Page 16 of Oathbreaker

I look away from him. “Can I know where we are?” I ask in a small voice.

“Of course not,” he says with a laugh. He moves over to the kitchenette. The taps sputter a few times before releasing a steady stream.

A stench rises from the fetid water.

“What’s your plan, then? People will know that I’m missing. It won’t take long for them to put two and two together and search for me.”

“I know that,” he says happily, like I just told him he has tickets to the NBA playoffs. He pulls a red rubber bag from a bucket to the side of the sink.

“They’ll kill you when they find you,” I say. I pull the blanket from beneath my bottom, trying to cover myself, and I cringe at the stained sheet beneath.

“Eh,” he says, still smiling. “Some people will try to. But I’ve got protection now. I’m gonna get a new life, bay-bee!” He fills the rubber with water before capping it and putting it into the bucket. He smiles at me, his eyes roaming all over my face.

“Did you like the cookie?” He leans against the kitchenette counter, drying his hands with meticulous concentration.

“Cookie?” My lips go numb under his pressing stare.

He uses the tattered cloth to buff his fingernails, his eyes never wavering from me.

Don’t look at me. Don’t fucking look at me.

“Yes, Winter,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re so fucking rude sometimes. You kept going back to that café down the street from your apartment, so I thought you must like their food. I know you have a thing for chocolate.”

I stare at him open-mouthed, and he shrugs as if he hasn’t just admitted to stalking me.

He walks back over to the bed and sits on the edge. I pull the blanket higher on my body, up to my neck, covering my breasts.

He raises his hand and brushes it over my swollen eye.

“That’s a bad one, yeah?” He runs his hands into my tangled hair, pulling at the roots, and tears spring to my eyes at the pain.

Even my hair is sensitive.

“I’m sorry to say it, Winter, but you look a mess.”

I shudder. I hate that tears track down my face.

“Tell me about your little boyfriend,” he says. The playfulness in his tone is a mockery—pretending as if we were really family and close enough to talk about things like boyfriends and relationships and love.

Fear and dread coat my mouth, tasting metallic.

“What do you mean?” I mutter.

“Aw, Winter.” It takes a second for the searing agony to register as he wrenches my hair tight in his fist. “It’s not a good look to play dumb, princess.”

He yanks my head back and I screech. Ripping the blanket off me, he wedges his body between my legs.

“Winter,” he breathes into my neck. “Do you let him kiss you, Winter? Do you let him hold you?”

“Get off me—let me go!”

“Did you let him touch these?” He drags his hand down to my breast, palming it and squeezing it as if he aimed to rip the flesh away from my chest.

“Did you, Winter?” He squeezes harder.

“Please, Adam. Please stop,” I say between broken sobs.

He beams at my terror. “Oh, but no, Winter. Because you let him touch you here, didn’t you?” He breeches me with his fingers, pushing and stretching me with so much aggression I feel like I’m tearing.

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