7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Naomi
I t’s a much quieter walk back to my room—which is much appreciated. As strong as I am, this is a lot for me.
“Tha — ” I start to say, as it’s been ingrained culturally as a woman to thank everyone for any small gesture. But I think I can draw the line at saying thanks to someone for walking me to my cell door, especially when the person is my kidnapper. Internally, I kick myself for the slip-up. I open my mouth to say something else, but I’m at a loss for words. What do you even say to your captor? So, I look up at him to fill the empty space.
“I hope you found your bed restful. It’s the best mattress that money can buy,” he says. There’s a sureness in his voice, but I can see in his eyes that he’s also at a loss. Maybe breaking him won’t be as hard as I thought. There seems to be a warmth within the cold-blooded monster.
“Uh, I could tell you if I wasn’t drugged when I slept in it last,” I say matter-of-factly. In truth, I did notice the perfect balance of firmness and cushion when I was sitting on it earlier. I refuse to give him the validation he’s clearly seeking for doing something right though.
He snorts out in this charmingly boyish way. “That’s true. Well, hopefully tomorrow you can tell me how you like it.”
“Yeah, nothing sounds more appealing to me than talking to my kidnapper and telling him all about the conditions he has me held captive in.”
Not missing a beat, he says, “Don’t forget that I’m your stalker too. The conditions are all of your favorite things. For example, that bed is the one you marked in your browser to buy yourself, but never did.”
I want to hate this man, and in many ways I do. But the insane amount of thought he put into all he did makes me feel more seen than I have in years. Which is a scary, twirling thought process I don’t want to tumble down.
“Stalker turned kidnapper,” I scoff at him. “Better?”
“Much.” He smiles at me. “Goodnight, little firecracker.”
“Bad night, Killer. ” Without turning to look at him, I go into my room and slam the door. Not that it does much, considering he has cameras watching my every move.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Be dressed for training,” he laughs out as he walks back down the hallway.
I take a deep exhale. This is more difficult than I thought. To normal people this would be so black and white, and terrifying. Unfortunately, in reality, my trauma-ridden brain feels an odd comfort here.
I slowly open my eyes as I stretch across the smooth bed. Killian wasn’t wrong, this mattress is absolutely divine. I’ll never tell him that though. Seeing the triumph flashing across his green eyes and devilish smirk on his sexy lips is not a visual that’s going to help me with my plan. I guess that means I wasn’t wrong when I picked it out all those months ago. There, that’s what I’ll tell him if he asks. Fucking hot asshole.
As I go to sit up, I notice that the door to my room is slightly ajar.
Freedom?
I quickly jump out of bed and bolt for the door, slowing down only once I get there. As quietly as I can, I open the door all the way and peer out, but there’s no one in the long hallway, and I don’t hear any noise. “Hmph.” This is odd. I turn back to my bed and the cameras. I guess there’s nowhere I could really run without them noticing. That’s when I notice there’s another card with a note on my nightstand.
The way he signed his name makes me snort and smile. Leave it to him to find a snide comment endearing. I quickly feel my body go rigid with the realization that I allowed myself a moment of warmth thinking about that monster.
I’m here for one focus—and one focus alone.
To kill him.
He’s not the only killer in the house.
You don’t get to stalk me, kidnap me, wrong me, and get away with it. I’m coming for him and will take every opportunity he gives me to get an extra edge.
I grab a random set of workout gear and head downstairs. I follow the hallway I went down with Axel last night. Even with this mansion being so massive, it seems pretty easy to map out. My nerves are invigorated at the prospect of exploring more of this place and planning out my escape and my captors’ demise.
“Good morning, Naomi,” says Axel.
“Good morning,” I mumble.
Killian parrots, “Good morning.”
“Bad morning, Killer,” I spit as I look at the nearly empty dining room table.
This only makes both of them smile. “We have a green smoothie and a banana for you.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, it’s my go-to pre-workout snack.”
“And your breakfast, ‘cause you’re not a fan of anything. Maybe coffee.”
“Always coffee,” I grumble out.
“He knew that,” Axel says, sipping his own smoothie.
Killian smiles. “I did, but didn’t want to creep you out.”
“That’s complete bullshit. This whole situation is absolutely deranged and creepy.”
Axel chuckles before drinking more of his smoothie. “But you like deranged, don't you?”
“Shut up!” I yell.
“Look! It’s like we’re already family,” Killian laughs.
“Ugh.” I grab the smoothie and say, “Let's get this show on the road. I’m ready to kick both of your asses . ”
“I guess Mommy and Daddy really spent a pretty penny to raise a killer.” The training room is massive, to say the least. It looks straight out of any dystopian story. This would put the Hunger Games training room to shame.
Killian’s jaw ticks. “They were pretty normal actually . . . and are very much dead. My uncle, not so much of either. He’s not normal or dead. He’s the one who raised me.” I bite my lip, which draws his attention.
“I-I’m sorry. No one should lose their parents at a young age,” I say with fake empathy, trying to pry.
Instead of continuing to stare at my lips, he goes to caress the arrows at his side. Why do I want him to be caressing something else right now? I need to do something to get him out of my system.
“I’m sure you know better than anyone how hard it is to grow up without your parents.” Now it’s my turn to be taken over by emotion. I lost the only parent I knew, but he lost both. I never knew my dad, he died before I was born. But it’s still not the same, a brutal attack versus a tragic accident.
“Yeah. Some asshole decided to kill my mom for no good reason. I don’t think it’s the same thing.”
While this does make him turn around, it doesn’t spark anything else from him. “I know a thing or two about untimely and violent deaths. I assure you I get it.”
“Well, I’m sorry if your assurances mean jack shit to me,” I say, grabbing the closest throwing knife and aiming it at him.
He moves to the side, narrowly missing it. “That was cute,” he says, before charging toward me.
I block his right and left arm by swatting them away from me. That’s it. I know I can take him when I’m ready to really try.
I try to kick him in the side, but he blocks it with his hands and pushes down. Fuck. This dance continues for a few more movements until he grabs me by the wrist and twists me around so I’m holding my own body like a straight jacket. Yet a-fucking-gain.
I’m sweating and pissed the fuck off at this point, but I try to get out. Before I can move my other arm, he has that one in a death grip too. “Like I said, little firecracker, that was cute.”
“I fucking hate you!” I scream out as I thrash in his warm arms. None of the tricks I’ve learned over the years are helping, which makes me realize that I’m in over my head. Well, shit .
Not to mention, something about the fighting and being this close to him has my heart racing. And unfortunately, it’s not in a deathly fear kind of way, but more like a clamp-my-legs-shut kind of way.
“In time you won’t, ‘cause this fire you have—that you try to suppress—mirrors my own perfectly. You’ll see.”
“Why fucking me?” I ask.
“Because there’s something that draws me to you. It’s been that way since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he whispers into my ear, making shivers run down my spine.
I’m in so over my head here, in so many ways. He’d look so good holding my hands over my head in one hand, while his other hand — fucking hell, stop .
This isn’t how this is supposed to go. I really need to get laid, that’s all this is . . .
“That’s not enough!”
“Maybe not, but then I got to know you—the darkness you hide from the world but explore in private. Through the movies you watch, the books you read, the things you love to do for fun. You have notebooks and secret blogs full of your darkest desires that you think make you evil.” He loosens his grip and lets me go by spinning me to face him. “But they’re all the things that make you unique and perfect. And everything I want in a queen.”
“That’s insane,” I whisper out, my breathing ragged.
“No, what may be insane are my methods. I’m showing you my crazy, so let me see yours. Let it free. Grow your spitfire into a full-blown blaze, because you’re the only bright thing that lights up my world of darkness.”
“I-I . . .” I’m at a loss for words. That was unhinged, but also the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m failing to tell my heart that it’s not something worth skipping a beat over. The only other people who saw and accepted my crazy were Quinnly and Paps, but this . . . this feels different.
I shake my head. This feels wrong . . . I can’t have feelings for someone as horrible as him. Even if I’m the pot calling the kettle black.
Realizing that all of this has made my usually controlled emotions go into overdrive, he changes the subject. “You did a pretty great job holding me off. Maybe we can work on some strategies you can use to fend someone off for longer, and even put them down.”
I nod my head in response. That’s exactly what we do for the next hour and a half. Killian is a surprisingly great teacher, validating but giving helpful constructive feedback to improve. By the time we’re done we’re both dripping with sweat.
“Wow,” I say, taking a sip of water.
Killian wipes his forehead with a towel. “That was a great first day.”
I look up at him. “I thought I got to fight for my freedom?”
“You do, when I let you try to spar. Hence the lesson.”
Tilting my head, I look at him with furrowed brows. “So, you’re going to dissect my moves and teach me how to fix them until I can leave?”
He purses his lips. “The goal is to get you to stay willingly, but yes. Exactly. How about we each take a shower, then I can give you a tour of the courtyard?”
My head sarcastically thinks, “ Yeah, there’s nothing greater than going for a nice stroll with the Beast in his castle.” But what I say is, “Sure. Sounds good.”
He’s been nothing but open about his intentions here, but there’s something about how blatant he is with his craziness that puzzles me. I see in him all the parts of me I’ve hidden from the public for years. It’s not just that our darker parts match each other, but more so how free he feels to just be that person, without a care in the world. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.