Page 10 of Little Bird (Advantage Play 3)

I watch with trepidation as he clears his throat and looks toward the cold cement beneath his feet. “I’m going to need you to come with me, Little Bird.”

“Why?”

His mouth is in a thin, firm line before he swallows hard and gives me a sharp look. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please.” The slight break in his voice makes me scramble back to my huddled position.

No. No. No.

“What are you talking about, Dex? I need you to tell me what’s going on. Remember? We’ve talked about this. I’ll be able to handle crap better i-if I know what I’m getting into. Please.” Now it’s my turn to beg.

Cautiously, he steps around the bed then offers his hand to help me up. He’s never touched me before, and I hate how quickly I give in to letting him. When his giant palm nearly swallows mine whole, I can’t ignore the goosebumps that spread up my arms.

It’s just because I haven’t been touched in so long, I tell myself, wanting to roll my eyes at how pathetic I feel.

That’s what isolation does to you, though. It makes you crave human contact more than your next breath.

My legs are shaky by the time I finally make it to my feet, and Dex wraps his arm around my waist to keep me from falling back on my butt. “Careful there, Bambi. You okay?”

I nod, almost laughing at the normalcy of his teasing before remembering the ominous tone he used moments before.

Peeking up at him, I admit, “You’re kind of freaking me out, Dex. You’ve never taken me outside this room before, and I’m pretty sure it’s not to break me out of here.”

A dry, helpless laugh escapes him as he drops his head back and looks up at the ceiling while standing almost chest to chest with me.

“I wish.” Dex looks down at me and adds, “We’re taking pictures of all the girls today.”

“All the girls? As in…the ones from my first night here? How long has it been?”

“A week,” he grunts. “And the pictures are taken individually. You won’t be seeing any of those girls unless they attend the tournament.”

He hasn’t lost his cool demeanor, so I ask, “Why are you acting weird?” My brows are pinched in confusion because pictures don’t seem very terrible. “That doesn’t sound too painful, right?”

“I’m going to need the shirt back.”

“But—” Oh. “And I assume me politely declining your request would be a no-go, right?”

Dex looks like he’s about to puke. His skin has lost all its color as he takes slow, steady breaths. “Sorry, Little Bird. But I’m going to need you to cooperate, okay? Please.”

It’s the way he says please that makes me comply. I don’t know why, but he looks closer to crumbling than me right now, and I can’t let the big, strong man in front of me break on my behalf. So, I do the only thing there is to do. With shaky hands, I slowly start unbuttoning the dress shirt he had thrown at me the first night we met.

When my knuckles brush against his chest, I recognize how close we’re standing and nearly choke on the oxygen as it gets lodged in my throat from surprise. I flinch but don’t step back and am surprised when he doesn’t either.

I feel like we’re in a sick game of chicken as I reveal a little more of my skin, inch by inch, while my captor hovers less than a foot away and watches my every move. When the front is fully opened, revealing my cleavage, stomach, and every inch of my legs, I ask with a trembling voice, “Can I keep my bra and underwear on?”

“Yeah.” The word is spoken low and almost sounds animalistic with its harsh rumble. But somehow, it fails to penetrate the tension building between us.

Running on pure adrenaline, I nod, sliding my arms out of the sleeves and handing him the dirty fabric. I haven’t showered in days, and I know I stink. My hair is a snarly mess hanging down my back, but I’ve never felt more desirable. And the hesitant want churning in my lower stomach is what scares me the most.

It’s not normal. So not normal.

Dex clears his throat before reaching into his suit jacket and retrieving a set of handcuffs that are similar to the ones chained to the bed frame.

“I’m going to need you to put these on, Little Bird,” he orders.

“What?”

With a sigh, he grabs the back of his neck before explaining, “I like you, but I’m not a good guy, remember? What you’re going to have to go through for the next thirty minutes might be a little rough. I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, but you need to listen to everything I say.”

“I will.” The implicit trust is deafening.

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