Page 17 of Stockholm (Angel of Mercy #1)

The Kept

T he next two days follow much the same. Food and water are shoved in my door regularly, but only when I’m either taking a bath or sleeping, reinforcing the idea that there must be a camera in here.

Occasionally, I call out for Bo, then Noah. Even Jesse sometimes, when I’m feeling the loneliest. Nobody ever comes.

Even just now, after I started pounding on the door—which, as ridiculous as it sounds, took me all this time to work up the courage to do.

The perfect manners and stilted behavior that I’ve followed so strictly my entire life make it incredibly hard to make a scene.

To be loud and angry without wanting to swallow it back inside myself.

But once I start, that initial fear melts away and I pound on the wood until my knuckles hurt and my voice cracks.

My forehead falls to the door and I splay my hands on either side, pressing against it.

A giggle bursts forth at my instinct to not want to be rude by making too much noise.

It’s the same thinking that causes women not to tell men when they’re uncomfortable.

The fear of upsetting them. Of making them angry with you.

Fighting is okay. I’ve been kidnapped, for god’s sake. My conduct doesn’t matter anymore.

The laughter dies away, and I slide to the floor and wrap my arms snugly around my legs.

My mind starts to wander, until I’m once again pondering what Eric is doing, or if Molly misses me.

Then I consider the possibility that, since we were taken from a bank, the F.B.I.

is involved. Surely these two can’t outsmart them .

The thought makes me confident we’ll be rescued any moment .

My fear is mollified at the image of Noah in handcuffs being led away by a tactical team. The tiniest of smiles curls at the corner of my mouth when I picture him being shoved into the backseat of someone’s cruiser.

Exhaustion hits me like a brick wall, and I rest my head on my arms. The brief moments where I feel normal seem to get shorter each time. Listlessness overwhelms everything. There’s nothing to do, nobody to talk to.

“I’m sorry,” I say to nobody. “I’m sorry for whatever you think Eric did. Sorry for calling you a coward. Please come talk to me.”

I could have guessed that there would be no response, but I still hate that nobody comes.

The sensation of being watched wakes me from my nightmare and I sit up, gasping for breath, the claustrophobia from the dollhouse still clawing at my chest. The total darkness of the room is only broken by the very slight amount of moonlight that finds its way in from the window.

It’s still twilight outside, and after a few minutes my eyes start to adjust to the dark. I sit up, focusing on my breathing until it doesn’t feel like I’m about to hyperventilate.

It’s then I see him sitting on the chair in the corner, legs splayed and his arms behind his head, watching me with all the casualness in the world.

The casualness of his stance and the calm expression on his face make it hard to immediately start screaming, and we just stare at each other, my breath heavy in the silent room.

How strange that he doesn’t feel the need to explain himself.

I’ve always over -explained, profusely apologizing anytime I did anything that might make someone uncomfortable.

It’s a compulsion I’ve never been able to beat back.

But Noah? He just sits there, laid back as can be, watching me and not saying a word.

“What—what are you doing in here?”

“You said you wanted to talk to me, did you not?”

That was true, but hadn’t actually believed anyone would show up so I hadn’t thought about what I wanted to say.

“Can I see Bo?” I ask, pulling the blanket into my lap to give me something to do with my hands.

They’ve started shaking slightly from…fear?

Not exactly. Maybe nerves. He’s intimidating, to say the least. He had spit on me the last time I’d seen him, and who knows what would happen next if provoked.

“Not right now,” he responds, tilting his head to watch me nervously pulling at a thread.

“How long are you going to keep us,” I ask, my voice quieter than it should be. I should be furious, but the emotion is hard for me to hold onto for long periods of time. Exhaustion has always melted away my anger in no time flat. A deep character flaw.

“That depends entirely on your husband,” he says, eyes burning into me, and I peek up at his face, noting the way his hand fists where it rests behind his head.

“You hate him,” I say. “I just can’t figure out why.”

Eyes fixated on mine, Noah leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees. The movement causes a slow, rolling flex of the muscles in his arms, the tilt of his head feels like that of a predator.

“I’m aware that you think of yourself as innocent in all this, but the fact is that your husband took something very precious from me. From my family. I’ve been asking myself if it makes any difference if you weren’t aware of what he did,” he says, eyes narrowing as he watches my reaction.

It feels like a test. Every moment I’ve been near Noah feels that way. His eyes calculate every facial movement, every word, tone. Compiling everything in such a way that I keep failing, keep making him more and more angry with me.

“You…you know he’s just a business owner. Did you lose money?” When he shakes his head, I bite the inside of my mouth. “I’m ju st trying to understand. That’s the only way I know of that he could have stolen something from you.”

“Do you believe that? Or have you turned a blind eye to him because it’s easier for you?”

I’m shaking my head absentmindedly as I ponder that question.

Eric was always attentive, always soft with me. Calling me angel. Building me the house of my dreams. He’d provided me with a soft life, soft love. Soft touches. There’s no hardness in him.

Some of his associates don’t share that humbleness. Some of them come to dinner from time to time and always mess up the aura of the house for a few days after they leave.

John Bundy’d been the worst. His energy had been dark .

“I don’t…some people he works with maybe? I don’t know, he doesn’t share very much with me. I’m sorry,” I add when my answer doesn’t seem to please him.

What am I apologizing for? I don’t know, and I almost apologize again for doing it.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if you don’t know much about his dealings. He’s really shoved you as far away from everything as he can, hasn’t he? That way he can play all day without his foolish wife having any idea, as long as he shows up after so you can feed him a nice meal, huh?”

It stings, and I don’t know why. His suggestion that I’m an idiot— a blind idiot. That I’ve been made a fool by my husband, just playing the role of silly housewife while he…does whatever Noah thinks he has.

My brow furrows. “I’ve known Eric a long time. I think I know who he really is. If your game is to turn me against him, it’s not going to happen. He’s a good man,” I say, lifting my chin. “And I love him.”

Defiance doesn’t come naturally to me, and my heart is absolutely pounding in my chest at needing to stand up to Noah. But I just can’t bring myself to turn on Eric to appease the man in front of me. My kidnapper.

Noah appraises me, and I find what looks like amusement in his eyes. He stands, and I gulp, watching warily as his large form stalks over to the bed. He places his fisted hands to either side of me, bending forward so that our faces are just inches apart.

My breath stills, and my eyes squeeze shut, preparing to be humiliated in some new way.

“Look at me,” his low voice rumbles through me and my jaw clenches. My eyes blink open, tilting up to where his face stares down at mine.

For a moment, I think he’s about to kiss me.

He shifts, and I feel his stubble brush against my jaw, along to my ear and my skin heats. What is he doing? My hands clench on the blanket, bracing myself to at least try and push him away.

Warm breath winds along my ear, and I feel him smile. “I can’t figure out if you’re the angel he calls you, or just another monster pretending to be innocent.”

My heart sinks. No matter what I say, he doesn’t believe me.

“I’m neither,” I respond. Convincing him is pointless. He’ll form his own opinion in due time, and nothing I say will affect his decision. “But I want to see Bo.”

He laughs in my ear, pulling away so that I can see his whole face again. “I’m not sure you do.”

“Of course I do,” I snap, irritation finally entering my voice. He just gets under my skin so easily. “He’s my best friend and is being held somewhere in this…house. And by someone who took advantage of him no less.”

He raises an eyebrow, ignoring my tone. “I can assure you he’s being taken care of.

We aren’t the bad guys, despite what you might think.

” I freeze as his eyes creep down from mine and raze over my form.

I had nothing to wear but these dresses, and it wasn’t exactly covering much.

“But I guess it won’t hurt to give you a little peace of mind. ”

He smirks, reaching back with one arm and grabbing his phone from his back pocket and entering his password. I watch as he presses a few buttons and then turns the screen to show me.

It’s a live camera feed of a room that looks just like mine.

Great, so the place is definitely bugged.

Except in this room there are two bodies in the bed.

I can make out the unruly hair of Bo against the pillow.

There’s a man behind him, arm thrown over Bo’s waist as if to pull him as close as possible to his chest. Green hair gives Jesse away, and he moves in his sleep to nuzzle against the back of Bo’s ear.

They look comfortable. Bo’s face is peaceful, like he’s been held by Jesse a hundred times in his sleep. My eyes widen at the scene, at the idea that he’s already given into them. The people who stole us, who took us away from Eric and from our entire lives.

“See? I’ll say Jesse’s become very attached to your friend. Bo doesn’t seem to mind,” he says, tucking his phone away.

It stings, I realize, when that image burns into my head. Part of me is relieved to see Bo’s okay, but there’s a little rift of betrayal.

Or maybe jealousy.

“It doesn’t change anything. You’ve still kidnapped us. He’s taking advantage of Bo. Obviously we can’t say no,” I start, until my words ignite something in his eyes.

“Oh? Is that the case,” he says, his eyes falling to my lips. He moves forward until I’m forced backward into the pillow. My chest heaves as he crawls over top of me. “I wonder what you would let me get away with by pretending you want to deny me?”

My heart races as his lips brush mine, an unfamiliar whoosh in my stomach.

“Luckily for you I’d rather die than touch someone who willingly let Eric Seaborn inside them,” he hisses into my ear and I jolt. My eyes meet his and see nothing but disgust. I curl in on myself as he pushes off the bed, walks out the door and slides the lock back into place.