Trust me, baby. You’re not going anywhere.
“Eli,” she whimpers. The sound cuts through me.
“Angel,” I murmur, stepping closer. She struggles, pressingherself against the headboard. That stops me in my tracks.
“I didn’t want to do this, Angel.”
Her lips tremble. “Do what?”
Guilt rises, unwelcome and unfamiliar. I swallow it down.
“Keep you locked up. But I don’t trust you not to run.”
“You tortured him,” she spits, fire flashing back into her eyes.
“To get information. Yes.”
Her mouth sets into a hard line. She shakes her head but says nothing. Defiance blazes in her gaze.
“This is just temporary,” I tell her.
Still nothing.
Okay then.
“You need to eat.”
Emily wrinkles her nose at the tray in my hands. Lasagne, garlic bread, salad with balsamic glaze. A meal any normal person would devour. Yet she’s staring at me like I’m a monster.
How can she not see I’m trying to take care of her?
“Eat,” I say firmly, shoving the tray toward her. I uncuff one wrist so she can use a fork.
She snatches it from me, and I immediately spring back. I don’t trust her not to stab me right now.
Eventually, she digs in, shovelling food into her perfect mouth. A little moan slips past her lips. I smile. Proof she enjoys it.
Once she pushes the tray away with more force than necessary, I take it and set it aside, then sit next to her.
I reach to stroke her silky skin. She flinches, jerking away.
I frown. “Why are you scared of me?”
She laughs—a hollow, brittle sound. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I don’t understand.”
She studies me for a moment, then sits up slightly, crossing her legs beneath her. “Okay. Why don’t you explain the situationfrom your eyes?”
I twitch a smile. “We’re having a therapy session now?”
“Yes.”
Alright. I’ll bite.
“Okay. You already know I killed Thomas for touching you. You’d gotten past that, since you relaxed earlier. You didn’t run when I left you on the bike—so clearly you weren’t scared of me then.”
Emily stays quiet, but I can see her listening, processing.