Page 5 of A Debt of Darkness

He slows again and I try lifting my head, causing a jolt of heat to roll down my spine. I've been in an awkward position and my neck doesn't like the movement. It reminds me of how I got here and I won't forget this. Or forgive it either.

“Where the hell are we?” I groan.

“Now you're interested,” Ryan says, still carrying me. His footsteps sound on stone tiles and his hands tighten their grip. “Henry keeps a house away from everywhere else. It's quiet. Peaceful. You'll like it. Or learn to.”

He's told me nothing helpful and I'd have guessed every bit of information in his answer. He's deflecting—expertly—and it makes my temper burn hotter.

“I asked a goddamn question.”

“And I gave you a goddamn answer.”

A crap one and we both know it. I dig my fingernails in, hoping to hurt him. If I do, Ryan doesn't let me know and he carries me up the stairs without saying another word.

I peer over his shoulder, staring down at the simple but elegant staircase and hall beneath it. The sand-colored stonework sits comfortably against dark blue walls, as old and new harmoniously coexist. Classical paintings adorn the staircase, but they don’t overwhelm it and the space is strangely modern. Almost peaceful. It’s understated because it doesn’t need to pretend. It screams money and power, certain its timeless elegance will exist long after you do not.

“You waking up?” Ryan asks.

I huff and lift my head, counting the doors we pass and trying to memorize our route. My eyes hurt but I've already wasted precious time and I can't afford to make mistakes like this. Damon told me to be smart and I've been a fool, indulging in weakness when I should have been orientating myself.

“I feel sick,” I mumble.

“Apologies,” Ryan says, dismissively. “We were delayed and you needed a second dose. It'll wear off.”

He slows and asks me to hold on as he opens a door. Ryan takes me into a large bedroom and places me on the sofa. I adjust myself and he steps back until his back connects with a wall. He rests against it and crosses his arms over his chest, staring at me as if I'm pathetic.

He's trying to intimidate me and he's succeeding with little effort. Ryan's size is impressive and I've seen more than my fair share of built men. He's bigger than most of the men in the gym at university, and most of them are athletes. I'm certain he could crush my windpipe if he wanted and there'd be fuck all I could do about it.

“What did you fucking want?”

Ryan doesn't take the bait, but then I don't expect him to.He keeps staring and I fidget, unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. He's watching, observing every flicker of every muscle, noting every action and reaction. He's learning my body and my responses, figuring out how to read me so he can use it later.

“This is your suite,” Ryan says, cold and collected. “You've got a sitting room and bedroom, and you'll find a closet and bathroom through there.”

My eyes dart around, noting the furnishings and decor. Everything's expensive. Everything's elegant. It’s the perfect mix of grown-up and girlish, without being in your face. Even the pinks and mauves of the flowers are perfect—and I fucking hate how lovely this room is. It's as if someone took the time to decorate it for me and it’s too personal, too close. I don't want it, don't need it, and I won't accept it.

“The windows are locked following your recent escapades. I'll lock the door behind me. If you need anything, then ask.” He waits, watching for a reaction and I refuse to give him one. “You'll find clean clothes in the closet. Toiletries are in the bathroom. I assume you'll want to freshen up before dinner.”

I arch my eyebrow and bite my tongue, refusing to ask the obvious question. My silence is petulant but it's beginning to get to Ryan, if the slight stiffening of his core is a reliable indication of his mood.

“Henry wants you dressed and presentable by six o'clock. You've got several hours to settle in and sort yourself out.”

I scoff and stare at one of the paintings, hating it because it's another example of how perfectly this room is decorated. It's a modern collage and its simple but calm colors are understated, contrasting with the sharp angles and messy lines of its design.

“It's genuine,” Ryan says, still calm. “Henry purchased itfor you.”

“He can return it.”

“He bought it as a gift.”

My jaw clenches and I hate the beautiful painting more now I know it was bought to bribe me.

“I don't like it.”

Ryan waits until my head turns back to him. “I think you do, sweets. You hate it because you like it. Because Henry's figured you out and he's under your skin. He didn't do it to buy your affection, and that makes you hate it even more. For some utterly insane reason, you’re making this hard and you’ve decided to kick and scream and fight the whole damn way. You'll try to make everyone else suffer, but the only one you'll hurt is yourself. Accept this. Accept him. Give him what he wants and move the fuck on.”

Heat burns through my eyes and I channel every bit of rage I can at the man. He's provoked a response and I'm going to follow through. Ryan needs to know I won't back down easily and I'm not planning on following his advice.

Ryan pinches his nose and shakes his head. “It's your funeral, sweets. I'll have tea brought up.”

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