Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
A mechanism whirs, and the cage lowers, but I still don’t open my eyes, not even when it gently touches down.
His scent wafts over my face as he moves closer. “How are you feeling? There’s water for you if you need it.”
I step back into the middle of the cage as if that will protect me from him. My foot hits a water bottle I didn’t notice before. I stoop to pick it up and sip it slowly, washing the dry feeling out of my mouth.
“Do you need anything else?”
I shake my head and recap the bottle and set it down, still half filled. “Is this how it starts?”
He cocks his head to the side.
“The torture before the murdering. Do you like to put your victims in a cage?”
“No, just you.” He doesn’t smirk, but his smug reply still rankles. “Like this dungeon that I had built for you.”
I had liked that Rex did things for me and me alone. A part of me had thought his obsession was romantic.
But I had also believed there was some goodness in him, something that could redeem him. Not anymore.
“Escalation,” I say to the cage ceiling. “Many killers start out as Peeping Toms. But voyeurism provides less of a thrill, and they need more. They start to stalk their victims. Collect trophies. And finally. . .” I stop quoting my criminal behavior textbook and give Rex a hollow look. “Well, you know.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Inara.” His tone is patient, almost condescending.
“That’s good to know, I guess.” The sarcasm is satisfying, so I lean in. “Although if you’re lying, I’ll take Paisanos as my last meal. At least I know it goes well with whatever you’re drugging me with.”
“I’m not lying. I’ve done a lot of things, but I haven’t lied to you. I’ve told you everything. No one knows me better than you.”
Oh, how I had reveled in knowing that knowledge. I was proud of the way I peeled his layers apart until I realized he’s a psychopath all the way down. “Lucky me. Is this my reward? A complimentary stay in a cage at Chez Crazy?”
A muscle jerks in his sculpted cheek. “Little bird—”
“No.” I hold up a hand. “You don’t get to call me that. Especially not when I’m locked in here.” I yank on the bars for emphasis.
“I know you’re upset.”
“Upset doesn’t begin to cover it,” I cry. I snatch up the water bottle and pitch it at his head, but it only hits the bars and rolls back to my feet. “You shouldn’t have done this. Are you insane?”
“You can hate me.” He stands strong, his face inscrutable. He looks like a statue of a man, a general facing down the enemy on the battlefield.
I still feel everything for him, even the things I don’t want to feel. Conflicting emotions I never thought I was capable of. I want to cup his cheeks and kiss him. I want to muss his hair. I want to thump his chest and strangle him. “I trusted you. And you did this.”
“But your safety is my priority. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.” First, I let him flog me, and then I let him hold me. I thought I could be careful, but I let him in. I let myself sink into his darkness. I hoped he could be my refuge from the world and the psychic forces that buffeted me. When we were in the cave with the letters, I tasted BK’s evil, and it coated me like a poisonous film. I wanted to turn to Rex for comfort, but he’s given into his darkness, and I’ll never have that again.
It hurts so much that I want to howl.
“You know what? A part of me is glad you did this. I thought it would hurt to leave you. Now I can’t wait to see the last of you. So thanks for making it easy.” I mean for my words to hurt, cruel as a knife between the ribs. I watch his face closely and don’t miss his flinch. But with it, I feel an echoing pain in my own chest.
I pick up the water bottle and thrust it through the bars, throwing it at his head. He catches it easily.
I press my face against the bars and remind myself that he’s here to gloat. To prove his mastery over me. The thought strangles and kills any empathy I feel for him. “Now I know the truth. I’m just a possession to you. A trophy you can put on a shelf. I was fooling myself that you could ever see me as more.”
He shakes his head, but I don’t let him interject.
“You’re like all the other billionaires who inherited Mommy and Daddy’s money. But guess what, Rex? You want a trophy wife? You can have any socialite you want. They’d be happy to spend your money and look good on your arm.”