Page 37 of Queen of Blades

She quickly dried herself off and pulled on a new pair of underwear, socks, leggings, a bra, and a T-shirt. Collecting her dirty clothes, Harper headed out of the bathroom and to the bedroom. No hamper. Frowning, she grabbed a bag to store her dirty clothes in for now. Just because she was a kidnap victim, it didn’t mean she had to live like a slob.

After exiting the bedroom, she made her way to the kitchen and paused, watching Paul moving about in front of the stove. The smell of melted butter wafted through the air.

He hadn’t only made sandwiches. That would’ve been the easiest thing to do and call it a day, but that wasn’t Paul. On the small table sat a large bowl filled with romaine lettuce, croutons, and what looked like hunks of chicken. A bottle of Caesar salad dressing and parmesan cheese sat beside it.

Cautiously, she entered the room. “What happened to sandwiches?” Not that she was disappointed. This was way better.

With a slight startle, Paul turned. “I’m making grilled cheese with some canned tomato soup,” he said, gesturing to the pot over the flame.

She slid into one seat at the table.

“I figured I was starving and you might be too.”

She nodded, befuddled by all this. He went out of his way for her. Paul didn’t have to do any of this. He claimed his plan was to kill her—maybe. He hadn’t decided. Ugh, why were things so complicated?

As he brought over plates with grilled cheese and bowls of soup, she scooped salad for the two of them as though this was a perfectly normal lunch between old friends. With a groan and a flinch, he dropped into the chair opposite her. While she twisted the top of the dressing, she bit her lip, contemplating whether they should talk about it or eat in silence.

Yeah. Quiet wasn’t her thing.

“How long are you going to keep me here?” she asked.

He closed his eyes and hovered his spoon over the bowl for several beats. Clearly, her completely rational question irritated him. Eventually, the muscles around his jaw flexed as he dipped the utensil into the soup.

His silence made the rage inside her bubble.

“I have a job. A life. I can’t just hide away in bumfuck Oklahoma playing house with you!” She slammed the bottle down, and a geyser of dressing flew up into the air, splatting on the edge of the salad bowl.

His lids opened slowly, and his gaze lifted to meet her furious eyes. “Shouldn’t you be pleading with me not to kill you? Not annoying the shit out of me.”

Narrowing her eyes, holding his cold, steely stare, the words left her mouth before she had a chance to even think about them. “If you were going to, you would’ve done it already. We both know that.”

Challenging a person who was capable of murdering her, and had every reason to do so, was the worst idea on the planet, but she did it anyway. Now what?

“It’s not safe for either of us out there.” He pointed his spoon toward the front door. “I’m doing you a favor. So, say thank you, shut the fuck up, and eat your damn salad.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me,” she snapped. “My dad could just as eas—”

“And where is your useless goddamn father?” Paul dropped his utensil into the soup, causing it to splash.

She opened her mouth, but he continued before she could speak. “He’s not here.” Paul feigned looking around. “Is he?” His glare at her made the disappointment well inside her. “He wasn’t at the courthouse. He’s probably too strung out to even know what the hell is going on. I waited days before I acted on this. You would think, if he knew, he would’ve stepped up and protected your ass.”

Maintaining eye contact, Paul reclaimed his spoon and slowly dipped it into the soup and brought it to his lips before he sampled a taste of it.

His words stung. Tightening her lips into a thin line, she hated that she couldn’t refute them. Wherewasher dad?

“He sat on his ass and let that fuckwit hit you before, and now he’s MIA when someone wants to kill you. Seriously, why do you even associate with him anymore?”

That was it. He couldn’t just spout the unfortunate truth to her like that. She didn’t need to face facts right now. She was a kidnap victim, after all. Did he have no empathy?

Slapping her hands down on the table, she pushed up to a standing position. She could barely contain the rage festering within her. If he kept talking, she’d stab him in his beautiful eyes with the spoon.

When she moved away from the table, he jumped to his feet. She needed space from him. Without looking back, she headed for the bedroom.

His iron grip wrapped around her forearm, and she yelped in pain when he squeezed her gunshot wound. Yanking her, he forced her to turn back and face him.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

“Away from you.” Jerking, she tried to wrench herself free.

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