Page 16 of Twins for the Enemy

"Oh?" he asks. "You must have considered prison food at this point. Do you think you'd have enjoyed it just as much?"

"Sure," I say. "Bread is bread."

"That's good to know. It's still an option for you."

I glare at him. Never mind. His eyes are still a dark void. They look like wood because there is nothing behind them. Unconsciously, I shove another bite into my mouth.

"If you shove any more in your mouth, you're going to choke," he says.

I tear apart the bread, shoving as much as I can in my mouth. It's likely the unsexiest visual he's ever witnessed. It shouldn't bother me that he might see me that way.

"Do you use that mouth on John?"

Heat rushes into my cheeks. "Who's John?"

"The man you claim is the father of your children."

"Oh, um, right, yes," I say. "I mean, no, I don't use my mouth—well, I do, but that's none of your business."

"Very convincing. Award-winning," he says, fixated on my mouth. I swallow.

"Are you going to blackmail me into sleeping with you?" I ask. A darkness eclipses his eyes, taking away any light in them. But he forces on a smirk.

"You must have forgotten that you were the one who pressured me into sleeping with you last time," he says. "So, if you're looking for a predator, it's you."

"Bullshit," I say, setting down the rest of my bread roll. "I didn't pressure you to sleep with me."

"It wasn't that long ago." He leans back in his chair. "You must remember me telling you that we shouldn't do it. You insisted. You kissed me after I said we should stop."

"You're wrong." I force myself to smile back. "I only slept with you because I wanted to steal from you. It was the quickest way to get your defenses down."

He runs his thumb along the edge of his jaw. "You told me that you sold the compass for fifty dollars. You're lowballing your virginity."

"You're an asshole," I spit out, jerking up to my feet. "I'd rather go to prison than spend one more second here with you."

As I turn, nudging the chair back with my leg, he grabs my wrist.

It's like experiencing touch for the first time. He's keeping his grasp at a firm but not tight grip, and it still feels abrasive—almost like my skin is brand new. But it doesn't scare me. It makes me want to feel brand new on every part of my body.

"If you go to prison," he says, his thumb rubbing along the center of my wrist, "the twins will be at the whim of the prison healthcare system. Then, I'll get full custody of them once they're born. Is that what you want?"

I slowly sit back down. He releases my wrist. I smile at him, the aggravating, sociopathic dark void in my life.

"Thank you," I say. "I'm glad to have someone around who is aware of the state of our prisons. It must be why you're such a good captor."

"If I was acting as your captor, you'd be in a much worse situation." He leans his elbow on the table, cupping his chin in his hand. "I'm acting as a father to our children."

"Funny. You are a lot like my father," I say.

His forehead creases for a moment. My gut clenches. I don't deserve sympathy for my father. He barely ever hit me.

"If your father hurt you—" he starts, his hand clenchinginto a fist.

I grip onto the bowl of risotto, but it doesn't seem as appealing now. "My father is irrelevant."

"No woman deserves to deal with that."

"Does a woman deserve to be held captive in a house by a stranger?"

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