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I know that it’s a lie. That it’s not the real reason why I can’t stand the thought of Isabella being tortured.
But this time, I let myself believe it. Let myself desperately cling to that lie.
It’s only because of my debt to her. Yes. Only that.
Because the alternative would be far, far worse.
11
ISABELLA
Ishoot upright, my hand reaching for my gun, before I once again remember that I don’t have one. Rolling out of bed, I sneak into the kitchen and grab one of the knives before hurrying over to the door. The faint scraping sound of someone trying to pick the lock continues from the other side.
My heart hammers in my chest as I edge forward to cast a quick glance out the peephole. If the Hands of Peace were here to kill me, they would most likely be coming through the windows, not the front door. But it might still be them.
A strange mix of relief, exasperation, and amusement pulses through me when I see who it is that’s trying to break in.
Rico.
Of course it is.
That man never gives up, does he?
Sprinting back to the kitchen on silent feet, I return the knife to its proper place before darting into my bedroom.
The faint clicking sounds of the lockpicks continue for another few seconds. Then everything goes silent as I quickly climb back into bed and lie down as if I’m sleeping. Another few moments of silence. Then the unmistakable sound of a key being inserted into the lock sounds from the front door.
I almost laugh. If he had a key, why even bother trying to pick the lock? Was it because he needed to prove to himself that he could? In that case, he failed epically.
Dread seeps through my veins as another possibility crosses my mind.
Rico doesn’t strike me as a man who is in any way incapable. Does that mean that hewantedme to hear him fiddle with the lock so that he could see what I would do?
Fuck. Was Isupposed tohear that? Would a normal person have heard it too? Would staying in bed as if I’m asleep in fact be a dead giveaway that I had heard it but was pretending not to?
Indecision flashes through me.
Fucking hell, this damn man is making me question everything.
The front door is pulled open.
Making a split-second decision, I quickly roll out of bed and instead draw myself up by the wall next to the doorway into my bedroom.
Rico is too smart to fail at picking the lock. It must have been done on purpose. To set a trap for me.
At least, that’s what I gamble on as I grab the nearest hard object and wait for Rico to walk through the door.
The nearest hard object turns out to be a book on physics. Not exactly the best weapon ever, but at least it’s a thick book.
Faint footsteps sound from my living room. My heart patters in my chest, and I hope that I have gambled correctly, as Rico draws closer.
The moment he steps across the threshold, I swing the book straight at his face.
He ducks while his forearm shoots up, slamming into my wrists and pushing my arms upwards so that the book smacks into the wooden doorframe above his head instead. His fingers lock around my wrist, keeping it trapped there. I try to yank it back while he twists towards the other side to flip the light switch.
Yellow light floods the room.
“Heard me picking the lock, did you?” he says as he turns back to me.
