Page 21
Why are you trying to talk me out of saving us? Damn you, inner voice!
“Why are you here?”
“It’s Halloween; I was craving something sweet.”
“Walk the block,” I chide. “Find another candy bowl to raid.”
He closes the freezer and says, “I told you I would catch you. I never said when I would come out of hiding.” He closes the distance and sits down, settling on the edge of the tiny used couch I got off Facebook Marketplace.
Cold floods me as he places the bag of ice on my ankle. I stare at him. Not scared, but more curious. He’s like a dark cloak of mystery, watchful eyes, graceful, lethal movements.
He looks up, flashing those stunning eyes framed by the neon pink mask. Moving his hand, he curls his fingers around my calf. “What are you doing?” I jerk, but he refuses to remove his hand.
“Trying to help the cold not feel so shocking,” he replies. He begins flexing his fingers, letting me feel the warmth of his hand.
“Don’t act as though you care,” I snap, trying to shake his hand off. This time he pulls his hand away.
I hate to admit I miss the warmth; all I feel is the ice burning my skin again.
“I’m not acting,” he replies. Reaching up, he adjusts his mask.
“I never pictured you as the type to rock neon pink,” I sneer, squinting at the mask like I might see through its blinding colors.
“Oh, that means you’ve been thinking about me. Tell me more. I think the color suits me.”
“I think a jail jumpsuit would suit you better.”
“Back to dreaming about putting me in handcuffs again, I see. Is it a kink, tying others up, or is this fetish reserved just for me?”
“You’re delusional. Or maybe just desperate enough to believe your own lies.”
“I call them dreams, fantasies. There is no shame in telling me you want me tied down and at your mercy, Rylan. Once we build trust, I’ll gladly hand over control to you.”
“I’m about to vomit Tootsie Rolls on you.” I roll my eyes.
“So it’s true, every part of you is sweet,” he replies, brushing off my jab with the poise of a predator.
“What do you want?” I ask, cold sweat trickling down my temple. I yank off the witch’s hat and rake my fingers through hair that’s begging for dry shampoo.
My gaze darts around. This is why I should own knick-knacks—small, heavy things to throw if attacked. Curse you, minimalism.
My eyes drop to my fingers.
“Imagining clawing me to death, Rylan?” He smirks with amusement. The bastard even adjusts himself so he can sit more comfortably. It only makes us closer; not even a sliver of air can pass between my thighs and his hips.
“Clawing? Yes,” I reply with a firm tone. “All I need is a trace amount of your DNA under my nails. Surely you’ll be caught.”
“I told you, I’m the help. The others that come won’t seek to save you.”
I hug the hat to my chest, which seems to give him sick amusement. “When did you find me?” I question as I shove my hips into the seat, trying to sit taller.
He clutches his heart with theatrical flair. Pink neon from his mask spills over his fingers. My toes curl tight, sending a sharp sting through my ankle. “I’m insulted that you think I ever lost you.”
His admission fills a part of me with grief.
“That bothers you?” he asks, his eyes roaming my face.
“Of course not, I’m just overflowing with warm snuggles,” I tease, wrapping my arms around myself in an exaggerated embrace. But then my gaze sinks. “I thought I’d escaped,” I whisper.
