“So, people are buying them? Does that actually make much money?”
Eli rises, pulling me gently to my feet.
His hand settles on my side, over my kidney. “This alone could sell for over a hundred grand.”
His touch glides upward, skimming my ribs, my chest. My heart stutters. His breath caresses my cheek as he leans in to whisper, “A pair of lungs? Two hundred—at least.”
His fingers brush my collarbone. My skin sparks under his touch. Fear and fascination war inside me, but my body leans into him like it knows him better than I do. “Skin goes for about six quid per square inch.”
Then he places his palm over my heart. “This?” His voice softens. “To me, it’s priceless.” A small, crooked grin appears. “But to them… half a million wouldn’t be unheard of.”
My mouth is dry. I lick my lips to moisten them. “W-Why do you know this?”
Eli steps back and I hate to admit the way my body subconsciously misses him. The way it wants to follow him.
“I do my research, Angel. That’s important if we’re to take them down.”
For a fleeting moment, I wonder if I’ve judged him too quickly. His killing of that Kevin man could be justified—maybe—if it’s really for this reason. To keep others safe from those more evil. More evil than him?
Is Eli evil?
I don’t know anymore.
He’s broken. That’s for sure.
I hate that even now, I want to fix him more than I want to save myself.
27
Stupid, Considerate, Kidnapping Stalker Man
Emily's Search History: What does it mean when your kidnapper is nice to you?
Emily
Aquietsobescapesme as I look down at the blood between my thighs, staining the sheets. With all the stress of the past week, I’d completely forgotten that my period was due to start. I curl into a ball as a cramp hits.
The door opens, and then Eli’s hands are stroking my hair. “What’s wrong, Angel?”
I want to tell him that he’s what’s wrong, but thatwouldn’t be true right now.
“My period started,” I moan, pressing a hand to my stomach. I expect him to recoil.
“We need to get you changed,” he says instead, helping me up from my foetal position.
“I need ibuprofen,” I counter, not wanting to move.
Before I can protest, he scoops me into his arms. “I can do that,” he says, carrying me to the bathroom.
“Bath or shower?”
“What?”
“What would you prefer? A bath or a shower?”
“Bath,” I whisper, hating how my heart thaws a little more.
Eli turns the dials and adds bubble bath as if this is all very normal.