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He stares at me then wipes his whole face with a palm. Something is bothering him. “They're not going to believe you're clueless.”

He means his parents.A painful lump moves down my throat. “Why does that matter?”

His head hangs lower. He reminds me of a bull about to charge. “Think about it. You and him met twice a month. What are the chances he kept you in the dark?”

A little fingertip of terror traces up my neck. “I seriously don't know anything.”

“That's hard to believe, Laiken.”

I'm breathing too fast—my lungs ache. I remember the day I sat with Silas, his scratchy fingers squeezing my chin. He'd told me I had nothing to fear, because hurting me was pointless. I was only leverage for my dad if I wassafe.

My safety net is gone.

“Dominic, why did they send you up here?” I ask warily.

“I'm responsible for getting the truth out of you,” he whispers. Flexing his hands, he surveys the bathroom. It's small, and his presence makes it a tomb. When he shuts us in, the sound of the door is a clap of thunder in my veins.

Fuck.Fuck,what's he planning to do?

“Sit there.” He points at the toilet.

Bravery has been my shield all my life. But that strength was powered by my belief in others being there to catch me if I fell. I had many people in the beginning; my sister, then after she was taken away, I had Dominic. Something took him, too. My last security was my father and, without him, my confidence has taken a dive.

Moving slowly, I shut the toilet lid. He watches me the whole time. When I sit on it, he leans against the sink, considering me until I begin to squirm. “What matters the most to you?” he whispers.

“Going home,” I say automatically.

“No, what matters to you here. In this room.”

I work my jaw, feeling lost. “I don't care about anything in here. It's just a bathroom.”

There's no color in his eyes, just hollowness. “Yes, you do. Think harder.”

Squinting, I scan the white walls, the mirror, the grand bathtub... and then I get to him. A flutter attacks my heart. I smother it so my smile can be unkind. “If you're asking if you matter to me, the answer is no.”

He doesn't react. I wish he had. “You're getting closer.”

My back goes straight as a rod.He means me.“Yes, I obviously matter to myself.”

With a half-nod, he pushes off the sink. “Turn around.”

“What are you going to do?” Nervously, I wrap my hands around my braid. Counting the elegantly woven rows helps relax me. It makes me think of my promise to Kara. I wonder how long her hair is now, if she's beating me.

His attention goes to what I'm doing. “Turn around,” he growls again.

My muscles obey his instruction. I adjust on the toilet seat, showing him my back. I'm waiting for him to speak. He doesn't, his pointed silence making my ears ring. I strain to hear him because I'm desperate for a hint at his plan.

I see his shadow grow on the wall in front of me. His shoulders shift. I catch his arms rising. Is he going to strangle me? Would he go that far? It's awful that I don't know what to expect from him anymore.

His fingers slide through my hair. They start at the cap of my skull, inching down with an immense patience reserved for glaciers moving through the sea. I'm hyper-aware because of my fear. His nails scrape the base of my head sinking in, a gentleness that's out of place in this tense room. “You let it grow so long,” he whispers.

Warm breath caresses the curve of my ear. I shudder, but not from disgust. I want to lavish in hatred for Dominic. But my body has other ideas.

I've never been touched so intimately. He's doing nothing but brushing my hair with his fingers, and it's more enticing than if we'd kissed...than if we'dfucked.I know this, even though I've never done either.

Metal squeaks the cabinet over the sink. His arms are long enough that he can reach it without budging from my side. I start to turn my head, to check what he's doing, but his fingers bind into my hair and force me still. “What are you going to do?” I ask, my voice frail.

His presence behind me is an inferno. “I'm going to get the truth from you.”