Page 51

He finishes tying his laces and sits up, fingers twisting his earlobe. “It was confusing.”

My heart jolts. Something real came out of his mouth. “And now?”

“It’s annoying.”

This is pointless. I push back from the bars. “Your father’s death annoys you?”

The pain washes from his face, replaced with lowered lids and a grin. “Almost as much as you do.”

“What part of your crooked brain ruptured and contaminated the rest?”

His upper lip twitches. “Look at you caring about me.”

“That isnotcaring.”

“Then what is?”

Those three words cripple my resolve. Responses tick through my mind, but only silence has the gall to hang blatantly in the air between us. He stands to go, but that swamp-bound piece of me can’t bear to be alone. “Wait.”

“Lonely?” he croons.

Yes, incredibly.“Why would you think I’d be lonely in a four-by-four foot cage all by my fucking self?”

“It’s a nook. Should I shut myself in there with you for a little goodbye fuck before I go?”

How fucking thoughtful.He never fails to find a way to turn me on and piss me off at the same time. “Tempting”—truly—“but I’m miserable enough without animpressivetwo minutes of your extroverted cock inside me. Take me to the house upstairs.” Maybe I won’t have to spend another whole day behind bars that slowly drill through me, puncturing my being.

He frowns, every inch of his face turning me down. “No.”

“Why not? I’m dying here.”

His brow creases, genuine concern filling in the lines. “I give you a bar every day, sometimes two. You should have told me you were dying. I need to know these things.”

“Because that would be inconvenient for you?”

“Yes.” He grits it out as if he didn’t want it to be the case, or maybe—maybeit’s more than that. Maybe he’d miss having a “little prisoner” to tease…to come home to.

I huff and bite my lip. “Two bars isn’t enough, but that’s not what I meant. Take me up there. Let me out of this cell.”Let me see walls that don’t smother and destroy.

His eyes pin me in place. “No. It’s just a house.”

“I only want—”

He grabs the cell door, and his whole face threatens me with its sharpness, taking the words from my lips. Then he turns away, a wall of black. Black hair, black shirt, black pants and boots. Impenetrable.

“Take me upstairs tomorrow.” I panic, and the words spill out. “I won’t talk.”

He stops.

“For the whole day,” I add.

“Tomorrow then,” he says, his back to me. “Your next trigger will be upstairs.”

Never,

Looking forward to every minute of your silence tonight.

Don’t think I won’t know if you talk while I’m gone.