Chapter 7 #2
“How can you be sure?” he goaded, not quite liking the idea that she wasn't terrified of him. She should be. If she was smart enough to learn the code and get herself a weapon, she should be able to see him as a predator, someone who wouldn't hesitate to remove her if she got in his way.
She could have ruined everything with this silly little game.
If she’d been able to slip away while he was the only one in the building, it would be his head on the line.
With Nathan and Mateo both going off the rails within weeks of one another, there was only him and one other man left here.
They couldn’t afford another mistake, otherwise, this chance to destroy Azure was going to slip through Prey’s fingers, allowing them to go on abducting and selling women indefinitely.
“I should kill you for this ridiculous little stunt,” he drawled. “You have no idea the can of worms you’ve almost set off. And a word of warning, my little escape artist, you should have gutted me like a fish the moment you saw I was in your way.”
Under his grip, she gave a small shake of her head. “No, I couldn’t do that. I should have stabbed you but not killed you.”
“Makes you weak. Threats have to be eliminated. It’s the way of the world.” So many times as a kid, he’d dreamed of killing the people tormenting him. People who were supposed to be responsible for taking care of him but instead took great pleasure in destroying him.
Sure as he was that he and Makayla had grown up in similar environments, it didn't seem like she’d spent her youth daydreaming about torturing her abusers. Instead, it seemed like she’d focused on building a life away from the horrors. He’d embraced the darkness, but she’d embraced the light.
Which meant they weren't compatible.
“Not wanting to take a life doesn’t make me weak,” she countered, and then there was a small spark of amusement in her eyes. “But not paying proper attention to your prisoner when she’s free could be considered weak. You didn't even see me grab the knife.”
Irritation flared inside him because she was right.
Damn.
When he returned her to the shared room this morning, she’d been shaky on her feet.
He’d assumed it was just because of the leather cuffs that had been wrapped around her ankles for so many hours.
Even though it annoyed him that he cared at all, he’d massaged her limbs, trying to restore blood flow before pulling her to her feet.
Crafty little thing must have spotted the knife and decided she could get her hands on it if she’d played her cards right.
Right by the table she’d stumbled, he hadn't even noticed at the time. Well, he’d noticed the stumble, kept her upright, and then just kept moving her, needing to get some distance from her before she twisted her tentacles into his brain.
Those eyes of hers were too probing, too knowing, and he didn't like it at all.
Probing enough that he’d still been thinking about her while he went about setting up the cameras.
It was an easy enough task and didn’t require his full attention, so his mind had wandered.
To the irritating brunette he’d been sure was sleeping in one of the beds, alongside the other women.
He hadn't heard her sneak out, hadn't heard her come up on him, hadn't realized she was there until the cool steel blade was against his skin.
All he’d done in the last few hours was make mistake after mistake.
Now he was making another. Because he really didn't have any intention of punishing her for the escape attempt.
After all, he was the one who should be punished because she had every reason to want to get out of here, and he was the one who was supposed to be making sure that didn't happen. It was his failure, not hers.
In fact … he almost wanted to let her walk out.
It was hard to feel like she hadn't earned her freedom when she’d fought for it with intelligence and strength.
Despite the fact that she was naked, despite the fact that both her backside and her jaw had to be aching, despite the fact he’d forced her to do something as disgusting as taking men into her mouth and getting them off, she had kept her wits about her enough to get herself out.
“You did good,” he acknowledged. “Until the last minute. But let this be a lesson to you. Your survival should be your top priority, not me, not my life. If you’d killed me, you would have been out of here by now. Don’t make that mistake again.”
Beneath his grip, she swallowed. “I'm … not sure I have it in me to kill.”
“Then don’t think of it as killing. Think of it as merely surviving.
You can consider the implications of what you did to live later, once you're safe, but never in the midst of surviving.” If there was a way for him to get her out without getting himself into a world of trouble he couldn’t afford, then Van thought he would.
Which worried him, because Makayla shouldn’t matter to him any more than the others did.
Yet none of the others had held a knife to his neck. If she’d wanted to, she could have killed him, and there wouldn't have been anything he could have done to stop it if she’d acted quickly enough.
What in the hell was wrong with him that he found that a turn on?
Letting her go wasn't an option, though, even if he felt she’d earned it. She was going to have to go back into the room, and he’d change the code so she couldn’t escape again. It wasn't fair, but then again, life wasn't fair.
Moving his hand that circled her wrist, Van brought the blade back to his neck, pressing just hard enough to shed a trickle of blood. A small payment for the blood she’d shed when he cut her clothes off her.
She sucked in a breath, her eyes going wide, but he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the small, scabbed wounds on her chest. He’d made those.
He didn't cause physical harm to people.
He participated in this twisted mess as much as he had to in order to maintain his cover, but he was always careful about the damage he caused.
Until her.
“Next time you kill me, promise me,” he demanded.
But she just trembled, her fingers uncurling from around the knife, sending it clattering to the floor at their feet.
Still, he wouldn't let her go. “Promise,” he repeated. “Next time, you do whatever it takes and don’t even think about the consequences.” When she still didn't give him the response he was after, his fingers tightened once again around her throat. “Promise.”
“I-I p-promise,” she stammered, and he released his hold on her neck, tracing over the spot where her pulse was still thrumming wildly.
“Good girl,” he praised, keeping his grip on her wrist as he bent to scoop up the knife and slipped it into his pocket. He’d return it to the guards’ room once he’d locked her away and changed the code. Couldn’t have a repeat of this even if his instincts had gone wild and he wanted to let her go.
“Wait,” she protested, digging in when he started tugging her down the hall.
“What?”
“That’s it?”
“Did you have something else in mind?” he asked, shooting her one of his empty smiles, which he knew everyone hated.
“You're not going to kill me? Not going to punish me? You're just going to put me back in that room and pretend I didn't hold a knife to your neck and threaten to kill you?”
“Yep.” That was exactly what he was going to do because it was clear he’d lost his mind when it came to this woman.