Page 28 of Pose for Me
I wait a few minutes until I’m sure Ryell isn’t coming back, then I crawl over and grab the sketch.
His art is breathtaking. It almost looks like a photograph, except my eyes are open and staring out from the page. From how he drew them, I can almost feel my yearning.
I scoff, but instead of ripping the paper apart and throwing the pieces out of my cell like confetti, I fold it and place it under my mattress. Lying down, I slide two fingers into my mouth, trying to organize my racing thoughts.
I can use that. Ryell will look at the camera footage and see that I squirreled the picture away. Maybe if I bring it out every night, he’ll think I’m infatuated with what he drew—and maybe with him as well—and drop his guard. He’ll think that I really want him to fuck me, and he’ll make a mistake. It’s my only chance to get the fuck out of here.
Eleven
Ryell
“Why did you become an FBI agent?”I ask Lane as he glares at me. He looks as if he doesn’t want to answer the question, but I don’t care. I need to know what makes him tick and only information can tell me.
“Why?” he asks, lip curled in a sneer.
I shrug. “I’m curious about you, Lane. I’m not very tech savvy, so I couldn’t dig up anything on your past.” Lane winces imperceptibly, but I catch it. Hmm. “Is it a secret? I promise I can keep secrets really well.”
“Fuck you, you monster.”
I laugh but just cross my arms over my chest and stare at him.
For the past few days, I’ve been coming down to talk to Lane—more like rub in his face that his body reacted to me and no matter how much he denies it, if I wanted to fuck him right now, he’d let me. He hasn’t said more than a handful of words, but I have noticed his eyes light up when he sees me, even though he gives me the cold shoulder when I attempt conversation.
Tsking, I run my hands through my hair. “Okay, I’ll make up a story for you.” I tap my chin as if I’m thinking. “You had a childhood friend that was murdered, and you’ve alwayswanted to honor them by putting away murderers.” He gives me a droll look. “No? Alright, how about…you’ve always been overlooked and wanted a job that would make you feel powerful? Where your word would be law and you could abuse innocent civilians?”
“I don’t abuse my power or anyone. I’m not a monster like you,” he says through clenched teeth.
“So, tell me.”
Sighing, he crosses his arms over his chest and looks away. I almost think he won’t answer until he says, “I’ve always admired law enforcement and wanted to make a difference. I’m a hard worker and don’t give up until the crime is solved.”
I hum, shooting him a smug smile that I’ve made him answer my question even though he didn’t want to. “Do you feel fulfilled?”
“No. Because I wound up in the arms of a killer. The same one I was tracking.”
“But did you hate being with me, Lane? Or are you just upset that you found out who I really am after you had the fuck of your life?”
I’m surprised when he answers. “Yeah. We had a great time at the bar and in your bed, and I thought I had finally found someone that…understood my needs.”
“What needs are those, Lane?” I ask, leaning forward so I don’t miss a word.
He blows out an unsteady breath but shakes his head. Guess that conversation is closed. That doesn’t matter. He’ll be here until I kill him. I’ll have an answer from him soon enough.
“Tell me about yourself, Lane,” I say.
Grunting, he looks back at me. “Why? Do you always get to know your captives?”
“No. That’s a waste of time when they won’t be here long. But I like you.”
He gapes at me. “You do know how unhinged that sounds, don’t you?”
“I’m a psychopath, Lane. I’m sure everything I say is unhinged.”
“You’re a psychopath?” he asks dryly. “And that doesn’t alarm you? Statistically?—”
“Don’t quote serial killer/psychopath statistics at me, Agent. I’ve heard them all. Now, where did you grow up?”
Lane sighs and says, “Here, in California. A small town about three hours south. Super wealthy area with all the old money residents.”
