Page 42 of Oblivion

I cracked the door and peeked out, finding my captor standing in the kitchen and sipping from a mug.

“Breakfast is there,” he called, sensing my presence.

I opened the door further. “I told you, I’m not eating that. For all I know, you’ve laced it with something.”

He scoffed and finally turned my way, arched brows included. “You think that little of me?”

“I sure as hell don’t thinkhighlyof you. You fucking kidnapped me!”

“Suit yourself. I’ll eat it. Can I go ahead and assume you don’t want this coffee either?”

My wariness waned ever so slightly. “I’ll get my own, thanks.”

He met my eyes while tipping the second mug of coffee into the sink. My fingers bit into the door frame, only easing when he settled on the couch—with my breakfast balanced on his lap.

“Knock yourself out, Miss Prescott.”

I edged into the kitchen while keeping a close eye on his movements. I didn’t understand why he was being so nonchalant about my presence. Almost as if he was bored of the kidnapping already.

“What’s your name?” I asked, grabbing the peculator jug.

Any information was better than none. It would be usefulwhenI escaped. After all, he had to use the bathroom sooner or later.

The stranger let out a snort. “Nice try.”

I glared. Hard. Disgusted by the sight of him, but etching his appearance so far into my memory, I’d probably have recurring nightmares.

Tall and lean. Imposing when at full height, yet unnervingly calm eyes that almost revealed a caring side. His salt-and-pepper beard was trimmed, and his matching-colored hair was pushed back from his face as if he frequently ran his hand through it.

Wedding band. Nice watch. Leather belt and polished shoes. His actions of last night (kidnapping me) contradicted his daylight demeanor. It had me off-balance and fighting to trust in my instincts. I had to keep my guard up.

“Why am I here?”

He didn’t bother looking my way. “You know why.”

I didn’t. Not really. Sure, it had everything to do with my father’s campaign, but I still didn’t understand whyIwas suddenly so important to his success… or downfall.

I’d barely brought the coffee to my lips when Mr. Jekyll and Hyde rose to his feet and stalked toward me.

“Sit,” he commanded.

I shrank backward, trying to maintain distance between us.

“Sit,” he barked again, and turned a harsh glare on me.

“Where?”

A quick motion toward the table had me dashing out of arm’s reach. I knew his behavior would eventually shift.

“You won’t be needing that,” he added, plucking the mug from my hand before shoving me into the seat.

“But you just let me make it!”

My feeble protest was ignored. I watched in horror as he pulled out a bundle of cable ties from his jeans pocket and counted off four.

Panic flooded my entire body and played across my vocal chords, portraying to the world exactly how terrified I was.

“What are you doing?”

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