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EMILY

I eyed the plate in front of me. Portions far larger than anything I’d seen since my last meal on the outside. And could feel the saliva pooling in my mouth.

I knew it would be stupid not to eat. First of all, I was starving. Second, refusing Cohen wasn’t an option. He’d get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted. Eventually. Me being here proof enough of that for everyone while the matter of how remained the only question in the equation. That said, I also knew the shit could be laced with any number of things. And the more of myself I gave to him, the more he would take.

It was a lose-lose situation. So I decided I’d rather lose with a much fuller belly and a bit clearer head.

The first bite of cold mashed potatoes had me holding back a moan and quickly scooping up another until I could feel his eye on me. Watching me. Following my every movement. Like I was the most interesting thing in the room. And considering where we were, maybe I was. This place was a far cry from the Cohen Michaels I knew. Or rather knew of. The one who always needed the fastest bike between his legs and the most popular girl… well, also between his legs. It was another reason his interest in me in college never made sense.

Besides the occasional insecurity, I didn’t question it all that much at the time. Mostly because I didn’t want to know the answer. But now I had to wonder…

Was there something about me that called to him? Something about the darkest parts of him that were drawn to the darkest parts of me? The parts that had me creeping closer to the sound of footsteps in my house instead of running away? Had me waiting for some shadowy figure in my bedroom instead of locking my door? Had me rushing to stash evidence in the trunk of my car instead of bringing it to the police?

Deep down, I had to admit the last five years felt almost empty without that hint of danger that seemed to follow me everywhere. Almost like if adrenaline didn’t have my heart rate spiking, I wasn’t sure if the damn thing was beating at all.

Maybe some of the demons in this room were my own… Or maybe Stockholm Syndrome was a very real thing and I was starting to sympathize with the devil a little too much. Fuck if I knew anymore. Fuck if I cared about anything other than some more butter melting on my tongue.

By the time my plate was practically licked clean, I was actually grateful for the airiness of the green dress he’d forced me to wear today, which gave my extended belly room to breathe. I set my little shaved-down fork on the table—smart move on his part—and glanced at the man in front of me.

“So what is it that you wanted to discuss, Cohen?” I quirked a questioning brow while settling my hands on my lap. No matter how much I was itching to grab for the knife at his side.

He shrugged a single shoulder. “Our future of course.”

“Do we have a future?” I flicked my eyes down, staring at the bruises on my wrists before peering back up at him from beneath my lashes. My expression a mixture of feigned innocence and flat-out sarcasm. “And here I thought killing me was always the end game? Or were all those threats of yours as empty as that socket of yours?”

“The only thing empty in this room, pet, are going to be my balls. When they’re through with you.” He grinned, clearly proud of himself and his not-all-that-clever retort. “But as far as our future goes, I think you already know the answer to that question.”

Cohen leaned forward, and I instinctively leaned back.

“Tell me, Emily. What was your life like without me? When you couldn’t feel me in every room with you—never mind. Let me tell you what life was like for me first and see if it sounds familiar, hm?”

He took my silence as a prompt to continue speaking. And I guess it kinda was. It would kill me to admit aloud. But I was a little curious as to what the psycho had to say.

Cohen tipped his chair against the wall behind him and kicked his legs up on the table, not bothering to look down when the plates were jostled aside before shattering on the floor. “The first thing on my mind when I woke up in that hospital bed was you. Then our kid. Followed by how both of you would react to seeing the same shit I saw in the mirror every morning. But ya see, I also didn’t care. Because you were mine in every way possible. I’d made sure of that when I knocked you up?—”

“On purpose?” The words caught in my throat but I forced them out anyway. “You fucking got me pregnant on purpose? Why? How?”

He landed the chair on all fours with a loud smack, his palm slamming down in front of me. “ Shh , you’re ruining the best part of the story.” Then he cleared his throat. “I thought that would be enough to keep my sweet Emily from going astray—we both know how that ended. However, at the time, I was missing some of the…” He paused to wave a hand in the air. Almost like if he fished long enough he might catch whatever he was searching for. “… particulars . Still, I remained faithful while you, my pet, did not.”

“You lef—” Another slap on the tabletop had me biting my tongue.

“I never fucking left, Emily. Not once. Ever. In ten fucking years. But you…” Cohen lifted an accusatory finger while venom practically dripped from every word he directed my way. “I had to watch as you whored yourself out to every prick in the city. But that fucker you lured into your bedroom… that was the last fucking straw. You forced my hand. Forced me to show you all the things I did for you behind the scenes. And then you were the one who fucking left. Not me.”