Page 36

Well, I’m not giving him the satisfaction.

My chin tips up. “I’m not hungry.”

Yeah. Brilliant fucking move, Riley. Insult the psychopath who’s got you tied up in a fortress.

And because apparently I’ve lost all survival instincts, I stomp my foot. It’s the cherry on top of my death-wish sundae.

His dark chuckle comes from the other side of me now. For a man with size-sixteen shoes, he has the feet of a cat.

Damn it, wear a fucking bell.

“I suggest you eat,” he murmurs, voice so close it scorches. “You’re going to need your strength.”

For the next hour, he feeds me. Bite after bite, I eat. We don’t speak until the very last cannoli disappears between us—he takes a bite, I take a bite. It’s weird. And natural.

Then the other shoe drops.

“Why were you seeing a doctor?”

I’m mid-bite, still chewing, and suddenly I’m nearly choking on sugar and cream. My throat locks. My pulse jackhammers.

Think, Riley. Think fast.

Slowly, I swallow. “I wasn’t?—”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I’m not.” My words scrape past the lie as I try to sound convincing. “I wasn’t feeling well, that’s all.”

Yeah, morning sickness will do that to a girl.

Then, I embellish. “I have this… thing.”

A fork drops to a plate with a clink. “What… thing?”

The blindfold stays tight across my eyes, but I don’t need sight to know his heavy, judging stare is nailed to me.

I wince, pretty sure where the word thing is, he’s mentally inserted the letters S-T-D.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

Hang on. If my psycho captor thinks I’ve got a venereal disease, what are the odds he’ll just shake my hand, say polite pass, and send me skipping on my merry way?

For a second, I actually let the thought breathe.

Then reality slaps me in the head.

He’s a psycho. The clue’s in the name.

More likely, Zver will pin it on one of the guards, skip the investigation, and paint the halls with their blood. Then he’ll shove a gallon of antiviral cream up my hoo-ha like I’m a cannoli.

But let me go? Not a chance.

Panic opens my mouth, running before my brain can catch up.

“Hypochondria. You know, people who imagine illnesses. I come from a long line of them.”

Not technically a lie.