He spins around and grabs me by the forearms to steady me. His touch is gentle, warm, and makes me feel weird. Like he shouldn’t be kind to me.
“Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says, his voice softer now. “Sit down. You must be hungry.” Now that he’s mentioned it, yes, I’m starving. Though I’m not going to tell him that.
Looking at the table, I see that he’s already prepared two bowls of what looks to be some kind of hearty soup. Taking a seat, I let the savory smell invade my nose, causing my stomach to growl loudly.
“All we have is canned goods right now, no meat and no fresh produce. I wanted to be here when you woke up. That’s why I didn’t leave to get it earlier. Since you’re up now and know where everything is, I’m going to make a quick supply run after we eat.”
Bringing the spoon to my mouth, I pause. “You’re going to leave me here?”
“Yes, there is no need to worry. You’ll be completely safe here. No one is getting in.”
“Or out?”
“No, you won’t be able to leave without me.” He confirms what I already knew before adding. “But that’s for your own protection.” Like it’s important, I know that or something.
“You keep saying you’re trying to protect me, but you never say from who or what?”
His eye twitches, and I swear I see the cold mask of indifference fall back over his face. “Let’s not talk about that now. You need to eat. I can hear your stomach from here.”
Shoving the spoon into my mouth, I bite back a groan as the soup lands against my tongue. I don’t care if it’s canned soup it takes like heaven right now. In a matter of minutes, I have my entire bowl eaten. Zane eats slowly, watching each and every bite I take, like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world.
“You’re staring at me.”
Zane shrugs. “I like watching you.”
I swallow down the witty come back, and instead, get up and take my stuff into the kitchen. Placing the dirty dishes in the sink, I lean against the counter, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do now.
Shoving out of the dining room chair, he walks into the kitchen, and my eyes gravitate toward him. I try not to look at his perfectly sculpted stomach, or each ab that’s on display and definitely not the deep V partially hidden by his low hanging shorts.
“I’m going to clean this up, get dressed, and then leave. Do you need anything while I’m out?” he asks, and I swear I can hear the smirk in his voice.
“No.” Staring down at the floor, I shake my head.
“Are you sure? This might be the last time I’ll go out for a while. We need to lay low for the next few weeks.”
What does that mean?
“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”
“Whatever you want. This is your home too. Watch some tv, read a book, or take a bath.” He tosses out suggestions like he didn’t just kidnap me and threaten people I care about.
“Okay.” I move out of the kitchen as he cleans up. Slowly, I walk into the living room and sit down on the sectional. Sinking into the leather, I wish I could enjoy it, but I’m too tense. My stomach churns, and I press a hand to it to keep the nausea inside at bay. Zane walks into the bedroom, and a moment later, returns fully dressed.
He stops directly in front of me and squats down, bringing us eye to eye. I try to avert my gaze, but trying to look anywhere else is impossible with him right in front of me. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. Please. I don’t want to have to threaten you again, or worse, follow through on my threat.”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I nod. What the hell could I possibly do anyway?
“Good.” He smiles and then leans forward, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His lips burn where they touch my skin, and something strange erupts inside me. It’s foreign and confusing, and I don’t understand it because, in a strange way, that simple gesture is comforting to me. At the same time, it’s sickening too because I shouldn’t feel anything close to comfort from this man. He’s my captor, not my roommate or friend.
Leaving me sitting on the couch, he walks up the stairs and pauses at the top. Leaning forward, I curiously watch as the door opens, and he walks out. Not even a second later does the door close heavily behind him. As soon as I’m alone, my chest feels heavy. I’m trapped and alone. Complete quiet blankets the room. All I can hear is the swooshing of blood in my ears and my own soft breathing.
Do something! My brain screams. He said it will be a while before he leaves again, so this might be my only chance.
I spend the next two hours looking for a way out of here while trying to find things I could possibly use as weapons. With each passing minute, my hope diminishes. My first thought was to get a weight from the gym, but of course, that was the only door that was locked. I beat my fists against the door for a while before giving up.
The fork was pretty much the best protection I could find. The second thing I found was a lamp with a heavy bottom. Taking off the shade, I do a few trial swings with it. I can do this. My anxiety is through the roof. I’ve never hurt a person before, never punched someone, never drew blood, and now I’m about to try and take out a guy bigger than me with a lamp.
A few minutes later, I hear the door at the top of the stairs open. Oh, god. With the lamp clamped tightly in my hand, I scurry across the room and hide next to the stairs. I flatten myself against the wall and say a silent prayer. My heart is pounding so loudly I fear he might hear it. Sweat forms against my palms as I adjust my grip while listening to him descend the steps.
You can do this. It’s this or nothing.
His body comes into view, and I see that his arms are full of grocery bags. Perfect. Shutting all rational thinking down, I move out of my hiding spot and swing the lamp at his head just as he turns in my direction.
I catch him across the face instead of the back of the head like I had planned. The lamp smashing into the side of his face.
Shit! My hands tremble as I drop the lamp to the floor at the same time, he drops the grocery bags. I take an instinctive step back when he lifts a hand to his face in slow motion. When he pulls his hand away, I see red on his fingers.
Blood. He’s bleeding. My lungs burn, and I freeze. The look in his eyes is murderous, rooting me in place and turning the blood in my veins to ice. All I can think is, this is it, this is where he kills me. Where he beats me and ties me to the bed. Where I die a slow, painful death.
“Fuck, I told you to be good.” He’s almost growling like an animal, his lip is curled as he takes a threatening step toward me.
“Please.” I lift my hands to protect my face because I know what’s coming. I know he’s going to hurt me. Bracing for the pain, I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut.
Except the pain never comes. Instead, he tenderly grabs my hands and lowers them while gently nudging me backward. In that moment, fear roots me to the floor, and I’m not sure I could scream or run away even if I wanted to. When my back collides with the wall, the air in my lungs expels, and I know I’m trapped.
I haven’t known my captor long, but I already know that with him, I’m always trapped. I look anywhere but at his face. I don’t want to see the cut or the bruise on his cheek. I’m not a violent person, and I hate that this situation has made me into someone I’m not.