as I can from him as insurance for myself.
Sucking in a breath, I resist the urge to pull my hand from his and put distance between us, because the more he touches me, the deeper I’m caught in his web and the harder those marionette strings dig into my neck.
“If you get bored of me, will you let me go?” I ask with a calm I don’t feel.
“Probably.”
Okay. I can work with that. His type usually gets bored easily.
They’re thrilled by the chase, the hunt, and the ability to track someone. Catching their prey is only a reward, and once they do, all the fun is over.
I’m not going to play hard to get. I’m not going to let him follow me around, heightening his need to chase. If I want to get rid of him, I need to pretend I’m playing into his hands.
I need to become so boring, that he’ll leave and never return.
But instead of being obvious about it, I whisper, “Tell me something.”
“Something?”
“Anything about you that the world doesn’t know.”
He seems to consider that for a second as he drops his hand from my chin. “Why?”
“Because I want to know you as you wanted to know me.” And I need as much information on him as possible to figure out how to deal with him.
“What makes you think I want you to know me?”
“Isn’t that how these things work?”
“These things?” he repeats with an edge of mockery.
“You know.”
