5. Riley
I domy best to ignore Dante when he comes in to doctor up my wrists, and I keep right on keeping my thoughts to myself as all three guys rotate through giving me a few bathroom breaks throughout the day. Chloe’s out there on her own and I’m stuck here, antsy and agitated, but I’ve got nothing to say to any of them that isn’t a curse word, so I just don’t.
At least, not until the door opens late enough in the day that the light is starting to fade, and it turns out to be Logan.
“You need to eat,” he says flatly, staring at me with those eerie, pale eyes of his.
My first impulse is to tell him to fuck off, but my stomach growls before I can follow through.
Logan’s eyes meet mine at the tell-tale sound, and his face… does something.
I might have called it the barest hint of a smile if it were anyone else, but the expression is already gone before I can decide if I actually saw it or not.
Probably not, since I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have that particular skill.
“I could eat,” I admit, since my stomach already gave me away anyway.
My voice comes out raspy from disuse, and even though I haven’t been thinking about food at all—my stomach twisted into knots since I’m worried like hell about my sister—I’m suddenly ravenous now that he’s brought it up.
Logan gives me a curt nod, then comes over and holds some water to my lips, then uncuffs me from the bed once I’m done drinking.
My legs are shaky, and I’m embarrassed by how much I need to rely on him as he helps me to my feet. But then I’m even more embarrassed when he immediately pulls my wrists in front of me and cuffs my hands together again.
Once again, I stupidly thought his support meant something different than it actually does. But Logan isn’t touching me out of some desire to help me or because he actually cares whether or not I fall over, he just kept his hands on me so I wouldn’t make a break for it before he could restrain me again.
“Asshole,” I mutter as he clicks the cuffs closed and slips the key back into his pocket.
That earns me a sharp look, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t even hurt me for saying it. Instead, he silently leads me out of the room and down the stairs, and the split second of fear from the memories that flood through me when we end up in the kitchen eases almost immediately once I actually look around.
The room is spotless now. No broken things. No blood, or cum, or any signs of struggle. There’s nothing out of place at all. Nothing left to remind me that I shot Maddoc in here.
And fucked him.
My body clenches, remembering anyway, but I ruthlessly shove those memories aside, sucking in the lemony fresh scent of cleaning supplies instead.
An unwelcome surge of gratitude rises up inside me.
“You did this, didn’t you?” I ask, turning to Logan.
Not that he would have cleaned it up for my peace of mind. Hell, if anything, he was probably silently cursing me out for the extra work the whole time. Either that or plotting how to punish me for not falling into line with their plans.
But instead of glaring at me, Logan pans his gaze over the pristine kitchen, finally looking back at me confused. “I did… what?”
“Never mind,” I mumble. It was a stupid question anyway. Of course it was him. There’s no way Logan’s need for order would have let him rest with the state we left the kitchen in. He just doesn’t see having taken care of that so thoroughly as anything special, because to him, it wasn’t.
Maybe he really is a robot… one who’s still staring at me with a quizzical look on his usually expressionless face, like I’m a problem he has to solve.
Or, more likely, a duty he’s been assigned.
I thrust my cuffed hands at him, suddenly exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with how bad my sleep was. “Are you going to take these off so I can get something to eat?”
“No,” Logan says flatly, cocking his head to the side. “That would be imprudent.”
I snort. Imprudent? Who talks like that? But whatever. I’m just here for the food, so I can get my strength back and find a way to help Chloe. If he wants to make it difficult or play some kind of power game by keeping me locked up, I’ll deal with it just like I have with all the other bullshit the Reapers have thrown at me.
Logan’s still staring at me, his bold, dark eyebrows drawn together in the middle.
For a second, I almost think he’s going to say something else, but silence is almost like a religion with him, so of course he doesn’t. Instead, he just shakes his head and leads me over to the same tall stool I sat at when he cooked me breakfast that one time, his long fingers wrapped around my wrist in a surprisingly gentle hold that almost has me considering making a run for it.
I’m not that stupid, though…. and I am that hungry, now that he’s brought it up.
Once I’m seated, he clears his throat. “Do you have any requests?”
I blink in surprise, then hold out my wrists again. “I just made one.”
“I meant about what you’d like me to cook for you,” he says, his voice as flat as ever despite the fact that, this time, I’m almost positive I saw that almost-smile cross his face for a second.
“You’re going to cook for me?”
“Of course,” he says promptly, even though there’s no “of course” about it.
Other than the low-budget meals Chloe would save for me after a shift, he’s the only one who’s ever gone to that kind of trouble for me, and I still don’t know why he even did it the first time, much less why he’d want to now that we all know we’re not on the same side.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” I blurt out.
He stares at me in silence for a moment, and this time there’s definitely no almost-smile. There’s no expression on his face at all.
“We’re not trying to starve you to death,” he finally says. “Maddoc wants you alive and functional. Food is essential to that.”
“Anything you want to make is fine,” I mumble, looking away and willing myself to get a grip. Of course that’s all it is.
I can feel Logan staring at me in silence for another minute, but then he finally moves away, rummaging through the refrigerator and pulling out a bunch of shit that I don’t pay attention to.
As soon as his back is to me, I bring my cuffed hands to my face, scrubbing furiously before my stinging eyes spill over and can give away how stupid I am to keep looking for something that isn’t there and never was. I’ve been on my own forever, not counting Chloe, so I’m not exactly sure why this current bullshit with the Reapers makes me feel even lonelier than I did before I met them.
What I am sure of is that it’s time to clamp down on my unruly emotions and get some answers about the one thing that truly matters here.
“How’s the search for my sister going?” I ask as Logan lays out some vegetables on a cutting board.
He looks up, giving me another of those eerily blank looks of his.
“Have the stitches been bothering you?” he asks, ignoring my question. “You were very… active earlier. Twisting at the waist may have popped a few loose.”
Which means he was watching me thrash around on the bed this morning through the security system.
I lift my chin defiantly. Fucking perv.
“I don’t care about my stitches,” I grit out, ignoring how the bullet wound he closed up for me aches in response to his question. Maybe I did pop a few. “I care about Chloe. You guys are out there looking for her, right?”
His hands fly with practiced precision over the colorful jumble of vegetables he laid out, reducing them to perfect little cubes that he tosses into a prep bowl.
“I’ll check them after you eat,” he says without looking up.
“You’ll check… what? Forget my fucking stitches! Just tell me what’s going on with my sister!”
He turns away, pulling a flat pan out of a cupboard and placing it on the stove. “My stitches were very precise, but if you insist on disrupting them, you might end up with a scar.”
“I. Don’t. Care,” I grit out as he gets out another cutting board and quickly slices up a cooked chicken breast. “What is it you guys want Chloe for?”
He doesn’t answer, just pulls a carton of eggs out of the fridge, then opens another cupboard and plucks out a bunch of little spice jars.
I look away, trying to hold on to anger in the face of the overwhelming hopelessness that threatens to overtake me.
When I first came to the Reapers, it was a last ditch, desperate effort to save my sister. But that’s the problem with “last ditch.” Now that I’ve used up that option, there’s nowhere else to turn.
Especially when I’m not even sure what the Reapers want with her.
Whatever Logan’s doing at the stove starts to smell amazing. I try to ignore it, but I can’t stop my mouth from watering. When he finally brings me a plate of colorful stir fry, my stomach doesn’t just growl again, it practically attacks him.
I refuse to look at Logan’s face to see if he finds that as amusing as he did the first time. If he’s going to ignore my questions about Chloe, I can damn well ignore him right back.
What I can’t ignore is the loaded fork he brings toward my face.
I jerk back, almost tumbling off the stool.
“Oh, fuck no,” I bite out, glaring up at him.
He raises an eyebrow, maddeningly calm. “You need to eat.”
“Then I’ll eat, but no way in hell am I going to sit here and have you feed me like a fucking child.” I hold out my cuffed wrists to him again. “I can do it myself.”
He does that head-cocked-to-the-side thing again that makes me feel like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve.
“I already told you, I’m not taking those off.”
I glare at him, but it has no effect whatsoever.
“Fine,” I say, awkwardly grabbing the fork out of his hand and sending some of the stir fry flying over the countertop. “I still don’t need your help.”
He frowns down at the scattered food, then turns and retrieves a bottle of spray cleaner and a cloth from under the sink.
I ignore him as he cleans up the mess I just made, trying to work out how to actually feed myself without adding to it.
It turns out to be harder than I expected. It’s awkward as hell to scoop the unfairly delicious food onto the fork with my hands locked together like this, and even when I do, getting it to my mouth without half the forkful falling off on the way is almost impossible.
“Goddammit,” I finally mutter, letting the fork fall from my grip with a clatter. “Fine. Go for it. Fucking humiliate me, Logan.”
He stares at me in silence for a moment, then cleans up the newest mess I’ve made with quick, efficient strokes before plucking the fallen fork from where it’s landed and loading it with food.
I stare at him right back.
I tell myself it’s to make a point, but the problem is I’m not sure what that point actually is. What I am sure of is that the whole thing suddenly feels oddly… intimate.
Opening my mouth and having him place the delicious food he cooked carefully on my tongue. Holding eye contact while I close my lips around the fork. The way he takes care to pull it out of my mouth slowly, so he doesn’t hurt me.
He brings another bite to my mouth.
I take it, but pull my hands as far apart as they’ll go, needing to feel the metal cuffs bite into my wrists. Needing the reminder that I’m a prisoner here now.
Logan’s careful attention doesn’t mean shit. He’s just trying to keep me “alive and functional,” and even that is only on Maddoc’s orders.
“Did you know?” I blurt out between bites, needing to distract myself from the effect all this focused intensity is having on me.
Logan pauses, the fork halfway to my mouth.
“About Chloe,” I add, my throat suddenly tight. “Did you know about Maddoc’s plan to… use her?”
Logan blinks. “Yes.”
He pushes the fork toward me, and I flinch, then square my shoulders and glare at him.
He lays the fork down on the plate.
Yeah? Well, fuck him. I don’t need his food, and I’m not even surprised he’s in on whatever it is they’re planning for my sister. He’s probably the one who came up with it in the first place.
Logan is giving me that puzzle-look again, and I swallow and glance away to try to hide how much that hurts from him. Stupid, since of all of them, he’s the one least likely to have even thought twice about betraying me.
But when I look back and meet his eyes again, I’m the one who has to blink.
Logan actually has an expression on his face this time, one that looks an awful lot like regret. But then he catches me watching and it’s gone so fast I’m sure it’s just another thing I imagined.
“Tell me what you want her for,” I beg, my voice cracking.
The plate is only half empty, but Logan stands abruptly, his posture stiff and movements jerky, and takes it to the sink. “You need to go back to your room.”
I glare at his back, but then notice something glinting on the counter, tucked under the edge of the fruit bowl there. Shiny. Metallic. Probably a piece of something or other that broke during my struggle with Maddoc earlier.
It’s hard to believe that an obsessive clean freak like Logan missed something like that, and even harder to convince myself I’ll be able to do anything with the tiny little shard, but I need any advantage I can get.
I hold my breath and reach out with my cuffed hands, snatching it up as quietly as I can. I half expect Logan to whirl around and catch me at any moment, but he doesn’t.
It’s a piece of wire. I’ve got no idea what it’s from, but I quickly tuck it into my cleavage, ignoring the sharp prick as I shove it out of sight a moment before he turns back to face me.
Logan is scarily observant and always three steps ahead of everyone else, and my heart starts to pound as his light blue eyes meet mine. But maybe he’s feeling just as off kilter as I am, because he doesn’t call me out. Doesn’t shove his hand between my breasts and fish out the tiny piece of broken wire. In fact, he doesn’t say a single goddamn word to me. Just wraps my arm in an iron grip and hauls me to my feet, then leads me back upstairs to my room.
I don’t resist. That will come later. A broken piece of wire may not be much to work with, but I’ll take what I can get and run with it. Run all the fucking way out of here.
And never look back.