Page 39 of Pretty Pink Poison
My hand froze mid-brush. My eyes flicked to the door.
It wasn’t time for the nurse—she only came in the mornings. It wasn’t Bane; he never visited me, not like this. I had no friends here, and food wasn’t delivered. I wasn’t even allowed to order it myself.
No one would knock unless something had changed. Unless I’d really crossed a line. Unless my time had come.
My heart lurched.
I’d made a spectacle of myself at dinner. Maybe Bane had finally realized I was too much for him. Too much liability. Too much work. And I wasn’t ready the way I wanted to be. My blade was still in the drawer. My syringe was still hidden in the bathroom cabinet behind a box of tampons. The chain on the door hung loose because I’d been painting my nails and didn’t want to smudge them fiddling with the latch.
I’d gotten lazy.
But whoever it was, they’d knocked. Someone who wanted to hurt me wouldn’t knock… right?
My heart raced anyway. I scrambled off the bed, nearly smudging the wet polish as I grabbed my syringe and blade. I shoved them both under my pillow, trying to look casual even though my pulse hammered in my throat.
The knock came again, firmer this time.
I smoothed the white robe over my thighs, my hands trembling as I moved toward the door. Fluffy, soft, and blindingly clean, it suddenly felt like a costume instead of comfort. I hesitated, then reached for the handle.
I wasn’t sure if I was about to open the door to my captor, my executioner, or my savior.
And I hated myself for hoping it was all of them. I hoped it was Bane.
When I swung it open to find him at my door with security standing beside him, I whispered his name, “Bane.”
He stood tall as always, but his posture was a bit askew now. It’d only been about an hour since I’d seen him, but immediately, I smelled the liquor mixed with his signature scent. His eyes were that piercing icy blue, but the whiskey on his breath undercut with vodka smelled ruthless and cold. He looked looser with his jacket unbuttoned, his tie crooked, andshirtsleeves pushed to his forearms. “Bianca.” Was all he replied with as he rocked on the heels of his loafers.
“Can I help you both?” My gaze flicked to Pepe beside him.
“Leave us,” Bane ordered, without looking at him.
There was no hesitation. Pepe abandoned me down the hall, leaving us completely alone.
“Your door wasn’t locked.” His accusation hit like a slap. He said it as though we’d been circling this same fight for months, though we hardly spoke.
I matched his clipped tone and stared at my fingers. “I was painting my nails and didn’t want to mess them up.”
“That’s an idiotic, ridiculous excuse.” His growl was sharp, though his anger felt unsteady, wobbling under the alcohol.
“I don’t think so. I already have Pepe around, so I’m sure it’s fine—”
“Lock your door if you don’t want monsters in your bedroom in the middle of the night.”
“I’ll take a monster over the silence any night.” I held his gaze.
Something flickered in his expression, his eyes narrowing. Then it softened as he muttered, “Noted.” He was filing the admission away. His teeth dragged over his bottom lip before he sighed. “That wasn’t the type of dinner I meant for you to have with your father this evening…or with me.”
There it was—the faintest crack in him.
“Is that an apology?” I asked.
“It’s as close as you’re going to get to one.” He glared at me for not censoring my thoughts.
I knew that’s what he wanted, but I was up here all day with them bouncing around in my head, and tonight I couldn’t get the one thought out of my mind: He’d sent me back to my room like he didn’t want me… even when I’d been ready to give myself to him. “Are you sorry for the bathroom or the dinner?”
“Sorry for both,” he said finally.
“You regret it then?” I refused to stop, to make this easier for him.
