Page 6 of A Debt of Darkness

“I'm not hungry.”

My stomach grumbles, betraying me. I'm fucking starving and I ignore the worsening hunger pangs rumbling through me, refusing to let the asshole get to me.

Ryan moves to the door and pauses, turning back and making eye contact before he opens it.

“Last chance,” he says. “Anything I can do?”

I'm tempted to tell him to fuck off, but it'd be a mistake. I catch a breath and roll my cheek between my teeth as he stares at me, trying to guess what I'm thinking.

“Take me home.”

Whatever he thought I was going to ask, it wasn't that. His eyes widen and his free hand clenches into a fist. Ryan's on edge and I don't understand why such an obvious request has enraged him more than anything else I've said or done. His reaction is way out of proportion, and he's livid enough to lose his temper.

“You're seriously asking me to take you back to your fucking father? You'd rather be there than here?”

We're still holding eye contact, still glaring at each other with an anger burning hotter than hell. I'm not budging and it's another thing that appears to have shaken Ryan. Shaken is too strong, but he's sure as fuck surprised I haven't backed down.

He's more surprised when I nod my head.

Slowly.

With conviction.

“You’ve got a lot to fucking learn,” he snarls and slams the door shut. I stare at the white door, expecting him to shout some comeback through it. Men like him never let things rest. They always need to twist the knife. They ram their point home and make damn sure it's clear who's in charge. Once their control breaks, they harness their anger to assert themselves, oblivious to the destruction they're causing.

But there's nothing.

No banging at the door.

No noises from the corridor.

No shouting. No screaming. Absolutely no swearing. No threats of violence and no nasty, hurtful insults.

Furniture hasn't been thrown. Walls haven't been punched.

There's just silence. Simply stillness. An absence of anything except the white wood door and the sheen of light reflecting off its gloss paint.

My muscles tense and I stare, waiting for the explosion. It doesn't come. The key turns in the lock and Ryan walks away, his footsteps steady as they fade away.

I sit, watching the door as if my life depended on it. I count my breaths and force myself to look around, taking in everything that's apparently mine. It's beautiful and it's a prison. It's everything I could have wanted, and I loathe it. I want to breathe. I want to know where the fuck I am and what the hell is going on. I want all the things I took for granted, but I'm stuck inside these four walls and a bath or shower are the only things I want.

But that would be what Henry wants.

He expects me to wash and dress for dinner. He can take a running jump if he thinks I'm pretending everything's fine and this is normal. Or acceptable.

I find my feet and pace around the room, opening drawers and discovering the emptiness they contain. Every piece of furniture is secured to the floor and I eye the coving suspiciously, wondering if cameras lurk in its ornate pattern. I check every goddamn window and they're all bolted shut and the shutters are half pulled, obscuring my view of the world outside. The bathroom is as pristine as the room, and the cupboards contain all the toiletries I could want. The man's even bought my favorite perfume and I resist the temptation to pick a bottle up and hurl it across the room.

The closet has some pretty floral dresses and little else, and we're heading for an argument over my attire, if this is what I'm expected to wear. The clothes are the only thing lacking and if I need to pick an argument then it'll be the easiest target. By far.

I step back into the sitting room and the door unlocks with uncanny timing. I'm being watched and the thought disgusts me, making my stomach twist in horror.

“Did you change your mind?” Ryan asks as he opens the door. He doesn't step through it, making our already strange conversation even more bizarre.

I shake my head and he seethes. I meet his indignation and take a few steps forward, raising the tension several notches.

“What about my things?”

“You don't need them. Henry will give you everything you need.” Ryan steps forward but stops at the threshold. “Give him what he wants, and you can have whatever you want, Ivy.”

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