Page 10 of Twisted Fate

I take his card and slip it into my back pocket. “What if she notices?”

“It’s not a difficult task, Aurora.”

“Is that what you told Max?” I remark, my voice dripping sarcasm. “What’s to keep me from bailing on this little adventure once I’m home?”

“You’d like to test me?” he inquires, sizing me up like an animal surveying its prey.

I force a neutral expression. “It doesn’t seem like many do.”

A dark look passes over his face. “There’s a reason for that.”

“I’ve witnessed a lot of crazy today. If you want to scare me, you’ll have to do better than that.” We’re so close that his cologne tickles my nostrils, and I can feel his breath on my cheek.

His eyes narrow. “Whoareyou?”

“Guess you should’ve done your research before you kidnapped me,” I say.

“Had it been my intention to bring you here, I would have.” He licks his bottom lip.

Instead of replying, I glance at the bracelet around my wrist. The turquoise stone continues to pulse in his presence. I tug the sleeve of my cardigan to cover it. An uncomfortable weight settles on my shoulders, and a familiar tightness fills my chest. I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry. I notice a slight shake in my hands and an increase in the pounding of my heart. I think I’m having a panic attack.

Tristan regards me with an odd expression. “Aurora?”

I shake my head and turn away, looking out the window as I try to force myself to breathe. Not a minute later, I feel his presence behind me and refuse to turn around.

“What are you studying?” he asks.

My forehead creases. “I...what?”

“Your major,” he clarifies. “What is it?”

I take a deep breath. “Business.”

“What year?”

“Fourth.” I take another breath, relieved to find my heart rate returning to a normal pace. “I’ll graduate in the spring.”

“Impressive. What are your plans after graduation?”

I laugh, leaving his question unanswered. I’m not about to bond with my kidnapper.

I turn around. “What are you doing?” I know what he’s doing, he’s talking me through my panic attack.

“Making conversation,” he answers.

“Well, don’t. We aren’t friends. After this situation is dealt with, we will never speak again,” I say, all of my anger and confusion backing the fierceness in my voice.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Does your pseudo sense of control over the situation make you feel better?”

I scowl and look away. “Don’t pretend you know anything about me.”

“A person learns a lot about someone when they pay attention.”

I need to get out of here. “You’ve given me the bracelet and your phone number. I know what I’m supposed to do. Now take me home.”

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