Rory stares at me, the concentration in his hazel eyes potent and heavy on my skin. Slowly, he holds up the bag swaying from his fingertips.
Am I supposed to know what’s inside it?
Please don’t let it be torture tools.
My mouth won’t move, my body still in fight-or-flight mode.
Undeterred, Rory starts to empty the contents of the paper bag onto the bed.
First comes a sketchbook. Then a watercolor palette, a set of oil paints, a few small canvases, and even an expensive brush set.
My heart batters my ribs. Somehow, I’m even more stunned than I was before. For a few seconds, I’m lost in the maze of what these items mean.
Is Rory telling me that I’m supposed to start painting for the Kings? Now that they know I’m Libertas and the paintings I make sell for millions of dollars, they’ve decided to keep me as their art slave?
My brain races through the possible implications of these supplies as they stare up at me from the duvet, but still…I’m at a complete loss.
Towel wrapped tight around me, I move forward and pick up the canvases.
One by one, my fingers examine every item strewn on the mattress. All the while, Rory’s gaze sears my skin.
The intensity of the moment weighs on me as I face him once again.
He’s giving me that same unflinching gaze from last night…almost as if he refuses to look away from me. Or even blink.
What he’s feeling is a mystery. His emotions seem locked away behind a wall, completely invisible. Alarms ring deep in my chest.
He’s not the same guy from last night. This is a man I should fear.
I tighten my hold on the towel. “Why?” That’s all I can ask.
My captor’s face remains hard and impassive.
Quick enough to be a spasm, he shrugs one shoulder. “I figured you’d need something to do since you’ll be here for a while.”
My heart freezes, then falls.So, they’re keeping me.
But oddly, I don’t feel as terrified as I should. If the Kings are keeping me, and their ferocious reputation is warranted, then at least I’ll stay out of Leo’s hands for a while.
And that’s a great thing.
Attempting to maintain my composure, I straighten my spine and fix my eyes on his despite what it does to the butterflies in my stomach.
“What does your family plan to do with me?”
Rory’s expression becomes cloudy,conflicted,but the hardness in his eyes doesn’t scare me. “Lots of options on the table, but until something’s been decided, you might as well make good use of your time here.” He gestures to the supplies.
A vice grip squeezes my lungs. “You mean they want to make good use of me.”
Rory doesn’t respond. Everything in me wants to retreat to the bathroom and slam the door in his face, but my feet are sealed to the spot.
Frustration and betrayal rear up inside me like a bear about to attack.
After sharing how the De Lucas used my mom and me for all those years, he’s really going to tell me the Kings plan to do the same?
“I won’t do it.” With difficulty, I set my jaw. “I will not paint for the Kings. My days of being used as an art slave are over, okay? I’d rather die than brush another stroke onto a canvas just to make you or your mafia richer. Forget it.”
Rory gives me a blank stare, not a hint of anger. He almost looks confused. His strange, unsettling aura dissipates. “Kiara, all of that is for you.”
