Page 35 of Heartless Game

He snorted. “I’m saving that for if you reallypiss me off.”

Well, that certainly put a damper on things.

“How’d you know I like chai?”

“I know everything about you,” he said.

Not everything. If he did, he would’ve mentioned my mother when he threatened me.

“Have you been stalking me?”

He nodded.

“Wait, what the hell?” He’d been stalking me?

“For how long?”

“Since we met.”

“Over a year?!” This was insane.Hewas insane. And the real question was:

“Why?” I asked, completely confused.

He glared at me but didn’t answer, his eyes catching on my wrist, which had been rubbed raw from wearing the handcuff all night. His jaw went tight, some look coming to his eyes I couldn’t read. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was regret. But there was no way. Isaac didn’t care that he’d hurt me with the handcuffs.

“Why is your wrist so red?” he demanded.

I glared.

“Why do you think?” I retorted.

The strange look in his eyes disappeared, and they went blank and cold.

“I need to go train. You don’t have class until eleven—yes, I know your schedule, too—and usually I’d bring you with me, but you’re not coming to the gym.”

“What, you don’t want me around your shirtless, sweaty teammates?” I fluttered my eyelashes. “That’s too bad, it sounds like a good time.”

His eyes narrowed. “You won’t be seeing anyone shirtless but me,” he stated. “I’m leaving you here but taking your phone with me. The office door is locked and the WiFi is disabled anyway. The doors will be locked, the alarm on, and if you try to escape…well then, poisoning you sounds like a good alternative to keeping you under lock and key.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t get into trouble, little snoop, or I’ll find a new way to punish you…since you liked your spanking so much.”

I growled, but didn’t deny it.

“Drink your latte,” he ordered.

I took a sip, moaning. It was fucking delicious, the best one I’d ever had—and I was a chai latte connoisseur.

“Where did you get this?”

He shrugged. “I made it.”

“What?!” I gaped at him. “Since when do hockey playing billionaire mafia princes make their own drinks? Or anything?”

“I may know a lot about you, Tovah, but for a reporter, you really haven’t done your homework. Might want to work on those investigative skills,” he tsked. “I’ll be back later to take you to class.”

With those final, obnoxious words, he sauntered out of the bedroom. A minute later, I heard the alarm go on.

I smiled.

He might shit on my investigating skills, but I was about to prove him wrong. He’d locked the fox in the hen house, and I was going to use this time alone in his home to find every fucking piece of evidence I could against him and his family.

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