Page 90 of Phantom
His movements are easy, nonchalant, but his back muscles underneath his white button-down are tense.
“It means... they’re right. You should stay away from me.”
“Why do you say that? Besides, that’s kind of hard to do when you freakingkidnappedme.”
He scoffs and sips his drink. “You don’t know anything about being kidnapped.”
“Oh, and you do?”
He slams the drink down and glares at me. The firelight gleams against his white mask, but the rest of him is in darkness thanks to the dim lighting.
Like a shadow.
Like a phantom.
He stands with his legs apart and arms crossed. “Actually, I do. I know what it feels like to be kidnapped, caged,andtortured.” He prowls closer and I barely resist the urge to both flee and fling myself against him to ease the pain lacing each word. “And I even knowhowto kidnap, cage, and torture.”
He’s close enough now that I’m sure he can see my pulse racing in my neck, right where his hand goes to grab a curl. He winds it around his finger until it’s taut. When he lets go, I feel it brush against my skin as it springs back into a coil, making me shiver.
“Let me know if you’d like a demonstration.”
His hand hovers near my cheek and I swat it away. “I don’t believe you.”
His smile grows cold and mean.
“You don’tbelieveme? Which part don’t you believe?”
“That you would do those things to me. You didn’t even turn me over to a psych ward.”
The harsh look on his face falters. “You asked me not to. I know better than most what those places can do to someone.”
My breath stops in my chest and my throat goes dry. I immediately know who he’s talking about.
His mother.
He shakes his head. “I think that’s enough of this game for now. It’s time for bed, Scarlett.”
“It’s not even nighttime yet.” I frown. “Besides, I’m not a child, Sol.”
“I didn’t say you were,” he replies calmly. “But you woke up earlier than usual and we both know you need your sleep. I doubt that inquisitive mind ever gets sated.”
I tap my nails on his bar cart. “Can you just answer one more question?”
He sighs, and the left side of his face adopts a bored expression, although the way he’s fidgeting in his pockets suggests he’s anything but.
“What’s your question, Scarlett?”
“Why should I stay away from Rand? He was my friend growing up. His family was good to mine. His father even helped mine find work on Frenchmen Street—”
“His father did what?”
My words cut off at the sharpness in Sol’s tone.
“H-he… helped my father get music gigs.”
“But Frenchmen Street is east of the French Quarter. The Bordeaux side.”
“Yeah… is that a problem?”
