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I looked upward to the hall as I gripped the bottom of the wood railing, my fingernails digging in. "To my room."
"We need to leave." The calm of his tone made no sense. Why couldn't he yell or behave in a threatening way? Why was his method so calm? He had a way of adding terror with minimal or no hostility.
Despite agreeing to go home with him, I couldn’t leave with the man who'd made me murder my family. "I can't leave."
He moved behind me and grabbed my upper arms, surprisingly gently, and turned me toward the front door. "You can, and you will. Just as you agreed to do."
The worst part was knowing I had to obey him. He'd lied about his original intention to hurt me. Why couldn't the claim he made that he would keep me be a lie as well? I was nothing to him. I was someone he hated, but perhaps he planned a slow misery to carry out that hate. In the end, I gave up on my intention to run to my room in exchange to follow him, clothed in nothing more than his dark shirt. Thankfully, it was too dark to show the blood that probably marked it.
When we went to the SUV, he let me sit to the side in the back but sat beside me as I stared out the window to the dark street. I wanted to ask about my mother, but this was a man who showed no mercy, so I didn't want to know the truth. Luckily, exhaustion and shock won over and my eyes grew too heavy to keep open during the unnerving ride.
Chapter Seven
When I did wake, I was in a plush bed and covered with a blanket. It didn't take long to remember the events of the night. Getting up made me too aware of my nudity and how groggy I was. The feel had me wondering if they'd drugged me.
I wrapped the blanket beneath my arms and attempted to focus my eyes. A thin strip of light outlined the blackout curtains but didn't give me a good visual of anything. I wasn't even certain whether or not I was alone. But aside from my motions, no noises came from my surroundings.
I snuck over and chanced a glance out the window to discover the room must have been at least twenty stories high. This wasn’t a city I recognized. After an inspection of the room, I found where a single button-down shirt had been strewn over the back of a chair. It would be the best option for clothing, so I reached for it, bumping cold metal with my knuckles.
A pistol.
The dumb bastard left his weapon behind. I could already remember the horror of the warm trigger. My clammy hold and trembling finger had been forced against it until it fired. Unlike those victims, I would watch as I shot Armon.
The blanket fell to the floor as I quickly yanked on the white shirt and clasped a few of the buttons. I would kill him, and I didn't care about the consequences. Nothing worse could happen to me anyway. I had nothing.
I sat in that chair for hours, pistol in hand, while waiting for the door to open, but it never did. Even when I took a bath in the large tub, the gun remained beneath a towel close by for a quick retrieval. And it was a long bath that I finally had to abandon.
Once I’d dried off and went into the room, I spotted food in silver, covered dishes near the entry. They hadn't been there before my bath. First, I went to the large wooden door and attempted to open it—locked. With a scowl, I pushed it. Not that the act of defiance brought any satisfaction.
When I decided to examine the food, there was hot steak and mixed vegetable sides. I didn't bother with seeing what the other dishes held, but I did drink the water and took the pitcher back to the bed. But then, on the table next to the mattress, something red and lacy caught my attention.
Fury filled me when I lifted it to find that it was a set of see-through lingerie. No. Never. I had nothing to lose anymore by absolutely refusing Armon’s demands. What would he do? Kill me? He could for the least I cared—assuming I didn’t kill him first.
The click of the lock came from the door, and I immediately grabbed the gun to aim in that direction.
In he strolled. Armon in a dark gray t-shirt that fit perfectly to show his form. By the wet hair that fell against his temple, he must have just bathed and came to pay me a visit to fuck. That wouldn’t be happening.
"You didn't eat." His curious gaze went from the food to the gun I held in his direction. Unperturbed by the weapon I threatened him with, he continued toward me. "Nor did you put on the clothing I left for you."
Fifteen feet away.
My lips trembled as I spoke. "And I won't." I gripped the gun tight; the knuckles of my hands whitening.
"You have no idea how turned on I am from you wearing my shirt and aiming a gun at me."
How fucking mental was he? Very, by the way a tent had pitched in his pants, standing out even more as he pulled his shirt up over his head and chunked it on a fancy, high-backed chair.
After I'd taken too long to scan his upper body, our stares connected. "Let me go." I lifted my other hand to calm the unsteady weapon.
Eleven feet away. "Come now, Sweet One," he said, kicking off one athletic shoe, then the other.
My teeth were bared. "I'm not your Sweet One." Sweat coated my palm and fingers. Why couldn't I do it? My forefinger tightened against the trigger.
Eight feet away. He grinned as he pulled the waistband of his pants and let them fall to the floor. My gaze roved downward to the U-shaped ridge of muscle that dipped at his abdomen. But I wasn’t going to dare look lower.
I couldn't stop the shudder to my breath. It should be so easy. He was a terrible person. He'd done terrible things to me. Things I'd loved and hated. I took a terrified step back that had me against the bed.
Three feet away. "You like what you see, don't you?" His chest bumped the gun, steadying it a bit.
