My eyes were glacial, but I kept my tone even. “Thank you.”
He held it out once more, and I slowly reached for it. When it was clear he wasn’t going to take it away, I grasped it between my fingers and brought it to my plate before I began to salivate, and not in a good way.
Suddenly, I closed my eyes, and my breathing turned heavy. A cold sweat swept over my forehead, and I gripped the edge of the island, swallowing hard and letting out a strained, “Bathroom.”
Roam chuckled. “Oh no, honey. You sit here, you eat, then you go do your business before you go back in your cage. That’s what’s happening.”
My head swam as the smell of the eggs became stronger and stronger until I pushed my plate away with a clatter and breathed out a shaky, “I’m not feeling very well.”
“I don’t give a shit. Now, eat.”
Oh no. Here it comes.
Within seconds, the tightness in my throat quadrupled, and my body folded. I covered my mouth with one hand, holding my stomach with the other, and then I was heaving. I knew it was the wrong time, but much to my delight, I gloated in the way Roam’s lip curled as he realized I wasn’t faking it. I stood and rounded the island, rushing toward the closest thing I could think of to vomit in.
The kitchen sink.
I made it just in time to lose what little I had in my stomach into the wide-bottomed kitchen sink, and the sound of my gags along with the splattering noise that seemed to echo through the room was enough to disgust anyone.
“Fucking hell,” muttered Roam, reaching out to turn on the water, letting it run as I continued to breathe shakily and spit the remnants of the bitterness from my mouth.
Sweaty and weak, I reached out for the water using my shaking hands as a cup and bringing the cool water to my mouth. The first few times, I simply rinsed. The next few times, I took the cold water and splashed my face with it, hoping to wash away this awful feeling of helplessness that plagued me.
I was so tired. I just wanted to go home.
“Roam,” I all but pleaded with my head still hanging over the sink. “Please let me go.”
But Roam was not moved. And when his fingers snaked around my arm, tightening on it hard enough to sting, he yanked, forcing me to look at him. Droplets of water trickled down my neck, into my shirt, and onto my chest.
Roam’s furious gaze landed on me. “I would rather kill you than let you free.” My stomach turned, because I heard nothing but honesty in those harsh words. “If I don’t get what I want,” he vowed, “nobody gets what they want.”
And I swallowed hard.
His intensity grew, and the tightness on my arm increased enough to make me wince. “I don’t lose often, but when I do”—he grinned cruelly—“that’s when I set fire to pretty, delicate things and watch them burn until they’re nothing but embers and ash.”
I knew it was only a threat, but he made it sound like a stone-cold fact.
That grin fell and those midnight eyes locked me in place. “When I lose,” he uttered candidly, “I make sure everybody does.”
My heart beat noticeably faster.
I had to make sure I survived this. I had to, even if only to tell Vik he was a thoughtless prick for getting himself involved with this psychopath. If I made it out of this gorgeous but cold-feeling house, I would be doing just that.
And because my survival instincts told me to say the words, I did, albeit feebly. “I’m very hungry.”
It took a moment, but Roam’s expression lost some of its steam, but when it did, I felt like I’d won a small yet significant victory. He released my arm, and my entire body jolted as he passed me and opened the fridge to remove a block of cheese and some bread. And his actions had a hazardous thought blanketing my mind.
How dangerous could this man be if something so simple as hunger could trigger a nurturing response from him?
With a sigh, he worked in silence, and I watched him in silent curiosity as he made two grilled cheese sandwiches, cutting them in half and putting them on a plate before sliding it onto the island.
To show gratitude was easy, and my previous thought spurred on a new one.
Roam did not react well to attitude. He didn’t have a soft heart, so looking for sympathy wasn’t a smart move. But how would he respond to sincere gratefulness?
I still had time to make this situation work for me, to put myself in a better position. All I could do was try.
As Roam moved to pass me, I placed a gentle hand on his arm, and he stilled. I took the opportunity to utter a quietly sincere, “Thank you.”