Page 11

TEN

Inaya

There’s something different about his eyes. I can’t quite place it, nor can I get close enough to see it since he’s cuffed me back to the damn wall.

After his shower, he uncuffed me and pushed me into the bathroom like I’m dirty. I’d groomed and left feeling somewhat refreshed, although I wasn’t too jazzed about the four small burn marks the stun gun left behind. The feeling of the volts going through me was something I can’t describe after, but it felt like my body had shut down when he did it. Twice.

His past was a definite hot topic that pulled the quiet beast out of the stoic assassin. The knife didn’t leave much of a mark, just a scratch. While it sucked, I’d take being shocked over being left in the ocean; it’s a much faster recovery.

I just want to go home, wherever that may be. Accepting that it won’t happen was the hard part. I already knew I was in the presence of a killer, but the longer I’m here the more it sinks in. I preferred to check out like I have been. The unfortunate side effect of that was that my sexual fascination had somehow peaked.

I didn’t know if it’s just him or the fact that he was my last chance to have sex before I died. It was a dangerous fascination; one he didn’t seem to return, but he looked damn good for a crazy killer. No, he looked damn good for a regular man. His naked body on display was tempting as he slept. Dante appeared to be damn near human in his sleep. I was surprised to wake up next to him, loving the warmth he provided.

It gave me space to lie to myself. For a brief moment, I wondered how it’d be if we were regular people in a relationship, waking up after a night of making love. Anything to escape my reality. It was just a shame since he was not a person. I pushed away all thoughts as I left the restroom.

He was on the other side of the door, with his arms folded and his jaw still ticking with irritation. I thought he was completely void of emotions, but the fire that I hadn’t seen since meeting him is still present from yesterday.

He cuffed me again and reattached me to the wall. I had no idea that finding out his name would piss him off royally. Once I saw it, my head filled in the little that I knew. I thought he simply worked for my dad for as long as I can remember, but it’s apparent that he kills for him. I’d just like to know what went wrong. He was the only person my dad talked about a lot, yet I never met. If anything, I thought he’d just shrug and tell me what Father did since I’m dying anyway.

Instead, he’s simmering, and I’m not sure what I did exactly. Yeah, I snooped, but I feel like it’s deeper than that. I wanted to apologize, then I asked myself what the fuck was I thinking. He’s done a lot more to me than snoop. We haven’t spoken for hours, which is normal, except the robot now looks like a caged animal; agitated and restless. Whatever it is can’t be good.

My nose starts to itch and my instinct to scratch it is thwarted by my cuffs. As my frustration rises, I think about thrashing against the restraints, but I’m surprised to find that I don’t have to move. He bends in front of me and uses his forefinger to scratch my nose. I feel relief and fear riding in like a double-edged sword. Is this my last rite? On the surface, scratching my nose isn’t a big deal, but it’s a small miracle where he’s concerned. I know for a fact that he doesn’t give a fuck about my comfort. He’s the type to find a way to keep making it itch.

“Thank you,” I say, but he just grunts. That’s still more acknowledgement than usual. Now may be the best time to ask him questions. “Dante?”

His eyes snap to mine, reminding me of the tension it caused yesterday.

“You don’t seem to like your name, what should I call you? Reaper?”

“I never named myself that bullshit,” he nearly growls. The gruffness vastly contrasts with the flat, automatic way he spoke prior to me learning his name.

“Hugo, then?” I offer his alias as a middle ground. He sighs, and I can’t ignore that he smells wonderful.

“I’d prefer for you to shut up, Metiche . But if you must call me something, Dante is fine.”

“Okay, Dante,” I test out. “I know I’m probably the most comfortable a hostage waiting to die could be... I mean, you feed me, and you don’t rape me, but I could really use a drink right now. Honestly, so can you."

He stands without giving me any indication that he's heard me or plans to fulfill my request. Well, at least he hasn't threatened to kill me since I've been awake, so that's an improvement. Minutes later, he returns with a bottle and two glasses. It's a brown liquor, but I can't see what kind. I don't care. I'd drink gasoline at this point.

Dante uncuffs one of my hands and presses the cool glass into my grip, pouring a shot into it.

That was easy. Too easy? What if this is how he kills me?

Dante takes the shot from me and drinks it. Then gives me the empty glass again to repeat the process. I take a sip, and it burns, but I'd rather feel this than let the numbness consume me.

I'm on drink number three and feeling loose when my curiosity strikes again. The information may not go beyond this bungalow, but this is my only chance to interview a killer.

"Dante?" His name still incites him, but he shows no sign of that outside of a flash in his eyes. "Can I ask you some questions?"

He shrugs and takes another sip of his drink. I'll take that as a yes.

"Why don't you have tattoos?"

"Makes me harder to identify."

I quirk my eyebrows. "Right, makes sense. Is killing fun?"

"To some. It's just a part of my mission. My adrenaline spikes, but I don't get pleasure from it."

"Then why do it?"

"Because I can. It's what I was raised to do."

"By whom?"

Getting up, he doesn't answer my question. Now looks like a good time to stop asking questions. He's making sandwiches, and I take the time to watch how his body moves. It's like art in motion. Each movement floats into the other, making everything he does look effortless. He's wearing nothing but swim trunks, which gives me unobstructed views of his sinewy muscles. Why is someone as dangerous as him capable of getting me hot in the most inconvenient situation of my life? His hair is dry now and his waves are messy and wild, but it adds to his attractiveness. This is some bullshit. He does the opposite of sexually encouraging me, yet I’d give it up even with knowing his plan. I’ve definitely lost my damn mind.

Dante gives me a plate and we eat in silence. Even the way he chews is sexy, but that’s none of my business. I need to do something about my morbid curiosity since he’s not going to tell me all his secrets. I’m dying to know how he got to this point.

I keep it to myself as I finish what I think is dinner. Time melts together when being held hostage. The next drink takes me from loose to plain drunk. I bend my legs because they are falling asleep from being straight. It’s not easy sitting on a wooden floor all day. I’m not sitting like a lady, but I don’t give a shit. My reputation is the least of my worries. He still sits across from me, but I’m facing his profile as he sharpens his knife. It’s another activity that shouldn’t be arousing, but the way he’s gripping the knife has his veins bulging in his forearm and each stroke makes his arm muscle twitch.

My insights have been as unfiltered as they can get around someone like Dante, but alcohol provides that extra layer of comfort.

“Dante?”

He sighs like he’s already tired of me using his name. His chocolate eyes turn in my direction and his eyes drop briefly to my partially opened legs before reconnecting with my eyes. “About last night, you could have if you wanted, you know.”

“Could have what?”

“Gotten some. You’re going to kill me anyway. Might as well.”

“Rape you?”

I snort. “No. I’d let you. Go ahead.”

“Interesting invitation,” he responds, sardonic as hell, and he turns to finish what he was doing.

“It’s permission.” I open my legs wider to show him there’s nothing under the shirt. “You can do anything you want.”

He puts down his knife and crawls over to me, and I watch his muscles flex and release with each movement. Dante’s fingers slide across my skin when he pushes my legs farther apart and sits on his haunches between them. Holding my eye contact, he removes the glass from my hand and places it on the floor. I know my pulse beats erratically under his thumb when he grabs my free wrist. The handcuff clinks around my skin, and his chest is damn near in my face. Lowering himself back down, he leans until our noses are inches apart.

“Anything?” he asks.

“I doubt I have any hard nos this close to death,” I confirm.

A smile plays on his lips, then duct tape covers my mouth. I should have known that he wouldn’t play fair.

“Much better,” he admits. His eyes are serious when he roughly grabs my chin. “Some of the things I don’t accept are high pussy, drunk pussy, or might-as-well pussy. My dick only gets hard for women who want me without ulterior motivations. Encouragement from substances or other people is my hard no. I like the kind who gets wet for no other reason than wanting me so much her pussy drips just from the thought of taking my dick.”

Yes, please. My nipples tighten, but he ignores how they're visible through my shirt, and my center pulses with unfulfilled desire. It’s crazy to be attracted to my tormentor, but I’m an aroused mess who’s on the floor and handcuffed to the wall. There’s a story around his rejection; his examples were too specific, but I’m too drunk to analyze it.

If my mouth wasn’t taped, I’d tell him I could be that person. I am that person. He didn’t need to go through all this to get to my dad. He could have seduced all the information he needed out of me. Not that I have much. My brain must be broken, and the alcohol doesn’t help. I’m still thinking of all the ways he can have me right now. Even so, I nod my understanding.

He may have corrected me in his head, but all I heard was, “Try again sober.”

Dante moves away from me and folds back the covers. Every morning, he makes the bed without fail and then does his training outside. He sticks to his routine, never straying. After, he comes and unhooks me from the wall to guide me over and makes me lie down on my side. He extinguishes the light, then joins me under the sheets. I expect him to go to sleep on the other side as usual, but he pulls my back to his chest. One of his arms goes around my waist and the other hand grips my throat.

“Go to sleep and sober up. Don’t try anything remotely sexual. My grip on your neck will tighten until you struggle to breathe.”

I’m never drinking again, because even that sounds sexy. I nod again since I cannot speak. When his body relaxes a little, I know he’s dozing off, but I’m not stupid. He’d awaken immediately to go through with his promise. As if aware of my thoughts, his hand flexes on my throat as he falls asleep.