Page 29 of Killing Emma

“Yeah. Go shower.”

“Did you sedate me?”

“Does it matter?” His voice is flat, and as much as I want to tell him that it does, it really doesn’t. I’m still alive, and I feel significantly better than I did when I came to. I stand right next to the bed for a few minutes as the momentary lightheadedness fades. I take a deep breath, tempted to cross the room and touch him. I don’t know why I want to see his face so bad.

“There’s a towel in there.” He gestures to the bathroom.

“Okay…” My voice trails off as I ease toward the bathroom. The dog joins me, hopping down from the bed.

“Stay, Major.”

The dog freezes, sitting.

I pause, glancing down at him. “His name is Major?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t offer anything else, and I don’t ask, slipping into the bathroom. I glance up to the window and nearly laugh at the steel plate over the window. He made it entirely impossible for me to slip through again—but he also took away the light.

I reach into the tile shower and start the water, making sure to set it to lukewarm so the heat doesn’t mess with me. Before this, I had gotten to the point where I could take hot showers without passing out, but now, I don’t trust myself, and don’t feel like getting a concussion.

Peeking back out of the bathroom, I check to see if he’s there. He’s not anywhere in my line of sight, and neither is the dog, Major. However, I still close the door. It leaves me in the pitch black, but I brush it off, stripping out of my dirty clothes. I don’t know if I’ll have anything fresh to put back on, but at this point, I’m desperate to be clean.

I step under the stream of water, wincing at the slight chill it brings. However, it’s better than nothing. Except… soap? I can’t see, and I find myself reaching out, feeling along the tile wall. However, as I do so, the bathroom door opens.

Oh hell no.

“Get out,” I demand, my voice shaky. “I don’t want you in here.”

“You don’t get to make demands in this house.” His tone is dark and husky as I peer through the glass doors. He’s just a shadow, and that shadow disappears as he shuts the door behind him.

It’s dark again, and he’s in here with me.

My heart thrums as I hear a zipper in the midst of the running water. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t fall.”

My mouth grows dry. I know he can do that without coming in here. He could just stand right outside. He could do anything other than get in this shower. I have a strong urge to fight him, but there’s this other part of me… The part that wanted him to touch me in the woods and then reached out and touched his face in the darkness, unafraid and excited.

The glass door opens, and a burst of cooler air makes me shiver. I tense as his body brushes mine. My thighs clench, my stomach knots up, and I feel like I’ve never taken a shower with someone before.

“Just breathe,” he chuckles wickedly. “You were such a little slut in the woods, don’t act like this bothers you.”

I swallow hard, offended but turned on at the same time. Maybe this man really is the devil—the kind that holds your hand, luring you to your death with all the promises of feeling a high like never before. A light touch brushes my arm, and I catch my breath, my thoughts dissipating. Maybe this is how I want to die.

“It’s impossible to see shit in here,” he laughs, and it’s lighter, different.

“You didn’t have to kill the power.”

“You didn’t have to break the window,” he retorts, and I hear a bottle opening. A squirt of liquid catches me by surprise as it hits my back. Warm hands find my skin, and slowly, he lathers it, working his way up my back to my shoulders and down my arms. I shut my eyes, focusing on the gentleness in his touch.

Why is he doing this?

I’m tired of asking the question, and decide at this moment, I’m going to stop. I know my plan—to manipulate, to befriend, and then to convince him to let me go… Or something like that.

My body grows tense as his hands slip lower, working their way around my waist to my stomach. I should’ve done more crunches, but my insecurities stop there as I remind myself it’s pitch black. He lets out a soft groan as his hands dip a little lower. However, he stops abruptly.

“You can finish,” he clears his throat, removing his hands from me. A sting of disappointment hits, and I frown as I finish washing my body. He drops shampoo on my head, and I wash my tangled hair, turning to face the figure in the shower.

As I open my eyes under the stream of water, wrapped in the scent of a man—sandalwood and bourbon—I squint at the black shadow. I can’t really see him. There’s no light except for the glow under the door, but I try to make him out, anyway.

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