Page 24 of After Our Kiss

We stepped into a wide room. All the windows had been boarded up, though the work didn't look recent. Had these brothers done it, or someone else?

A staircase stretched up out of view in the far corner. We passed it, heading deeper into the house, neither of us speaking. I was mapping every turn we took, refusing to accept I wouldn't need that info. If I was going to escape, knowing the fastest way out was paramount.

He took a sharp turn, a new hallway opening in front of us. It faded into blackness at the far end, four doors in matching white paint spanning along the walls.

Conway opened the third one on my right. The sound of the mechanical lock grinding brought acid up in my throat. He set me down inside. The light was already on, showcasing a windowless room with nothing in it but a twin bed. No sheets, no blankets, it was forgettable in every sense.

Except for the mirror up above.

This room... it mimicked the one I'd been trapped in nine years ago.

“Oh god,” I whispered, my voice tight. “Oh god. You can't be serious.”

Behind me, the door shut. It was the second unique 'click' that made me turn. Conway held up a switchblade, his eyes cold.

I thought about a few ways I'd dodge the knife: falling backwards, jumping sideways, ducking low. But I didn't need them. Instead of stabbing me, he gripped my forearm and snapped the plastic tie off.

Unsure what he was thinking, I stood there numbly as he crouched, cutting off the one around my ankles. Gingerly I rubbed my wrists, fingering the tingling red ring leftover from my bonds. “Why would you do that?”

“So you can take off your dress for me.”

My eyes flew wide—heat spread up my neck until I was glowing. “I'm not going to strip for you. You're insane to ask!”

“I wasn't asking,” he said, and he sounded sotired.He passed the blade to his other hand absentmindedly. “Take it off, or I'll do it for you.”

Maybe it was the result of all of my frustration coming to a head... or maybe I was just fucking nuts from disbelief... but I didn't care that he was threatening me. Looking him dead in the eye, I felt my snide smile and didn't try to control it. “That must make you feelso good,hmm? Threatening someone who doesn't have a weapon?” I did—but I wasn't ready for him to know about it. Conway would slice me up before I could get my mirror-shard out of my underwear.

He stopped moving, not even his throat twitched—he was holding his breath.

I bent my knees. “I can see you trying to figure me out. You want to know how far I'll go, how hard I'll fight you.”

His eyes flashed from black to oblivion. In a smooth motion he closed the blade and stuck it in his back pocket, next to the key I knew he had. “You don't want to do this, Georgia.”

“I do. I really fucking do.”

A half-smile, like he was curious, crossed his handsome face. Conway didn't brace himself, he didn't even take a stance. He was an imposing figure in front of my only exit out of this prison. He breathed easy... patiently...

Waiting for me.

Jumping forward, I made a reckless swipe with my elbow at his stomach. My arm cut across my body at full speed; I wasn't going to hold back. I couldn't. Not if I wanted a shot at winning.

To my amazement, I made contact. My elbow slammed into his gut, the reverberation shaking my teeth in their gums. He wassolid.

Looking down his nose at me, Conway grappled for my wrist. He caught it, and we tangled together, his limbs trying to catch me while I struggled to slip away.

As strong as he was, I was ten times more desperate.

“Fuck!” he hissed, releasing me, staring at the scratch marks I'd left in his arm. Flexing my fingers I dodged around him, squeezing into the gap between his body and the door. My hand brushed the doorknob. Then he was on me again.

His thick arms coiled until I was crushed from behind. My lungs abandoned all their air; I deflated under his aggressive force. He spun me quickly, throwing me onto the bed. “Last chance,” he said, breathing heavily—more than he should have been. He'd barely exerted himself. “The dress comes off by your hands, or I'll do it for you.”

Sitting up on my elbows, I glared at him. “You're a monster.”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “I know.”

He rushed me as my legs swung off the bed. Smoothly he grabbed my ankles, kneeling on them and the mattress. His weight was familiar—his nearness confusing. I forgot we were fighting and in that spare second I glanced upwards, seeing my pink cheeks in the mirror overhead. With my dress hanging so loosely, exposing my cleavage and nearly my nipples, I looked like someone recovering from a dirty hook-up.

Everything about this was familiar, yet twisted.

---