Page 52 of Hemlock

I dart my eyes around the room, wondering if the sensation is coming from a hidden camera, but I don't see anything that could possibly hold one, not that I know a damn thing about surveillance.

The sound of the lock clicking free makes my heart rate triple, and it says a lot about me when I see him step inside and the sight of him calms me. I shouldn't feel safe or at ease around him. I let myself believe that the second he woke up, he'd get me out of here. In my mind, he would burn down the world, and plow through anyone that got in his way to keep me safe, but he hasn't done anything like that. He sat and stared at me and then walked out, locking me in this room just like the other two men did.

Actions speak louder than words, Zara. Didn't you learn that a long time ago?

He doesn't make direct eye contact with me as he walks slowly toward the chair he was sitting in earlier, and that's the exact opposite of how he normally acts. Every other time he's been around me, he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off me.

A chill rushes down my spine, something I should've felt all along, but I let my heart convince me that caring for him meant he cared for me. It's a mistake that could possibly cost me my life.

"Please," I whisper, but it's still not enough to pull his gaze from his hands.

My chin trembles as I do my best not to sob.

The man could look me right in the eye when he was fucking me, but he decides now, when my life may be on the line, that I don't deserve his full attention?

Anger begins to swirl inside of me, replacing the fear, and although I know it's probably a mistake, I can't stop the way it makes me stand a little taller, grow a little bolder.

"Look at me!" I snap, but still, his eyes remain downcast. "How dare you keep me here against my will. I don't deserve this."

The only reaction I get is his jaw flexing, the muscles clenching as if I'm annoying him.

But maybe I'm not. Maybe he's in an impossible situation. Maybe he doesn't want to be here. Maybe he does care about me, and he hates the fact that he'll have to do anything to me at all.

But what are the chances of that?

I don't know this man. Other than great sex, what has he revealed to me?

Nothing.

Even the name he gave to me is a lie.

That anger that was simmering bubbles over.

"Who the fuck are you?" I yell, pacing back and forth in front of him, as if he's the one trapped down here and I'm calling the shots. "Your name isn't Owen. I know that for damned sure."

He doesn't respond and it makes me even angrier, my pulse pounding in my ears, wondering just how far I can push the man before he pushes back.

"Why did you lie about your nephew? I saw the soap stones in the trash. Do you even have a nephew?"

He shifts his weight on the chair, and although it's infuriating, I know his silence could easily be an interrogation tactic that he's using on me. What the hell do I know about any of this? I've never been a prisoner before, despite the ten years I was trapped in a loveless marriage.

"Do you plan to kill me?"

This is what pulls his eyes up to meet mine, but when he speaks, it's the very last thing I expect.

"Do you deserve to die?"

Tears well in my eyes. "Is that a real question?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, making me wonder why he came down here twice now and never thought putting on a damn shirt was a good idea. Blood still stains his skin, the patch of white gauze taped to his side seeming too small for the trauma his body suffered not long ago. I have no idea why I'm crying in fear and still feel the need to wrap my arms around him, grateful that he didn't die.

My mind is a confusing place right now, and I hate the position he's putting me in. The physiological torture may be worse than any physical pain he could cause.

"You're connected to Wilkinson."

The mention of Tommy seems out of place, but the name isn't. I was a Wilkinson for a long time, so long that my maiden name Hailey seems more out of place.

"He's my boss at the bar," I say. "We already talked about this."

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