Page 34 of Unlocking Ruin

He tips his head back and laughs darkly.

“Glad I can be your entertainment.” I roll my eyes, gripping the bottle tighter. “Does that mean I get to live a little longer?”

“What is this obsession with me killing you? If you want me to choke you, just ask.”

“And you still wonder why I don’t trust you.”

“All I’ve ever done is save you.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Saved,” he argues in a slightly annoyed tone. “You were hours away from the real monsters getting their hands on you.” He crosses his legs, but he’s starting to look stiff again.

I reach for the Advil, twisting off the cap to find the safety seal unbroken. I swallow two pills and gulp half the water. The air is stale, as if the room’s barely been lived in, but the furniture screams money—every piece curated. I’m scared to breathe in case I disturb something.

Grey wallpaper covers the walls. Warm golden light glows from gold-tinted lamps. The bedding is grey velvet. There are three doors—probably a bathroom, a closet, and maybe an escape route. No personal art, nothing to hint at who he is or what he loves, except for gold, grey, and kidnapping.

“Do you like it?”

I flinch. No one has ever asked me if I like the room I’m in. My mom wasn’t the type to bond and decorate.

“Does it matter?” I bite out as I swallow down the memory, but I can’t stomach it fast enough. He sees it, and his eyes bounce back and forth as he tries to understand my response.

He edges forward, uncrossing his legs and spreading them wide. He’s wearing combat pants and boots again, his shirt untucked, his posture loose—like a lion lounging in his domain, certain no one would dare to challenge him.

“Yes. I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m your prisoner.”

“Prisoner?” he repeats, as if the word leaves a sour taste. “Would you like me to cuff you? Tie you down?”

“Sicko.”

“You know what I think, Rylan?” he asks softly. His body shifts gracefully as he leans closer. “I think you haven’t stopped thinking about me since that night in the library.”

“Monsters do tend to pop up in nightmares,” I chide as I set the Advil bottle on the table. If I have to use it to throw something at his head again, I will.

Steepling his hands, he rests his elbows on his thighs as the light from the window bathes his body. Staring me down, he says, “You talk about me when you sleep.”

“Yet again you’re describing a nightmare.” Grabbing my hair, I twist it into a low bun. A small draft of air floats over the nape of my neck, but it’s not enough to cool me down. “This conversation is getting boring.”

A single eyebrow arches. “Do you moan in nightmares?”

Heat floods my face. “Of course a man like you would confuse a whimper of terror with an orgasm.”

“Orgasm?” he repeats.

Reaching back, I untwist my hair, unable to keep my trembling hands still. Now I try to cover my reddened face.

“So that’s what it was. Tell me exactly what I was doing to you, Rylan.” He grins with sadistic amusement.

I roll my eyes.

He sits back, relaxed, sinking into the shadows again. “I think you knew I was hunting you. You hoped for it.”

“As one hopes for a heart attack,” I dryly rebuke. I drop the bedding and shove it off my lap.

“Some of us need our hearts examined, cared for,” he mutters under his breath. “I think you needed to know one person cared enough to chase you down.”