Page 74 of The Warlord

“Eat,” he commanded when he put the tray down. “It’ll warm you up.”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I replied with chattering teeth, “I feel like I’ll never be warm again. Can I at least get a blanket?”

“Sorry, no blanket. Chief’s orders.”

“So you won’t kill me, but I can freeze to death?”

He gave me flat, expressionless eyes. Pointing at the soup, he said, “Eat.”

James was almost at the door when I yelled, “What if it’s poisoned?”

His shoulders hitched, and he came back, swiping up the bowl. Putting the rim to his mouth, he took a sip. Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he said, “Not poisoned. Eat.”

He was out the door before I could think of another reason to get him to stay.

It only took me a minute of debating with myself as I watched the steam whisp off the hot soup before I gave in and ate. I dunked the bread, shoveling it into my mouth unceremoniously, still chewing even as I picked up the bowl and savored the heat that emanated from it. My hands were freezing, but as I brought the bowl to my lips and drank, the heat began to flow through me.

I knew it was short-lived, but I absorbed it all, if only for a moment. When I was done with the soup, I cracked open the bottle of water, pleased to see that it had been sealed. I drank half of it, wanting to conserve the rest if this was the only meal I was going to get.

As I stared at the water, it did make me wonder about using the bathroom. There was no bucket left behind to serve as a toilet, and the idea of squatting in the corner was less than palatable.

I was saved from finding out when James reappeared. He took in the empty soup bowl and nodded. “Bathroom?” he asked.

I clambered off the bed. “Yes.”

He motioned for me to stand, then took me by the arm and led me out the door. The hallway was warmer than my prison cell had been, but it was still cold by my standards. James stopped at a door and pulled it open to reveal a modern toilet and sink.

“The door remains unlocked. Be quick.”

I stepped into the small room and closed the door, relieving myself quickly before washing my hands. There wasn’t even a mirror hung on the wall, which told me abduction could have been part of daily life here.

There was a sharp rapping. “Are you finished?” James asked through the door.

I opened it, letting him know how unhappy I was with him. “Yeah, I’m done. You should really work on your people skills.”

The stare he gave me was blank and scary AF. It unsettled me so much that I didn’t even notice he was holding something. A hoodie.

Holding out his hand to me, he said, “Put this on.”

I took what was offered, pulling the sweatshirt over my head. It belonged to a man, although no scent clung to the material. The hem hit my knees, which was an immediate improvement on my overall comfort level.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

He nodded imperceptibly, then took me by the arm once more and returned me to my room.

TWENTY-THREE

GRAYSON

Sloane had been missingfor twenty-four hours, and we were no fucking closer to finding out where she was. I still hadn’t had word from Torin, and I only hoped that was because he was still with her—still protecting her as I knew he would.

We figured out he had to have been the one to get her out of the restaurant because there had been no sign of a struggle, and Sloane was smart enough not to move locations if she was under threat of abduction. She would’ve put up a fight otherwise.

But where the hell were they? Attempting to escape? Were they even still together, or had they been separated?

My agitation over losing her was catching. The whole clan—the whole compound— was like a powder keg getting ready to ignite. All it would take would be a single spark.

“Heard anything yet?” Finnan asked, stalking into the open-plan kitchen and pouring himself a drink of whisky.

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