Chapter 5 #2
He shifts on the ground, the metal of the cuffs clanking against the pipe. When he falls still, his gaze is down in contemplation. I can see the restraint vibrating under his skin, the effort it takes him not to fire off something reckless just to provoke me.
“One,” I repeat.
He doesn’t waste it.
Eyes looking up, he asks, “Why did you take me?”
No bravado, no innuendo. Just the question he should’ve asked a week ago.
“Because someone hired me to.”
He waits, but when I don’t elaborate, he says, “Riveting. Do you do motivational speaking on the side? That’s not even a fucking answer.”
“It’s the only one you get.”
His stare sharpens, jaw tight, calculating, trying to decide if he wants to gamble his partial freedom. He pushes anyway.
“Who hired you?”
I click my tongue. “I said one. You can have another in an hour.”
His eyes flash. “That’s such bureaucratic villain bullshit.”
Without responding, I spin my chair to face my computer again. I hear him inhale through his nose, slowly like he’s getting ready to argue. He lets it out in a gust.
“Fine,” he says instead. “I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. Gold star for me.”
My gaze drifts back to him, and I arch a brow as a warning. He raises his free hand, drags his finger and thumb across his lips, zipping them shut before flicking his wrist and throwing away an invisible key.
Another hour passes while I try to stay focused on work, only occasionally giving him my attention to make sure he really is being good.
He shifts periodically, testing the handcuffs with small movements, but he doesn’t speak.
Once when my eyes are on him, he opens his mouth, probably a reflex, and then snaps it closed again, glaring at me like the near fuck-up was my fault.
Restraint is not his natural state. Watching him force it is…compelling.
I check the clock on my screen before facing him once more.
“Time.”
“Why did the person who hired you hire you to kidnap me?”
There’s barely a second between my permission and his question. He’d been thinking about it.
“Money,” I answer honestly. “A vendetta, probably. I don’t ask questions that I don’t need the answers to in order to do the job.”
His brow furrows deep. “If it’s money, then why am I still here?”
It’s another question. I should make him wait. But this feels like a Band-Aid that needs to be ripped off.
“Your uncle hasn’t paid the ransom.”
He stares at me.
Then he laughs. It’s harsh and disbelieving.
“That’s cute.”
“It’s accurate.”
“No, it’s strategic. You think if I believe he’s abandoning me, I’ll spiral. I’ll cry and beg. How very Saw of you.”
“He hasn’t paid,” I say again. Why, I’m not sure. Maybe because the sooner he believes me, the sooner he’ll accept it and the less I’ll have to deal with his panicking.
“That’s fucking bullshit.” His voice rises, but there’s still that edge to it, that deliberate sarcasm he uses like armor.
“He wouldn’t not pay. That’s not who he is.
The man once paid off a city inspector because he didn’t like the font on a violation notice.
He pays. He won’t just abandon his dead brother’s son. ”
I stay silent this time.
“He has the money,” Cason presses. “He’s probably trying to negotiate because he thinks he’s smarter than you. I bet he’s fucking right.”
He’s trying to get a rise out of me like he believes I’m purposefully doing to him.
It doesn’t work.
But he doesn’t stop.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
His jaw tightens. He looks away, blinking fast like he’s recalibrating. “He’s negotiating,” he says again. “That’s what they’re supposed to do, right? They stall. They pretend they don’t care so they don’t look desperate.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re fucking enjoying this!” he snaps suddenly, eyes cutting back to mine. “Don’t strain yourself with words or anything. You just like watching me try not to lose my mind.”
“I’m just giving you information.”
“No, you’re dangling it like a chew toy!” He jerks against the cuff in frustration, metal scraping against the pipe.
“Well,” I start, grinning faintly, “you have been a pretty good dog all chained up for me.”
He bares his teeth, trying to keep some semblance of sarcasm and snark amidst his rising fury. “Maybe I should start biting.”
My chest rumbles with quiet laughter.
Looking away again, he shakes his head. “He wouldn’t leave me behind. He wouldn’t.”
“Family can surprise you.”
“Yeah?” His laugh is shaky and brittle. “You speaking from experience, or is that just from one of those AITA posts where the guy locks someone in his basement and still thinks he’s the victim? Daddy issues that bad?”
I don’t react.
He looks at me again, searching my face for something—hesitation, doubt, humanity.
“What happens?” His breathing changes. Shallower. Faster. “If he doesn’t pay?”
There it is.
The question he didn’t budget for.
I hold his gaze.
“You’re out of questions for the rest of the night.”
His mouth falls open. “Oh, come on. You can’t just—” His nostrils flare. “That’s like telling someone there’s a shark in the water and then refusing to clarify if it’s hungry.”
“Careful.”
He cuts himself off, his jaw clamping shut and his chest rising and falling hard. He’s holding onto his shield of humor as tightly as he can, but it’s fraying around the edges.
For a second, I consider telling him. Not because he deserves it or because it would help, but because I want to see what he’d do with the truth.
Instead, I stand. I unlock the cuff from the pipe and pull him to his feet. He resists just enough to make a point, not enough to make it a fight.
“You won’t kill me,” he says as I guide him back toward his room. It sounds like a challenge wrapped around a plea. “You like me, and you know it.”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “You’re tolerable.”
“Wow. Be still my heart.”
We reach his room, and I remove the cuff from his wrist.
“Just wait,” he says, his voice sharp but shaking just slightly underneath. “When I get out of here, I’m going to be so annoying. Like, aggressively annoying. I’ll hunt you down and won’t ever leave you alone. You’ll regret not killing me.”
That almost makes me smile.
“Inside, Cason.”
His jaw tightens at the name, but he doesn’t try to correct me.
This time when the door shuts, he doesn’t look at me.
And for reasons I don’t examine too closely, that bothers me more than his anger did.