Page 25 of Prey

“The only thing I’m thinking about is how to murder you all in your sleep.”

“Sure,” Theon drawls. “Murder. That’s definitely what’s on your mind.”

“Fuck off,” I call over my shoulder, not bothering to look back.

“Remember—counterclockwise!” Darius shouts as I reach the hallway. “More nerve endings that way!”

“That’s a myth,” Ezra protests.

“It’s not a myth, it’s science?—”

Their argument fades as I put distance between us. My hands shake slightly as I head for my quarters. Not from anger.

From knowing they’re right.

9

JENNA

Time doesn’t exist in concrete boxes. No windows, no clock, no way to track the sun’s movement across a sky I can’t see. The lights never change—steady, sterile, bright enough to keep me from real rest and constant enough that I lose track of whether it’s day or night. Could be three days. Could be a week.

The lock mechanism clicks. I don’t move from my position on the cot, but every muscle coils tight. He enters in black tactical pants, a fitted shirt, that bone mask covering everything below his eyes. The tray in his hands holds the usual food, protein, vegetables, water. Balanced nutrition to keep hisacquisitionhealthy.

He sets it on the small table bolted to the wall, already turning to leave. Same routine every time. No words, minimal eye contact, like I’m livestock he’s maintaining.

“The mask stays on even during feeding time?” I ask. “Must get uncomfortable.”

He pauses at the door but doesn’t turn.

“Or maybe you like it.” I swing my legs off the cot, bare feet hitting cold concrete. “The distance it creates. Makes all this easier, doesn’t it? Not having me see you as a person.”

His shoulders tense. Still facing away.

“That’s what the mask is really for, isn’t it?” I stand, taking one step closer. “Not intimidation, but avoidance. Avoiding having to acknowledge what you’re doing.”

“Eat your food.” His voice comes out rougher through the mask’s filter.

“Why?” I take another step. “So I stay pretty for whatever buyer you’ve lined up? Or is there even a buyer?”

He turns then, those ice-blue eyes locked on mine. “There’s always a buyer.”

“But not for me.” I’ve seen how he watches when he thinks I’m sleeping. How his hands clench when he sets down the tray. “You’ve been here what—three times today? Is that normal protocol for your acquisitions?”

“You’re counting?” he asks.

“Not much else to do in here.” Another step. He doesn’t retreat. “Besides watching you pretend you’re not watching me.”

Through the slits in his mask, I notice his jaw tighten. “Careful.”

“Of what? You’ve already taken everything. What’s left to threaten?” I tilt my head. “Unless you’re warning yourself.”

The air between us shifts, charged with an electric current. I’m not good at seduction, or manipulation through sexuality. Never learned those particular skills. But with him, I don’t think I need to. The tension already exists, crackling in the space between our bodies.

“I don’t even know your name,” I murmur.

For a moment, I think he won’t answer, that he’ll maintain this clinical distance between captor and captive.

And then he speaks, “Nikolai.”