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“Where. Is. My. Mom? What. Is. Dad’s. Wallet?”
He sighs. “You’re a persistent girl, aren’t you?”
“I’m not agirl,” I say, spinning on him. “I was working two jobs at fifteen. If you think you can bully me, manipulate me, oranythingme, you’re shit out of luck!”
He chuckles like I’m here to amuse him. There’s a tiny part of me that wants to laugh, too, and a warped feeling of pride for making him laugh. “Okay, Lena. I get it. Does it make you feel immature if I call you agirl?”
“I think it’s immature for you to have such a big smirk on your face.”
“But you are, Lena, a very persistentgirl—”
“Can it. I’m twenty-one.”
“I know you’re notliterallya girl,” he says, with that easy smirk, “but maybe it’s worth it to see you get worked up.”
I glare at him. “Seriously, this isn’t funny.”
His smirk falters. He raises his hands. “You’re right.”
“Why are you laughing, then?” I ask, the sudden anger still pulsing in me. Why do I care so much if he refers to me as agirlor thinks of me as a kid? He must be forty now, or at least almost. To him, maybe that’s all I am.
“Just…” His eyes narrow like the fierceness is returning. “You, Lena. You’re fiery as hell.”
I don’t know what to make of that, especially now that he’s back to his glaring routine. Maybe he’s going to do bad things to get the fieriness out of me. Maybe some twisted part of me wants that to a point.
“Just give me some answers. I deserve that. You don’t have to sing me a song, but just let me quickly ask you some questions.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“But I deserve—”
“Right thissecond…” Suddenly, he’s directly in front of me, looming. “They could be torturing your mom. How would you think of me, Lena, if I let her die?”
He’s got his hands on me again. My skin shivers temptingly, wrongly. He grabs my hips through my clothes, holding tight, staring at me with that blue fire in his eyes. Why does he care how I think ofhim?
“I’m taking you upstairs,” he groans, taking my wrist and pulling me toward the door. Fine, I walkwithhim, not giving him a chance to drag me off my feet, but would he if I didn’t go willingly? “You’re going to go upstairs and hang out on the couch with my dog.”
“You trust me not to run?” I ask as he opens the door, showing what looks like a small elevator.
He gently pushes me ahead of him, then walks in after me. It’s narrow and tall as if it was built just for him. I’m pushed up against him again, but this time, it’s my body pressed against his back. The elevator begins to go upward smoothly. We ride it for around thirty seconds before I lose my patience.
“Did you hear me?” I snap. He does that annoying laugh again. It’s like he’s so fascinated I can stand up to him. I say, “I’m not even sure you’re telling the truth about Mom. Maybe this is a lie to get me up here so you can put a bullet in my head.”
He turns, making the elevator unsteady. Now, I can feel something hard against my upper belly. He’s so much taller than me. That’s where his manhood would pressifhe were hard. Why would he be hard right now?
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he growls, “and I won’t hurt your mom. But no, I’m not relying on trust.”
“What does that mean?”
He leans lower. I’m almost sure of it now, a rock-hard pressure against my belly. If I had the space to look down, I might see his outline in his sweatpants. I’m panting, unsure what to do or if I should touch him. “My apartment completely locks down. You won’t be going anywhere, whether or not you want to. I’ll see you later.”
“See you…”
Gently, he takes my shoulders and pushes me backward. I expect to bump into the wall. Is he going to kiss me? Then I realize I’m standing in a corridor, staring at a hidden door in the wall. It’s already closing.
“Wait,” I yell. “You can’t leave me without an—”
It closes, showing an almost smooth section of the wall, except for some faint creases in the wallpaper. I turn to find a Great Dane sitting at the end of the corridor, watching me. We never had pets. I’m not usually afraid of dogs, but this one is staring with demon eyes. He’s got floppy ears, but somehow, they’re not cute.
