Page 46 of Lamb

That got my attention.

I jerked upright. The daze of the alcohol made me misjudge my stop, and I nearly threw myself face-first off the bed in surprise. “You are sleeping here?”I internally cringed at the rising octave in my voice.

Lamb had caught it, and I saw the small twitch of his lip as he nodded.

I stopped giving two shits about my voice because the matter at hand was too serious to divide my attention.

“You cannot sleep here.” I folded my arms over my chest, shaking my head. “I will not allow it.”

“You will not allow it?” Lamb repeated, a brow raising high into his distinct and full hairline, arms folding over his chest to mirror mine. “I don’t think you have a choice, sweetheart.”

“Just because I am the kidnappee and you, the kidnapper, does not give you the right to crawl into my bed.”

“Don’t you meanmybed?” Lamb countered, that smile now in full show. He knew he had the upper hand in the argument, and there was no chance of an underdog win from me. Besides, I had long since known that if Lamb wanted something, there was nothing I could do to stop him from having it. The man looked like a sports car but bulldozed through life like a freight train set loose from its tracks.

“Fine,” I conceded, knowing when a tactical retreat was necessary. “You sleep on the bed; I will sleep on the floor.”

I planted my feet on the floor, pushing to step past him, giving him access to his plush, bloodred monstrosity of a bed. I did not want to sleep on it, anyway. The familiarity of the floor, even one covered in a soft, plush carpet, was a better bed than wet cardboard, and it would do me just fine.

Or it would have.

The soft material slipped around my wrist, and theclickI had heard more times than most struck my ears.

The leather cuff was soft, with a fabric inside to stop any chaffing, and the little metal padlock rattled against the metal loop holding both ends of the cuff tightly around my wrist. Not even a little bit of room for me to squeeze my hand loose. I was well and truly tied.

It got worse.

I looked to where the chain led, the short, barely half-a-meter chain linked to its identical pair, locked around the wrist of none other than the enemy himself.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I growled, looking from the leather cuff up to his face. He locked eyes with me, the deep brown a near black in the dim lighting. The single lamp light hugged all his sharp features, as that smug smile still settled on his curved lips.

“Looks like we’ll be sleeping together after all.”

I was not given a moment to argue. Before I could fight or run, or whatever else stupid thing Lamb must have expected me to do, he had his shoulder ducked and in the middle of my waist before I could act.

The whiskey lurched up my throat, and I bit my tongue to stop vomiting all over the place, though, in hindsight, covering his back in my stomach juices would have been a fair return as he tossed me onto the bed.

“You bastard,” I hissed, fighting the birds and the stars spinning around my head, the world rocking beneath me as Lamb flicked his side of the covers over onto my body and slid inside the bed, turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness descended on the room, and there I was, on top of a red, silk bed with my mentally corrupted AI kidnapper powering down next to me.

“What the actual fuck?” I seethed into the darkness.

“Go to sleep,” Lamb audaciously said from next to me. Perhaps Lamb did not power down. Was it something more like battery-saving mode? Standby?

“No,” I growled. “Toss me and tie me up all you like, but do not tell me what to do and think I will just do as you say.”

“If I thought you would do as I’d say, then I wouldn’t have had to tie you up or toss you,” Lamb responded, the darkness starting to settle in the world around me, some blurred shapes hinted at by the minimal light leaking in from the suburban neighbourhood outside.

“We agreed that forcing me did not work,” I argued back, wishing desperately that my vision was not as bad as it was; that I could make out just enough of his form in the dark to land an unsuspecting hit. Right now, however, I was in more danger of attacking his pillow or throwing myself off the other side of the bed than managing to at least get in a satisfying attack.

“You’re right,” Lamb agreed, surprising me for a moment. A really short moment.

“Then take this off.” I jostled the cuff, the chain clinking softly against the sheets.

“No,” Lamb said. The short moment ended.

“Why?” My frustration began to rise in my chest, and whatever buzz the whiskey had kept me subdued with was wearing off fast because I was craving another bottle. Or crate. Or barrel. It would be the only thing to stop me from committingmurder. I had killed once already; Lamb would just be another notch on my metaphorical murder bedpost, so to speak.

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