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“Begging won’t work, little doll.” He fists my hair, tugging on the strands. “The soft approach hasn’t gotten us anywhere. You’ve grown too comfortable.”
“Isn’t that the point of what we’re doing?”
He shakes his head, eyes narrowing.
“Then?”
“You have something locked up inside you. Yes, it’s been easier for you to accept that I’ve taken you. It’s easier because I’m sweet around you.” The vein on his temple throbs. “You barely blinked when you heard that I read your texts just now. Too fucking comfortable.”
“I’m…” His cocked eyebrow reminds me not to lie. “I got used to your crazy.”
“Telling the truth. Good girl.”
“I don’t understand. You want me to hate you?”
“No. You need to believe in us even when I’m not being sweet. You need to believe in us with your very breath.” His free hand grips my chin as he lowers his face to mine. “And you don’t. You’ll jump on the first excuse to do what your subconscious screams at you. To leave me. I can’t allow for that to happen.”
My fingers rumple his shirt with frustration. I have no answers to give him.
“Thought so.” Marcus steps closer, mashing my hands between us. “I’m done treading carefully around you. Your mind is about to be rattled. I’ll force it to stop focusing on shielding your secret. When it loses its focus, then we’ll have the answers. Then we’ll start the healing. I’m done being patient.”
The other man in him has kicked my tender Marcus out. And he’s right. The urge to punch this man’s throat and escape him is overwhelming.
His actions match my mind’s demand.
Run. Run. Run. One Marcus is responsible. He could help. This one is all over the place. How could he help?
Help with what?
“That’s why I’m doing this.” From my chin, his hand slithers up. His fingers clench on one of my temples, hurting me. “Snapping us out of our routine. I tried. I failed. Moving on.” He frowns. “I, not you. Remember that.”
I don’t have any other choice. He won’t let me run. I’m better off agreeing to this.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Will it be like the pool?”
“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” The tiny hint of his smirk spikes up the terror in me. “There won’t be a smooth landing for you this time, Leighton.”
Two firm hands pry mine off Marcus’s pristine white shirt. They grip my waist. Flipping me without another warning. Pushing me inside the closet.
At first, I see a regular walk-in closet. Much like the bathroom, the walls are made of cement instead of glass. The room smells of Marcus’s cologne and fresh detergent.
Ironed shirts, suit jackets, and slacks hang on one wall.
On the wall in front of me, there are shelves and more hangers. Women’s clothes fill them. Clothes meant for me. Sure, stocking the place with more clothes than I’ll ever need is a touch psychotic.
I’m not dumb. I get that it means to keep me here indefinitely until I accept him.
When he said he was obsessed with me, I believed him. I was ready for more evidence like this to pop up around the place.
As I said to him, I’ve gotten used to his crazy ways.
Compared to kidnapping me, throwing me in a pool, the butt plugs, and hypnotizing me, this is lowkey…normal.
It’s clothes. Nothing more, nothing—
My eyes drift farther into the room, where the real horror lies.
Oh, shit.
