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Rafe stops dead, and I wonder if he’s giving me an excuse to shoot him, but every muscle across his back goes rigid beneath wet skin.
His head turns slightly, giving me a clear view of his stubbled jaw.
“Do that again,” he mutters, “and you'll lose that fucking hand.”
I press the barrel into him a second time.
“Keep walking."
The kitchen is warmer, although whoever renovated this place clearly spent their whole budget on old-worldly aesthetics rather than a good heating system.
Rafe slows beside the wooden counter, his attention passing over the knife block, the doorway leading to the hall and the window above the sink before his fingertips reach the first drawer.
What a waste of time.
A slight visible shiver runs over his skin, and goosebumps have the hairs on his arms lifting.
After a second or two, his fingertips trail across the worktop, slowing when he reaches the first drawer and slides it open.
The barrel of my gun is at the base of his skull before he has time to reach for a blunt kitchen utensil.
“Don’t test me,” I grit.
Rafe shrugs. “Just looking for an ashtray.”
“You were looking for a weapon.”
“My sister used an ashtray as a weapon once,” he says. “However, my ma would clip my ear if I tapped ash on the kitchen floor.”
The muzzle digs harder into him. “The second you think you can outsmart me is the second I’ll shoot you dead.”
Rafe turns, forcing the barrel to slide along the bruise blooming beneath his ribs.
His eyes stay on mine. “Why haven’t ya done it already?”
The humor has gone from his face now, leaving the same man from Black Heath stud who looked ready to tear me apart.
“I have plans for you.”
“What sort of plans?”
When his hand leaves the drawer, I bump it closed with my hip, then jab him with the gun again. “Move.”
Ash tumbles from his cigarette. “Oooops.”
“I’m not your ma.” I drag the sole of my boot through it. “You piss me off and I won’t clip your ear, I’ll slice it off.”
We cross the kitchen and enter the narrow hallway running through the middle of the farmhouse, where a wooden staircase rises to the bedrooms above.
“You planning to tell me what the fuck ya want with me?”
“Eventually.”
“How long’s eventually?” He glares over his shoulder. “I’ve never been kidnapped before, so you’ll have to fill me in on what happens next. Usually there’s a ransom demand and all that shit, right?”
“Ransoms are for people who’re meant to survive.”
His quiet laugh rumbles. “You always threaten to murder men while you’re taking them upstairs?”
