Page 14 of Twins for the Enemy

"Nailing the windows closed and locking me in is a fire hazard," I say.

His jaw clenches, and I realize my mistake.

"It's ironic for you to care about that," he says.

We both must be thinking about Helena Porter and the reports of her severe burns on her face. He shuts the door quietly, but it would have been less threatening if he'd slammed it. I listen to the faint sliding sound as he locks it.

I sit down on the bed, turning on the stone-base lamp. I try to lift the lamp. It's quite heavy. If I wanted to break something, this would be the right tool for the job.

And I definitely want to break something.

The mattress of the bed is heavier than hell, but I manage to slowly slide it off by switching between heaving it with my arms and bracing myself against the wall and pushing it with my legs. I plan to struggle through dismantling the bed frame, but it's kept together with simple brackets. I only need something to loosen the screws.

I search through the bathroom, finding an array of possible items—tweezers, nail clippers with a metal nail file, and a toothbrush. The toothbrush is useless now, but if I keep my prisoner mindset, I can sharpen it like a shank and turn it into something that can twist a screw.

The tweezers are more durable than I expect, but they keep skipping out of the groove in the screw. I switch to the nail file. It skips out as well, but with the grit on it, it grips better. I slowly manage to get each screw out, creating a pile of the rails and slats.

When the door opens, I'm looking down at a small mark where I'd tried to turn the nail clippers too hard, it slipped out of the groove and stabbed the side of my hand. It's small, but I hide my hand under my thigh as Kieran steps in anyway.

He glances at my disassembled bed frame, the mattress haphazardly leaning against the bedside table, and me, looking like I just ran through a humid jungle. His mouth moves the slightest bit, which could be annoyance or amusement. He's become much harder to read since our first meeting. Or maybe I hadn't tried to read him that night.

"It's time for dinner," he says. "Let's go."

"I'm not hungry," I say.

It's the biggest lie I've ever said. I haven't eaten since yesterday, which seems like years ago now. I've gotten used to some hunger, but it's gotten to the point that I’m sure my stomach is consuming its own lining. But I won't let him think I owe him for anything. I'll starve.

"You can choose to not eat for yourself, but you need to eat for the twins."

I flip the lever on the nail clippers, back and forth, like windshield wipers. The asshole is right. Even when I went to the clinic, I only confirmed that I was pregnant and found out it was twins. I didn't dive too deep into the details because it all felt like a dream. It would have been ridiculous to ask how much I needed to eat anyway. I was already barely eating enough to feed myself. I can't imagine how much weight I'd lost in the last two months.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Kieran isn't so kind to me anymore because I lost the weight that made my feminine features more noticeable. Maybe he only liked me when he found me attractive.

It shouldn't affect me, but he'd turned me into someone who could feel more than responsibility and regret that night. He'd made me feel like a whole person instead of someone who needed to be molded into someone useful. I could feel joy without any strings attached.

I slowly stand up. I slide the nail clippers in my pocket.

"Leave them," he says. "I'll tell the staff to take them and anything else with a sharp edge."

"Afraid I'll jab it in your neck?" I ask, raising my eyebrows and trying to look innocent.

"I'm worried that you'll injure yourself. I saw the nick on your hand," he says.

I shove my hands into my pocket. Reluctantly, I take out the left one and drop the nail clippers on the floor.

As I pass him, his eyes follow me. Looking for more weapons, I assume.

Part of me feels ugly about it. The other part is secretly pleased.

If I can't be desirable, at least I can be a threat.

The dinner spread is like anoffering to a god.

Kieran pulls out a chair for me. As I sit down, it takes a moment to drag my attention away from the steak, glistening with juices under the bright lights as the dollop of butter melts over it. But it's not the only food there.

A bowl filled with fluffy dinner rolls with steam rolling off them.

A small bowl of caramelized carrots.

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