Page 54 of Firethorne
Then he turned to face me, hands shoved into his trouser pockets like he didn’t have a care in the world. Like this was fucking normal.
Damien.
I should have fucking known.
“You,” I growled, balling my hands into fists and glaring daggers of fury at him as a hint of a smirk appeared on his face. A smirk that made my blood boil. “Doing your father’s work, I see. Or should that be the devil’s work?”
He cocked his head and grinned back at me.
“What makes you think I’m working for anyone?” He lowered his gaze and glared at me through his lashes like the fucking devil I knew he was. “I can plan things on my own, you know?”
“And I can fight back. You can’t keep me here.” I glanced around, trying to find a door to escape, but he just tutted back at me.
“I know you’re looking for a way out, Maya. But trust me when I say, this place is impenetrable. There is no way out for you. Every window, every door is locked, and I’m the only one that can open them.”
“To keep me prisoner?” I goaded, knowing I’d spend every waking moment trying to find a way out of here.
“To keep you safe.”
I huffed an ironic laugh.
“You’re the one I need to be kept safe from. You and your sadistic father.” I glanced around again and asked, “Is he here?”
“My father has no idea where you are, and I have no intention of telling him. As I said, Maya, I can work on my own sometimes.” The way his eyes crackled with a glow of wicked intent didn’t make me feel any better about that fact.
“Where am I?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“A safe place.”
“It doesn’t feel very safe... with you here.”
He laughed.
I wasn’t being funny.
“Didn’t your father ever teach you that sometimes it’s better to trust the devil you know?” He tapped his chin like he was thinking, then grinned to himself. “Ah, no. He didn’t. Because your father is a spineless little shit. A waste of fucking oxygen.”
“Fuck you,” I snarled back. “Just let me go. Open the door and let me fucking leave. You can’t keep me here.”
“I think all things considered, it’s best you stay here,” he retorted, and I flew across the living area, charging for him, ready to fight for my survival. But he was stronger than me, and he grabbed my arms as I tried to hit him. Then, pushing me onto the sofa, he leered over me. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“What? Fight for my life?” I glared back at him as anger rolled inside me.
“I’m not the one you should be fighting,” Damien replied, standing back with so much ease I wanted to hurl myself out of the chair and launch myself at him again. “I’d save that fighting spirit for when you need it.”
“And when exactly would that be then?” I cocked my head now, poisonous venom on my tongue ready to lash him. “When I’m tackled in my own bed in the middle of the night by a fucking mad man? Or when I’m shackled to a fucking torture chair and assaulted? Or maybe when I’m pinned down in the mud and someone sticks a fucking needle in my neck and drugs me?”
“I had no choice with the needle,” he replied, his jaw suddenly clenching. “I had to get you out of there.”
“You fucking drugged and kidnapped me,” I hollered.
“I fucking saved you!” he shouted back.
And we were silent for a moment. Panting out our breaths. Him standing a small distance away from me, watching me, and me, sitting on the sofa, my rage a red mist clouding every rational thought.
Eventually, the silence became deafening. I had to speak.
“He’ll find me, you know.”
