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“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

“You were nearly drowned today, you haven’t eaten, and you’ve barely had anything to drink except the water I gave you earlier. So I’m allowed to be bossy for at least five minutes.”

“All right, Mouse. Make them count.” A quiet laugh rumbled from his chest.

I held the bottle to his mouth. He took several careful swallows, then pulled away before I needed to stop him.

Even as thirsty as he had to be, he controlled himself.

I waited before offering it again.

“Any nausea?”

“Some.”

“Dizziness?”

“Aye.”

“Can you take a deep breath?”

“I can. Don’t enjoy it.”

“Do you think anything is broken?”

“Ribs may be cracked. Left thigh’s fucked. Shoulders are cramping from the cuffs, and my wrists are torn up.” He flexed his hands behind the chair as far as the restraints allowed. “Everything still moves.”

“Can you walk?”

“I’ll walk.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“I don’t know yet.”

At least he didn’t lie. He didn’t need to pretend he was invincible to remain dangerous.

I tore off a small piece of bread and held it to his mouth.

His lips brushed my fingertips as he took it.

A man chained to a chair had no business making a bite of bread feel indecent. Lachlan managed it anyway.

I pretended not to notice the way my heart rate jumped and fed him another piece.

When his stomach seemed to tolerate them, I followed with a few pieces of banana and more water.

“Why do you call me Mouse?” I asked.

“It suits you.”

“It makes me sound small and weak.”

“Small doesn’t mean weak, Mouse.” His gaze settled on mine. “Predators watch the doors. They never think to watch the walls.”

I didn’t know how to respond. Men had always assumed I was fragile because I was quiet and stayed out of the way.

My fingers tightened around the bread, pressing a deep dent into the soft center.