CHAPTER THREE #2
When he still does nothing, I breathe out sharply and scream again, “Get your fucking sustenance out of my face right the fuck now. Or I swear to motherfucking God, I’ll—”
“Again,” he says in that raspy voice of his, “not much you can do.”
“Listen, you asshole, I will literally—”
“And screamin’ and cussin’, no matter how loud or creative, don’t count as threats. Just minor annoyances.”
I raise my eyebrows as I seethe. “Um… I beg your finest fucking pardon. Are you saying I’m somehow offending your asshole criminal sensibilities with my cursing? If you wanted a fucking lady, then you should’ve fucking kidnapped one, okay?”
His eyes roam over my features once again, and even furious and struggling against my bonds, I wonder what I look like right now.
Probably all disheveled and dirty with tangled hair and a torn dress.
While he looks… He looks like he belongs here, in the outdoors.
Among the trees. With that tanned skin and his strong body, he looks like outdoors is his home rather than any structure made of walls and a roof.
They probably wouldn’t be able to contain him, much like his clothes.
“Or I could just gag the one I took,” he murmurs.
My eyes pop wide as fear strikes a chord in my belly. “Don’t you dare.”
He studies me a beat. “Then watch your fuckin’ mouth.”
I glare at him, breathing harshly. “So you admit it then. That you took me. This is a kidnapping.”
Instead of responding, he keeps staring into my eyes. And still, somehow, I know he’s giving me a look. He’s telling me, Isn’t it obvious. And it is. I know this is a kidnapping. I don’t know why I asked him that. And I don’t know why having it confirmed is making me freak out more.
“Like you…” I try to pace my breathing, my heart ramming against my chest. “Like you k-kidnapped my best friend.” Nothing moves on his face, not even a muscle, and my throat goes dry.
“You did, didn’t you? You took her. You took my…
Where is she? What did you do to her? Do you know where Bo is? Are you working with him? Are you—”
It shouldn’t be so easy for him to cut my words off the way he just did. With a simple tip of the bottle and a look in his eyes that tells me to drink. And it shouldn’t be so easy for me to understand every word he’s not saying without even trying. I fist my tied hands and ask, “Who are you?”
Silence.
“What do you want?”
And of course, I’m greeted by silence again.
“Where are we? What is this place?”
At this, he finally shows some reaction. He moves his eyes up and then to the side before coming back to me.
I clench my teeth. “I know we’re in the woods, asshole. I have eyes.” I lean forward as much as the rope will allow before snapping, “Where exactly are these fucking woods, and what the fuck are we doing here?”
I’m already thinking of a million other things I want to ask him because I’m pretty sure he’s not going to answer me when he does. “About a hundred miles north of the city.”
Surprise knocks the wind out of me, but I still persevere. “What, you think I’ve got a goddamn GPS stuck in my brain or something? What does that mean? What town?”
And we’re back to being silent.
I grit my teeth as I glare at him, at his beautiful, impassive face.
“You stuck me with a needle, do you remember that? You knocked me out. You brought me out here, about a hundred miles north of the city, and tied me to a fucking tree. You have my best friend, and you won’t tell me what you want.
” I lean forward again, looking him dead in the eye.
“When I get out of these ropes, I’m going to kill you.
And I’m going to make it slow. I’m going to make it painful, and when you’re dying, I want you to remember this conversation.
I want you to remember that you fucked with the wrong girl. ”
He takes me in once again, before surprisingly murmuring, “Already know that.”
“Know what?”
“That you’re the wrong girl.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“And the only way you’re gettin’ out of those ropes,” he says, “is if I decide to untie you.”
“You—”
“You wanna make that happen, you start keepin’ your pink little mouth shut and do what I tell you to do. Is that clear?” Then he adds, “Oh, and you wanna kill me, get yourself a bigger knife. The one you had before won’t even cut through my shirt.”
I blush. Instantly. Involuntarily. How stupid I was to think I could control him with a mere pocketknife.
But then again, maybe, just maybe, I thought he’d prove me wrong.
Somewhere deep down, I don’t think I was fully convinced that he’d hurt me.
Or that he’d be involved in my best friend’s disappearance.
Not after everything. Not after all these months.
God, I’ve been such a fool.
“Oh, I will get myself a bigger knife, you evil asshole. You just watch,” I tell him, anger burning in my veins even as my heart twists.
“That ain’t keepin’ your mouth shut,” he notes, his eyes roving over my features, taking in my flushed cheeks.
“Fuck keeping my mouth shut,” I say, leaning forward once again. “And fuck you. I’m going to fucking dance on your grave. Mark my words.”
He hums, watching me for a few beats. Then, “Seen the guys you run around with. They may follow your lead, but I ain’t like the city boys you play with. So I’d keep the threats to a minimum.”
Somehow I blush even harder, because of course he’s seen them.
Of course; he’s seen it all, hasn’t he? He’s been watching me for months.
For months, I thought he watched me for me.
He wanted me for me. That somehow he was the exception in my world made of bad and cruel men.
But he isn’t, is he? He’s just the same.
Actually, no. He’s worse. He fooled me enough to make me feel alive.
“That’s why you watched me, didn’t you?” I ask, unable to keep the hint of brokenness from my voice.
“For three months and four days. Because you were planning something. You were planning this. You were planning to kidnap my best friend and me. That’s the reason, isn’t it?
That’s the reason you followed me, followed my every move, for three months and four days. ”
He keeps staring into my eyes before he says, “Six months, three weeks, four days, fourteen hours, and thirty-six minutes.”
I blink. “What?”
“That’s how long I’ve been watchin’ you.”
My mouth falls open. “You… I didn’t… That’s…”
I don’t know which part I’m struggling with exactly. The fact that he’s been watching me for over six months or the fact he freaking remembers it down to the minute.
“Drink,” he finally says, tipping the bottle again.
But I’m still stuck at what he just said. “You… But I never… I never had a clue. Not until…”
That night. The one in the alley where he saved me from those three drunk assholes.
And before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Why did you save me?”
His face doesn’t give anything away. Not even a hint of what he’s thinking or even if he heard me.
But I keep going. “That night? You came to my rescue. You… Why did you do that? Why did you… And what about all the other times? Why did you save me then? Why did you keep saving me? Why—”
“For myself,” he says in a raspy voice.
“You—”
“Every good hunter knows how to protect his prey from other predators,” he continues, his eyes flashing and downright animalistic-looking. “How to defend his territory, keep it safe, keep it fresh and scared. Just for himself.”
Shivers run up and down my spine and I ask, “Is that what you are? A hunter?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not… I’m not scared of you.”
His stare drops down to my mouth, which I realize is trembling before I purse my lips. He looks up, the scar on his face somehow more pronounced. “You’ll learn to be.”
I swallow at his words that sound like both a promise and a threat. Then, “And I’m not a territory.”
“Right now, you are whatever the fuck I say you are.”
“I—”
“Now,” he says, his chest moving with a deep breath, “drink.”
I glance down at the bottle and then back up at him. “How do I know this isn’t drugged?”
He looks me in the eye as he replies, “If I wanted to drug you, I’d just use the needle again.” I clench my teeth and he adds, “And between the two of us, I ain’t the one who likes slippin’ drugs into people’s drinks. So again, drink.”
I watch him for a few moments before asking, “What’s your name?”
Of course, he doesn’t answer me.
“I’ll drink if you tell me your name.”
“You’ll drink if you don’t wanna faint.”
“What?”
“The sedative I gave you,” he explains all calmly, “makes you dehydrated. The more time you waste arguin’ with me, the more chances of you gettin’ lightheaded and conkin’ out. So I’d quit your mouthin’ off and do as you’re told.”
My nails are digging into my palms, but I keep my expression blasé. “If you want me to drink, you’re going to have to tip the bottle a little more.”
A muscle moves in his cheek on the left side, making his scar twitch as well.
And for a brief second, I let myself focus again on the fact that his scar doesn’t have the power to take his beauty away.
I don’t think anything has the power to take his beauty away, not even the truth that the man I thought was my Phantom is actually a hunter.
Who’s been stalking me like prey for the past six months.
He does as I suggest and brings the bottle even closer to my mouth, his fingers—calloused and strong—wrapped around the neck.
I dip my head slightly as if to take a sip.
But at the last second, I move it and go for his hand.
I sink my teeth into his scraped fingers and bite.
As hard as I can. I practically lodge my teeth in his skin, deep, ready to bite off a chunk of his flesh.
I’ll fucking maim him if I have to, but he’s going to know pain.
He’s going to fucking know who he’s dealing with.
That I’m not going down without a fight.
He can’t just toy with me for months, make a fool out of me, and get away unscathed.