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When I open my eyes, confused, his are still trained me. Unblinking, silent.
“They told me you’re a fighter. But you’re not fighting back.”
“Because you won’t hurt me.”
Only when the words tumble from my mouth do I realize I believe them.
His mouth hardens. “I’m a dangerous man.”
If his hand wasn’t around my throat, I’d laugh. No shit. He’s terrifying. Anybody who walks around the Van der Boor’s penthouse like they own the place is dangerous. Anyone who glares at their guards like they are naughty school children are dangerous. But the way he walked in here, curiosity brimming behind his silent, steel exterior, tells me he’s not here to hurt me.
“You’re curious,” I rasp, searching his eyes for any trace of humanity. Nothing. “You came into this room because you’re curious. You’re not here to abuse me. You just want to know how I ended up here.”
He studies me. Silent.
I’ll tell him what he wants to know.
“I’m not a criminal, not usually. I’m just a yacht stewardess who made a stupid decision. I stole a diamond.” I swallow, watching for his reaction. It doesn’t come. “It was tiny, the size of my baby fingernail, and there were so many onboard—truly, they wereeverywhere.In bedside drawers, in the laundry room, even used as paperweights in the crew mess to stop napkins going astray when we hit a strong tide. That tiny diamond meant nothing to them. But even a diamond that small would change the life of someone like me. I needed the money. I didn’t think they’d even notice.”
A cocktail of half-truths.
“You’re rambling.”
“Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous.”
The man flashes me a look I can’t decipher and slowly withdraws his grasp around my neck. Resting his forearms on his thighs, he says, “But they did notice.”
“Yes. When we arrived in Cape Town, there was a body scanner on the dock. They were making everyone onboard walk through it. It beeped like crazy when I walked through… and well, next thing I know…” I tear my eyes away from him long enough to take in the room. My new prison. “I ended up here.”
His cold gaze studies each of my features and suddenly, white-hot shame seeps through me. I can’t imagine how horrific I look. Purple bruises underline my eyes, and it hurts to talk because my lips are split in so many places. And then there’s my body. Bloodied, cut, and naked.
But his eyeline hasn’t dipped below my collarbone. Not once.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me all of this.”
My eyes dart to the door behind him, and I lower my voice. “Because you can help me,” I whisper. “Please.They are going to kill me if you don’t.”
He purses his lips. “You want me to help you escape.”
It’s not a question, but I answer it anyway. “Yes. I’mbeggingyou. You can get me out of here. You can save me.”
I see his jaw working, the strong pulse slamming against the sharp bone in his cheek.
“I don’t save people.”
His words are brimming with venom and his eyes blister with the intensity of hell. This isn’t small talk; I know my freedom rides on my reply.
For someone who talks so much, not a single coherent sentence forms in my brain.
Eventually, I say, “But you’ll save me. Because you have a heart.”
His lips curl into the first emotion I’ve seen from him since he crashed through the door. Disgust. He draws in a deep breath and says, “Wrong. I don’t have a heart.” Then, he begins to stand.
“Wait,” I gasp, slamming my hands against his chest. The chains attached to my wrist scrape along the floor, so loudly I inwardly cringe. He freezes in place, watching, waiting. Assessing if I’m worthy of being prey. “You do have a heart. I can feel it beating.”
And I can. A strong, rhythmic beat under the soft fabric of his sweater. A few heavy moments pass, and then he rises to his feet.
“No. I have an organ pumping blood around my body to keep me alive. Good luck, yachtie.”
