Page 37

ZOEY

T he door clicks shut behind me, and my stomach twists when I take in my surroundings.

The room is massive but feels claustrophobic, like the walls are pressing in despite the sheer size of the space.

Eugene’s presence stains everything. His sick, twisted ego seeps into every inch of the mismatched furniture, cluttered shelves, and the massive bed in the center draped in dark sheets.

Random objects litter the surfaces, like a thrift store exploded in here, but no one bothered to clean up the mess.

On instinct, I glance toward the windows. They’re barred. Of course.

“This is where you’ll live now,” Eugene says with a smugness that makes my skin crawl. It’s almost as though he’s convinced himself he’s offering me some kind of prize.

“I’d rather go back to my cell.”

Eugene clicks his tongue and shakes his head like I’m some unruly child.

“You’ll get used to it.” He strolls to the door and flips the lock with an audible click.

“The door and windows will stay locked, so I guess it’ll be like your cell, but with a better view.

You should be comfortable.” He looks over at me and I roll my eyes.

“No running off again. In the meantime, you’ll learn to love me. Or at the very least, respect me.”

Love him? My stomach turns. I force my face blank and swallow back the bile clawing its way up my throat. “Right. And pigs will fly.”

His arm swings out, and the back of his hand connects with my cheek. A resounding smack fills the air. My hand reaches up to cup my cheek.

I’m silent, stunned, and filled with horror, yet he strolls over to one of the two closets like nothing happened. He throws open the door with a dramatic flair. “This one’s for you.”

Rows of clothes hang neatly inside. Dresses, jeans, sweaters. Every type imaginable. More options than I’ve had in years. I glance down at the same outfit I’ve been wearing for weeks, then back at the closet.

Beneath the hanging clothes, I see shoes, bags, and other accessories arranged like some kind of dystopian department store.

It’s all wrong. Disgust curls in my gut. “What the hell is this?”

“Your wardrobe.” He gestures at the closet like he’s unveiling some grand masterpiece. “Take your pick. Anything you want.”

I stay rooted in place. “I don’t want anything from you.”

His jaw tightens, and he shuts the closet door with a sharp click. His gaze rakes over me before stopping at my brushed hair and clean white fleece jacket. “Avery let you shower. Even gave you clothing that you clearly have no problem wearing.”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

His nostrils flare, and he steps closer. “It is. He had no business messing with what’s mine.” My skin prickles when he leans in and sniffs my hair like some kind of deranged animal. His face twists in disgust. “His scent is all over you. ”

“I used soap, not his cologne,” I snap back.

His fingers twitch like he’s debating grabbing me, and I flinch at the memory of his hand on my face. “From now on, you’ll use my bathroom. My things.”

I scoff. “Not happening.”

His expression hardens. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

A dangerous silence stretches between us before his patience snaps. His hand clamps around my arm, and he yanks me toward the en suite bathroom. “You don’t have a choice.”

I stumble, but dig my heels into the floor. He’s stronger, but I won’t make this easy. Still, he yanks me into the bathroom.

The room is sterile. It’s too clean for someone like him. White tile, a large shower stall, and a single sink with a cracked mirror decorate the room, but what draws my attention most is the door handle. “There’s no lock.”

“You don’t need one.”

Rage bubbles in my chest, and I spin around to face him. “The fuck I don’t. The only way I’m using this bathroom is if I’m unconscious.”

“That can be arranged.”

I don’t think. Don’t react. I slam my elbow into his ribs and jerk away. He reaches out and grabs me again, this time his grip bruising. “Let me go.”

“Don’t you get it? The more you resist, the more I’m going to tighten the leash and break you. You choose how this is going to go.”

Before I can throw another jab, the door to the bedroom flies open, and a small blur of blue-gray barrels through. A low, warning growl fills the air.

Eugene jerks his head around as Lola appears by his feet, her teeth bared, a sound rumbling from deep in her throat .

Eugene’s face twists in fury. “What the…you’re my dog. You betray me too? Get this filthy mutt out of here.”

Before I realize what he’s about the do, his foot swings back and I throw myself between them, with my arms outstretched. Lola pressing against my leg, her little body vibrating with her fierce growl.

Eugene pauses. I meet his gaze head-on. “Don’t touch her.”

His face shifts, then he laughs in a low, mocking sound. “Always trying to save others when you can never even save yourself.”

I grit my teeth, but I don’t move, and Lola doesn’t stop growling. Her medium-sized but fierce body presses against me, ready to defend.

Eugene’s smirk lingers, even when he tilts his head, considering me.

“You’ve got a bad habit of picking lost causes, little lamb.

Maybe that’s why you’re drawn to those three locked up downstairs.

” He takes a step back, but it doesn’t feel like a victory.

“This is why you need me. You throw yourself in front of danger, but you never think about what happens next.”

I don’t move, and I’m not going to until he leaves this room.

His gaze flicks to the closet again, and a new kind of cruel amusement enters his eyes. “Speaking of what happens next, pick something to wear.”

I still don’t move.

His smile vanishes. “Either you do it, or I dress you myself, and I don’t think you want that. At least, not yet.”

My fingers curl into fists and I lower my arms. “Only if you leave the room.”

For a moment, he looks as though he wants to argue. Then he says, “I’ll lock the door behind me.”

“What type of clothing should I wear?”