With a huff I turn toward the bed and find a stunning golden dress shimmering under the low light that wasn’t there before. It’s strappy and fitted, and way too formal to be wearing to dinner with my captor. Even though I despise him and his fucking rules, I might have to act as if I’m playing along for a bit or I’m never going to be able to get out of here. From what I can see, he’s my only way off this island.
Knowing I’m running out of time before he barges in here, I strip off my T-shirt and jeans and slip on the delicate cocktail dress, zipping it up at the side. It fits like a glove, hugging my hips and tits like it was made to my exact measurements. I cringe. That thought isn’t unsettling at all!
Trying to wake up from the fog that’s consuming my brain, I move into the bathroom and wash my face. I reach for the makeup drawer, anything to make me feel slightly normal and in control of what I can. I paint my face, not missing the fact that he has supplied me with every one of the items I carry in my own makeup bag, finishing with peach lips and dark lashes. Brushing my hair, I fix it into a low sleek ponytail. The reflection staring back at me resembles the girl I know, even if I don’t feel like her on the inside right now.
At the sound of my bedroom door sliding open, I turn, my heart leaping into my throat, a cold sweat prickling my skin. Orlando stands behind me in a navy-blue dinner suit, with bow tie and all. The sight of him all dressed up almost steals my breath away. I might hate him, but the man is drop-dead gorgeous. My confused brain must think it’s Romeo, the two of them look so damn alike. Because the way my heart is fluttering right now, like thousands of tiny butterflies just took flight inside my body, isn’t normal when I know how dangerous this man is.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, like he can’t believe it. He moves into the room, closing the gap between us, smiling at me in the same way Romeo does when he’s trying to be charming.
My cheeks flush with heat—actually, scrap that, my whole body feels like there is a warm glow radiating off it. I don’t know what to say back, so I just stare at him, my eyes feeling as wide as saucers. My body is out of control around him, an erratic energy swirling between us. He can’t say shit like that to me, especially after how he treated me just now, being all bossy and controlling.
With the charming smile still on his face, he holds out his hand for me to take. “Things got out of hand earlier. Let’s try this again, treasure. Can you be a good girl for me?”
I run my eyes over him cautiously, assessing him like he’s a snake about to strike. But he doesn’t bite. In fact, I think this is his way of extending the olive branch. Patiently he keeps his hand outstretched for me to take. His eyes blaze with heat and his posture is tight. It’s damn obvious that being the one to make amends is hard for him. I can see he’s trying to contain his frustration toward me. I seem to have that effect on all the men in my life, and I feel a small ping of pride that I can annoy him as well. Maybe he shouldn’t have locked me up, then I wouldn’t be this thorn in his side.
Trying to push past the panic he stirs in me, I blink back at him.Get your shit together, Sloane, play the game, just make sure you win. With a heavy sigh and my heart kicking up a beat in my chest, I place my hand in his. His touch is electric, unnerving, unraveling. A million butterflies take off in my chest, their frantic wings creating an intense, confused energy that makes my heart race even more. And for a second, I feel like I’m trapped in a Disney movie with little birds collecting the train of my dress, glitter twinkling all around and romantic music playing. Then I make the mistake of meeting his intense eyes with mine and I’m slapped back to reality. What the fuck is this?
With our bodies way closer than I want them to be, he guides me through the house and down to the dining room. The silence between us is heavy, but strangely, not uncomfortable. Like the gentleman we both know he isn’t, he pulls out my chair for me. As I move to take my seat, he stops me with a firm hand to my side. He dips his head to my neck and inhales, his fingers lightly brushing aside my hair as he seems to get lost in the moment. Tenderly, like I’m someone to him and I want his hands on me. But his eyes meet with mine, a warmth there I don’t understand.
I gape back at him, frozen to the spot and not sure if I should knee him in the junk for even daring to touch me like he is. Quickly I step back from him, the intimacy of the moment catching me off guard and throwing my head into a tailspin.
“Take a seat,” he instructs, appearing to catch himself as well. He waits until I do.
With my heart fluttering stupidly, I tentatively sit down, brushing the extra fabric of my dress to the side. How can a man I despise so terribly make me feel giddy? I suck in a breath, trying to compose myself. I can’t get swept up in whatever this is. I won’t.
Pleased I’m doing as I’m told, he moves down to the other side of the table to take his own chair. “Are you feeling less violent after your sleep?” he asks, a more playful edge to his tone as if he’s trying to make friends with me and my violent outburst this morning is some joke. But I know it’s more than that, he wants me to know he was watching me, even when I’m alone in that room. That whole thing this afternoon was a test. One I failed terribly.
I snap my attention back to him, a bitchy-as-hell look on my face. “You know how creepy it is that you’re spying on me, right?”
His brow knits together, unimpressed by my attitude toward him. “It’s not creepy when I’m doing it to keep you safe.”
“You sound like Onyx,” I mutter, a sickness washing over me when I think about him. I have been missing for a good sixteen hours. All of them must be frantic. I’m fucking frantic, and all I want to do is see the controlling assholes again. I would stay safely locked up in that safe house with the three of them, no questions asked, if I could just see their faces. My chest aches at the thought because who knows if I will ever see any of them again.
The same cheery lady as before comes wheeling a trolley into the room. She grins sweetly at me, and I smile back. She moves down to Orlando’s end of the table first and serves his food. All he gives her is a nod. Then she places a plate in front of me and sets the table with a knife and fork. “Enjoy your meal,” she says brightly.
“Thank you,” I say back, not giving two shits that I’m breaking his stupid rule. It’s just rude not to thank her for my meal. Especially one that looks this mouth-wateringly good. It’s a ricotta-and-spinach ravioli, in what looks and smells like a sage brown butter sauce, with a side of heirloom tomato and burrata salad with basil oil. I’m in food heaven, even if I have to eat with the devil himself.
She scurries out of the room with her trolley, and it’s just the two of us again. Silence hangs heavy, and I wonder if the staff heard that screaming match we had earlier. Would they have had guests like me in the house before or am I the first? I have more questions than answers and already know there is no point in asking him any of them.
I taste my dinner and nearly moan out loud it’s so damn delicious. At least the food is amazing. I guess I have to be thankful for small blessings.
Orlando takes a bite of his pasta, his eyes lingering on me the whole time, like he has something to say. “Even Onyx couldn’t protect you this time,” he mutters after swallowing his mouthful, and I can’t tell if it’s a threat or something else. If I had to guess, I would say he is jealous of Onyx, upset I even mentioned the big guy and has been strewing on my comment the whole time we were being served dinner.
I sit up a little straighter, ready for a fight, my fists balling at my sides. “Because you set them up, planted all those bodies for them to have to deal with. He was trying to protect me. Trying to keep the cops at bay and take care of the fucked-up situationyou created,” I snap back, feeling defensive of Onyx. I miss him already and feel completely lost without him by my side. All those times I fought him, and now I would give anything for him to be standing over me. Knowing he had my back and whatever other part of my body he wanted to own.
Orlando’s expression changes, a harshness coming over him that etches lines into his forehead. “I didn’t kill those girls and leave them for you to find. What the fuck kind of monster do you think I am?” he growls, his fist hitting the table.
I flinch, blinking back at him, sure that’s exactly the kind of monster he is, isn’t he? Isn’t that why I’m here, because he was hunting me and leaving me presents?
He stands abruptly, stalking back around to my end of the table, staring me down, his eyes burning with a new kind of fury. “Sloane, I’m not the motherfucker killing those girls,” he roars so loud I jump. My nerves are already on edge. “I saw the situation escalating and knew the boys wouldn’t be able to hold him off anymore, so I got you the fuck out of there. You weren’t going to be his next victim. Not on my watch.” His voice booms off the walls, anger vibrating through him, but it’s not at me. I think it’s over my situation. He’s angryforme.
I stare up at him, my heart in my throat. Something in his hostility makes me believe him; he cares about me. He really thinks he was protecting me. Confusion swirls through my head so hard I feel dizzy. “If it wasn’t you, who was after me?”
His eyes bore into mine, and he thinks on it for a beat. “You’re safe now,” he snaps, seeming to regain his composure.
I push my chair back, standing so he’s not towering over me anymore, well, not as much anyway. “Safe from whom?” I snip back. He knows what I’m implying. He might have saved me from that threat, but I’m not safe with him. He’s a dangerous man, we both know what he tried to do to me. He couldn’t have changed all that much in nine years.
“That isn’t for you to worry your pretty little head about. I’m taking care of the situation, because your three boyfriends and four brothers couldn’t.”
