He stiffened, his eyes hardening. “I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s called compassion.”
“Save it for someone who needs it.”
Why did he have to be such an ass? “If it’s so bad, why did you bring me here?”
Something shifted in his eyes. “You know where we are?”
“Of course I do.” She tilted her head toward the wall. “It’s hard to miss that the room is round.”
His voice softened. “You must’ve been scared out of your mind.”
“A little,” she admitted. “It’s my first time inside the house.”
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “Why didn’t you say something? I wouldn’t have left you alone if I’d realized you knew you were in a spook house.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, repeating his earlier words.
He uttered a cold laugh. “Which watered-down version did they tell you? If you’d known the truth, the whole truth, you wouldn’t say that.”
“You were just a boy.”
He worked his jaw for a moment before scoffing. “You don’t know anything.”
“Then tell me.”
“Fuck,” he said under his breath, and then to himself, “That’s what you get for coming home to people who know you.” Addressing her again, “You have to rest. Try to catch some sleep.”
“You brought me here.” She was playing dirty, using his exhaustion to wear him down. She was sticking her finger into an open cut and twisting it around, but he’d pressed a thumb on her bruises too. “You owe me the truth.”
“If I’d known you knew, I never would’ve left you here.” He added, “Alone. Now go back to sleep.”
“Did it happen here, in this room? Is that why you’re keeping me here?”
He stood abruptly. “Do you think I’m fucking nuts?” Turning slightly so that his profile was hidden from her, he rested his hands on his hips and exhaled through his nose. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. Emotionless. “You haven’t eaten all day. I’ll make you something more appetizing than a supermarket sandwich. Do you like sushi?”
“I’m not eating. Not until you tell me.”
He rubbed a hand over his brow. “Why are you doing this?”
Why indeed? It wasn’t her job to heal him. His suffering wasn’t her responsibility. She shouldn’t worry about his feelings.
When she didn’t reply, he moved to her side and uncuffed her.
She lowered her arms with relief, then winced. Shit, that hurt.
“Sore?” he asked, studying her too closely for her liking.
She looked away. Part of the problem was that she was still in love with the complicated boy. Joss was a man now, and she couldn’t reconcile the man with the boy. Neither could she cut a lifetime’s fixation from her heart in a single day.
She jumped when he touched her arm.
“I said I won’t hurt you, Cle.”
The memory of the previous night flashed through her mind as the warmth of his palm seeped into her skin. In an involuntary response, her body heated. She wanted to push him away and hate him, but she couldn’t help but close her eyes. His touch was innocent, nothing but a massage to alleviate the ache in her muscles and aid the blood flow, but it felt like crossing a line. The man wasn’t the boy. The boy was mysterious, wrapped up in pain and darkness. The man was a threat, his darkness much more dangerous. He was her enemy, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.
She pulled away.
He froze, then dropped his hands to his sides. “I wouldn’t have handcuffed you if it wasn’t necessary.”
It almost sounded like an apology. He stood so close she could hear his breaths as he inhaled and exhaled. She could smell the scent of clean soap on his skin, the same scent of last night.
As if a switch had been flipped, he turned brusque again. “You need to move around to stimulate your blood circulation or your body will become sore.” Walking to the door, he said, “Come.”
The order tightened her throat. He wasn’t going to kill her, not when he still needed her. Right?
“Come, Cle,” he said when she didn’t move.
She sat up reluctantly. “Where are we going?”
“Stop looking at me like that. We’re just going down to the kitchen.”
After a moment, he offered his hand like an olive branch. Not wanting to test his patience, she got up and put her palm in his. She had to choose her fights wisely.
He led her through the door into the dark corridor. Wooden floorboards creaked under her bare feet. The temperature dropped a few degrees, and she couldn’t help but pull back when goosebumps ran over her arms and the hair at the back of her neck stood erect.
He flipped on a light switch and rubbed a thumb over her wrist. The small act shouldn’t have reassured her, but she found comfort in it nevertheless. How warped to feel safe in the clutches of her kidnapper. How twisted to feel a spark under her skin, to imagine intimacy in the touch.