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I couldn’t bring myself to say her name aloud. I dropped to my knees before Cook, my body shaking. Grabbing his hands, I bent my head and begged, “Please. I can’t. Don’t take me back to Doctor Richardson. I want to stay with you.”
“Maddie.” His voice was low and warning, like a rumble of thunder ushering in the storm.
“Please.” I pressed my fingers into his palms. I almost dug my nails in, but I held them back. “Please.”
“Maddie, look at me,” he ordered, but I sat back on my heels, casting my gaze downward.
I feared what I might find if I looked in his eyes.
“Maddie,” he repeated and hooked his fingers under my chin, forcing my head up.
I kept my eyes squarely on his feet. His boots left indents in the old, ragged carpet. Tendrils of carpet zigzagged out. Dirt was embedded between the quills of the carpet digging into my knees. My head swam, but I stared at the shiny toes of his boots, taking the discomfort.
“Maddie,” said Cook again, his voice louder and heavier now. Almost out of breath.
I flipped my gaze up to him. His eyes burned like hot embers, flashes of light dancing in his pupils. It almost made me sway. His fingers tightened on my chin, almost hurting me. His eyes draggeddown my body, resting on my posture.
Loosening his grip on my chin, he brushed his thumb over my lips, and then he shoved his finger into my mouth. I pressed my teeth down on his fingernail. I didn’t know why I did that, but it felt right. I exerted this tiny act of control, not scared that I might hurt him or that he might punish me.
Though the latter thought didn’t bother me as much as it probably should. If it was, in fact, Cook teaching me how to behave. He smirked and then slowly withdrew his finger, and I hated how much I missed it.
“You’re coming with me, wherever I go,” promised Cook. With a huff, he reached for the camera and sketches. “But those can stay here. They’re all in the past.”
“No.” I ripped them from his hands and hugged them to my body.
These were pieces of him, and I didn’t want to leave them behind. They were pieces of a puzzle that made Morris Cook a man I could trust, even if I couldn’t voice why.
He pursed his lips, and my eyes lowered to the pink skin between his mustache and beard. What would they feel like against mine? How would his beard tickle me if we kissed?
He dropped his hand from my chin and lips, and I wanted it back. We were caught in a stare-down, and while he didn’t seem like a man to give in, he did.
He blinked first. “Fine, but it’s not what you think. You don’t understand.”
“I know.” That was what happened when I had been held captive for so long. I came to terms with not knowing or seeing the full picture, but Cook was my biggest mystery.
Cook was someone I wanted to know everything about.
He flicked his gaze up at me, and a flare opened in my chest. Those burning eyes felt like they would sear me alive. When he breathed again, his shoulders rose and fell, like he was thinking hard again or making some final decision.
“This will be dangerous,” he said, like that would scare me off.
“Danger’s old hat, right?” I countered.
Cook crooked a half smile. “Yeah. But it won’t get better this way.”
“I can’t get worse.”
Could I?
“That won’t happen.” He took my hands. “I promise, Maddie. I’m going to help you. Whatever’s necessary, I’ll do it.” He raised my hands and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “I’ve seen your strength, and I’m sure you can overcome this. If anyone can, you will.”
I didn’t understand his confidence. But that trust I had in him—as strong and as quick as it was—seemed like a two-way street. As incomprehensible as this situation was, we were linked.
Cook dropped his hands from mine. “There’s a backpack in the closet. Grab whatever you want. We’re getting out of here.” Then he walked out of his bedroom, leaving me on my knees and wanting more.
Chapter 7
Maddie
