Page 19 of Unhinged

He’s here.

He’s sitting on the outside of the cage, arms crossed over the sheer mass of him, broad and inked and huge. His hair’s dark, unruly, and his eyes—thosefuckingeyes—blue-streaked gray, like fire and ash.

I hate the way my stomach clenches when he stares at me as if he… as if heknowsme. Calculating. Assessing. Like I’m a problem that needs to behandled.

The cut of his jaw is too sharp, his features unforgivingly violent and raw, his mouth cruel.

A thick neck covered in ink that snakes down his chest and over his shoulders, the type of shoulders built for hard work and heavy lifting.

He leans forward, his body massive. Broad-shouldered, with a quiet intensity radiating from every inch of him.

But it’s the way he watches me that makes my skin crawl and burn at the same time. Like he alreadyownsme. Like the chase is over, and he already knows exactly how this ends.

He has ten minutes, give or take, before I make him regret not kidnapping literallyanyother woman but me.

I should hate him.I do… I do hate him. But somewhere, under the hate, is something worse. Dangerous.

Something that feels like… fascination.

I stare before I ask again, “Who are you?” I pretend it takes all my energy to say this, like I’m more drugged than I am. I have to play into this if I’m going to escape, and Iamgoing to fucking escape.

No one cages Anissa Laurent and lives to tell about it.

He doesn’t answer. Just watches me, taking up space in a worn leather chair, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the armrest—like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s about to crack open a beer and watch a game.

My stomach tightens.

His voice is low, rough, and full of dark amusement. “Finally awake? Makes sense; I guess you were sleep-deprived.”

I glare at him. The weight of his gaze bears down on me. I wait, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t snarl. Doesn’t gloat or threaten.

Just watches. Unmoving. Patient. Like a wolf who’s already sunk its teeth in but enjoys the struggle too much to end it yet.

This hunt is over.

That’s what he thinks.

I force my breathing to steady. Panic is useless. I’ve been here before. I had to wait, bide my time until I could run.

I need information. A plan. My eyes flick to the corner of the room, searching.

He chuckles, low and lazy. I shiver. “Looking for an exit, little witch, so you can cast your spell?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Cute.”

His eyes narrow, even as he lets loose another chuckle that curls around my spine.

“Go to hell,” I snarl.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, “I already told you.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “That’s where I came from. Do you want me to take you along with me?”

Right. I try to hide the shiver that rolls through me.

I don’t know who he is. I don’t know why I’m here. But I will not break.

I will not let him win. Iwillfind a way out.

I can’t fucking wait. Finally, a chance to do what I do best, but to save my own damn hide.

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