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He yawns as he’s talking to me.
“I want you to kill all of them. Immediately,” I say, my stomach quavering.
He gives me a weary, sympathetic smile. “Give it time,” he says. “For now, I can’t leave you. I can’t hunt again until my brother is in prison.”
“Will you be all right? It seems like it’s something you need to do.”
Joshua shrugs. “I’m quite capable of self-denial when it’s necessary. Leaving you is exposing you to unnecessary risk.”
“Couldn’t you send anonymous tips to the police?” I plead. “They’re hurting people.”
He considers that. “If they go to prison, I can’t hunt them. They’d never get what they truly deserve.”
“But if you don’t report them, they’ll continue victimizing people.”
“There’s no guarantee that they’ll even be arrested or convicted, even if I do tip off the cops,” he argues. “The legal system is pathetically inadequate. I am the only sure justice.”
“You’ve got to at least try.”
He frowns, staring into space. “All right,” he says distantly. He yawns again. “As a gift to you, I’ll get to work on that first thing in the morning. And now I’m going to turn in early. Let me show you to your room. It’s right next to mine, in case you need anything.”
“Nextto yours?” I say, startled. He’s joking, right?
But he folds up the laptop and leads me to my bedroom, and I see that he means it. He’s actually having me sleep in the room next to his. I’m not sleeping with him.
Why?
He had me sleep in his bedroom after he kidnapped me. But now he claims he wants us to be a real couple, not Master and slave, not jailer and prisoner, and yet he doesn’t even want me in his bed at night?
The only thing I can think of is that he’s back to playing head games—like when he let me leave the hospital without him, because he knew I’d burn for him every minute we were apart. And now that he’s got me again, he wants me to beg to sleep with him.
Well, the hell with that.
Furious, I stalk into my own room and slam the door without looking back.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
TAMARA
I’m woken up by a tapping on my door, and for a moment, I’m seized with panic. Sick dizziness swims over me, and I brace myself, thinking,Is this the day I die?
Then I feel my silky comforter and the soft puffy pillow underneath my head, and I remember where I am. My heart is still pounding in my chest and I have to take several deep breaths to calm myself down.
Fuck Micah. Fuck him so hard. Will I ever wake up without those few seconds of utter terror?
I shove the blankets off me and climb out of bed, clutching at the comforter for a minute and swaying where I stand. The knocking gets louder.
“Ma’am? Are you all right?”
“Hold on,” I call out, and I go to answer the door. It’s one of Joshua’s burly security guards, so thick his shoulders seem to merge with his head without much of a neck in between. He’s wearing desert camo pants and shirt, and there are two pistols and several magazines on his belt.
“Breakfast will be served in ten minutes,” he says.
I take a quick shower, missing Joshua’s strong hands on me, then dress in jeans and a white peasant blouse and low-heeled boots.
The guard is waiting for me outside the door, and he leads me through the house until we reach the dining room.
Astrid and her children are already seated, drinking orange juice and coffee. The room has a bay window with a beautiful view of the cactus garden outside. There’s a tablescape running down the center of the table with small red clay vases, dishes of polished stones, and little arrangements of succulents in round terracotta planters.
