Page 17 of Killing Emma

“You talk so fucking much, until you suddenly don’t.” He leans in, though his grip doesn’t tighten any further.

“I’m sorry.” I look away from the x’s over his eyes—as if they’re really his. My head starts to spin, and once again all the regrets come flooding back. I should’ve called my best friend more. I should’ve heard Jared out. Maybe I should’ve let Kyle take me out. I should’ve tried to open up instead of closing off so much.

The masked man pulls me forward, my back no longer against the wall. A burst of unwanted excitement churns through my body as he guides me to the bed, backing me up by my throat.

“I should kill you right now.” His voice is low again, almost sounding conflicted as the back of my knees give to the edge of the bed and I’m forced to sit.

“Why don’t you?” The question slips out as he drops to his knees in front of me, his hand dropping free from me.

His hand lands on my thigh as he reaches under the bed, and before I realize what’s happened, I feel the weight of a chain cuff around my ankle. Clearly, I’m not the first person to be in the basement. Panic rises in the form of bile in my throat as he straightens back up, placing his other hand on my thigh.

I want to push him away, but instead find myself frozen, holding my breath as he presses against them, forcing them apart. Fear and unwanted excitement thrum through my body as I wait for him to make a move…

But he doesn’t.

Chapter Eight

Luca

I’ve never chained anyone to the bed in the basement, and honestly, I thought the measure of installing such a thing was useless. As it turns out, Manny’s sick and twisted suggestion was worth it. Now, Emma can lie down, and I don’t have to wonder what she’s doing down there.

I shut and lock the basement door behind me, my cock straining against my jeans. I wanted to fucking devour her, and how easily she let me spread her legs was almost too tempting to ignore… But she’s chained to my bed. And I won’t defile her in that way.

Unless she begs me.

The thought of Emma begging causes me to nearly explode in my jeans. Her little whisper of please had almost been enough to convince me to let her go. I’ve never had a woman get under my skin so fucking fast.

But also… what the hell is wrong with her?

I rub the back of my neck as I head for the kitchen, intent on making her food. Is she just weak from twenty-four hours without eating? Is it the chloroform? I don’t like the way I’m worried.

I should have just killed her.

But the look in those eyes when I tightened my grip around her throat… It made me want to kill someone—but it wasn’t her. I dig through the fridge, not even sure what to make for the woman. I’m not a fucking bed-and-breakfast.

I glance at the time but know it’s irrelevant to her. For me, however, I’m down to thirty-five days to get rid of her. I drum my fingers on the stainless-steel handle, and then choose to make eggs and toast. Food is food, and she clearly needs it.

Not that it matters what she needs.

I dump the eggs into a pan and scramble them. As I wait for them to finish, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I dig it out, expecting to see Manny, but instead, it’s Henry. Why the fuck is he calling me right now?

“Yeah,” I answer, dropping a piece of wheat bread into the toaster. “What do you want?”

“Wow, what a greeting,” my old friend chuckles. “Jude said Manny’s on a rampage at The Den.”

I curl my lip in disgust. “Since when does straight edge Jude go to The Den?”

“Since when do you miss a party anywhere?”

“You know I never bother with that seedy side of the fucking place. No thanks. I might belong in hell, but I do have some boundaries.”

“Now that’s a surprise,” Henry laughs.

“What do you want?” I ask, careful not to sound like too much of a dick. We’ve always been friends, but ever since I helped him out of his own predicament last year, our relationship has morphed into something else. We’re closer.

“Lydia wants to have dinner.”

“Cool, go make dinner, Loverboy.”

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