Page 17

Wait, was he going to let me go?

He leaned forward and propped his elbows on those massive thighs, his hands falling to hang in between them, then didn’t move again.

Frustration speared through me. Those vivid eyes held mine as neither of us spoke. I flinched when he suddenly winked at me, then reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a soft-clothed bag.

That was my bag.

My money.

Anger shot through me, hot and fast. “Give that back,” I snarled.

“Why should I?” There was a glint in his eyes, something a little darker mixing with all that amusement.

“Because it’s mine, you thieving low life. I was there first.” This fucking asshole. Was there no honor among thieves?

“This was never going to be yours. Tell me something, Margot⁠—”

“I’ll tell you that’s not my name.”

“Mm.” His voice rumbled over me, sending infuriating sparks of heat down my spine. His eyes snapped back to mine. “Alright. So what’s your name?”

“Fuck you,” I spat. “Let me go.”

“No,” he stated simply.

What was he playing at? Why was he even talking to me right now? If he had never come into the shop, I’d already be long gone from this place, continuing my pathetic life somewhere else. An endless merry-go-round devoid of depth and rife with impulsivity.

“Then can you tell me what the fuck I’m doing here?”

His eyes trailed down my body, causing goosebumps to prick up everywhere his gaze touched. When he reached my feet, he retraced his steps until that ethereal green gaze collided with mine once again.

Everything in my system froze at the burning rage there. It was so intense I couldn’t breathe for a moment, completely taken aback. He’d just been smiling a second ago, so what the fuck now? Did my feet piss him off?

The confusion only deepened when he said lowly, “He hurt you.”

What? Who hurt me?

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The gravity in his expression was unnerving. “He hurt you, so I made sure he could never touch you again.”

A chill raced down my spine as I stared at him in horror. “Wait, what? You killed Tom?”

I’d been kidnapped by a murderer. I mean, I was no paragon of perfection, but I didn’t go around killing people.

Instead of saying no, of course not because I’m not a murderer, he said, “He put his hands on you.” A tendon in his forearm protruded as he clenched his hands into fists, and when he realized I was staring at his hands, he slowly opened them, resting his palms on his thighs and spreading his fingers.

Was he trying to seem less intimidating? It was too little too late, but I got the sense that he didn’t want to hurt me. Right now, at least. He could have killed me at any point, if that was his goal. Those hands were twice the size of mine and he could probably wrap one around my throat with ease. I was alive because he didn’t want to kill me. So what the fuck did he want from me?

“Did you kill Tom?” I asked slowly, raising my brows. I wanted a straight answer, not the run-around he kept giving me.

“I should have,” he answered, running a hand through his hair. “I really should have.” His gaze drifted to a spot over my shoulder, like he was imagining himself murdering Tom.

God, what a fucking psycho.

And still, my shoulders sagged in relief. Not because Tom was alive, I couldn’t care less if he was breathing or not. Just because that meant this man wasn’t a murderer. Not yet, at least. Or…no, that didn’t mean anything. He could’ve murdered a thousand people before Tom.

A sudden painful throb in my head made me wince. Exhaustion sank through me, settling deep in my bones. Everything hurt, everything felt numb, everything was out of my control.