Page 30 of A Forbidden Arrangement

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t reach for anything to soften this. His silence stretches, sharp and unyielding.

“Do you even know how many people you’ve killed?” I meet his gaze head-on. “Can you even keep count?”

He gives me nothing. No denial, no shift. Just those dark eyes, steady, like he’s carved out of stone.

The truth lands cold and clean. He won’t deny it. Because he can’t.

“You’re no better than them,” I whisper, my voice shaking.

His head tilts, sharp, something cutting through the calm. “Who have you been running from?”

The question throws me.

“I saw—” I cut myself off before telling him I know he’s working with Elliot. That I saw them talking in the alley.

“I’m not telling you anything.” Knowledge is power, and if it will help me figure out why he’s kept me alive, I’ll play his game.

He closes the last of the space. “Give me his name.”

Panic claws at my throat, and I croak. “Why?”

His expression hardens, the air in the room shifting. “So I can put him in the ground.”

Liar.

I spit at him, the only weapon I have.

He wipes it with his thumb and sucks on the tip, humming.

“Fuck, I missed this mouth.” He smiles as his hand clamps around my jaw and crushes his mouth to mine.

I bite down hard, the metallic taste of blood on my tongue.

He jerks back, eyes blazing, then laughs low, like I just gave him exactly what he wanted.

“Why are you doing this?” I hear my voice go sharp and thin and desperate, and I don’t care that he hears it too.

He narrows his eyes like I said something amusing. “You already know why.”

“You’resick.” I begin to tremble as his gaze drags down me, one reason he may have kept me alive coming in crystal clear.

“It’s impressive you managed to stay hidden for so long.”

The words scrape across my nerves. I didn’t know it was him I was hiding from. “You make it sound like I was playing a game.”

His mouth pulls into a dangerous curve. The flicker dies fast when his face hardens again.

“You’re coming home with me.”

A laugh bursts out, bitter, sharp. “Never.”

He leans so close I feel the heat of his breath against my cheek. His tone doesn’t waver. “You walk out with me, or I make you. Your choice.”

I shove at him, my body shaking. “I’d rather die.”

His mouth curves, not amused but certain. “You don’t get to die, Dahlia.”

My eyes scramble for a way out. The window? Rain streaks down the glass, but we’re too high. The door? Too far. My IV pole, the line tethered to me? My fingers twitch, calculating.