Page 65 of Silenced

My outrage at an all-time high, my fury giving my feet wings like Hermes himself, I dart toward the door but, goddammit to hell—no dice. It’s still locked as I tug on the handle, any lingering desperation fading as wrath booms through me. The door shakes with the force I use, but I don’t care how I get through it so long as I do.

When arms grab my waist and haul me against a solid chest, I scream, “FUCK YOU!” as I kick out, trying my best to destabilize him.

My shrieking doesn’t even seem to register with the staff, but I’m past caring. I struggle in his hold, doing my damnedest to make this tougher on him, but he’s resolute in his stance, his intentions.

The fruit still staining his cheek, he walks me toward the safe room as if I’m no heavier than a freakin’ kitten, not a size 20, and this time, he closes the door behind him.

That’s when my heart sinks and fear replaces anger.

Freezing in his arms, I swallow hard as the lock clicks.

Heart racing, lungs burning, I sag into him as he props me on the back of the sofa.

That’s the first chance I get to study his features and what I see bewilders me.

No irritation, no annoyance.

Impassivity.

Again.

Fuck!

Agitated, I glower at him as he drags the comforter away, baring my nudity to him.

Again with the dumb moves, I slap him, unsurprised when he snags my hand in his. Except, it’s notbeforemy palm connects with his cheek—it’s after.

The bright pink splotch on his face makes me swallow.

Regret personified.

My bottom lip wobbles as I study the mark I left behind, aware that my breathing sounds overly loud in the silence.

His fingers around my wrist don’t trigger pain—they just contain my hand.

I stare at it like it doesn’t belong to me because it doesn’t.

How could I have hit him like that?

Mouth still trembling, I make a fist with my free hand and press it to my chest. Rubbing it in a circle, I both sign and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

His gaze flickers to my breasts where my fingers have settled and, slowly, he nods.

His lack of anger is unnerving, but that’s a relief because guilt is already eating me up inside.

He’s never hurt me.

Sure, he’s a fucking weirdo, but he…

I swallow.

‘You are safe now.’

Then, he lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist.

When he grabs me by the waist again, I don’t fight. He returns us to the table and takes a seat. I can’t help but notice in the time it took for me to run off like a lunatic, he moved the tray.

Because he doesn’t sit me down on his lap, uneasiness filters through me. Something that’s compounded after he lays me on the table instead.

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