Page 19 of Sweet Doe
Shewantsto know me.
Even if she did it to plot some stupid little escape attempt, even if she’s terrified and defiant and sharp-tongued—I’ve got her curiosity. And curiosity, in someone like Sloan, is an invitation.
It means she’s paying attention. She’s starting to understand that it doesn’t matter what she does, there's no getting out of this. No getting away from me.
I lean against the counter, watching her from the corner of my eye as she eats. She holds the fork like she might stabme with it if I get too close. Cute. Still, she’s eating. That’s something.
I watch her mouth wrap around the metal, slow and hesitant, like she knows I’m watching. Her lashes flick up and catch mine. She freezes. Just for a second. Like she’s been caught thinking about it.
She remembers.
What it felt like to have me inside her. Over her.Owningher.
She’s scared, sure. But she’s remembering. And that means I’m winning.
I set the second mug down in front of her—extra hot, black. Exactly how she used to order it. Back when she thought no one was watching. Back when I sat two tables behind her and her friend Cara at that overpriced café near the salon. Pretending to read. Pretending not to notice the way her chipped red thumbnail tapped against the counter when they took too long with her drink or the way she flirted with the barista behind the counter.
I noticedeverything.
And now she’s sitting here. Inmykitchen. Wearingmyhoodie. In the exact damn chair I always pictured her in.
Like fate handed her over.
Like this was always the endgame.
“I thought maybe I could show you around,” I say, casual as hell. Easy. Like we’re just two people figuring out how to live together. Like I didn’t slaughter my brother and drag her into a snow-glazed cage dressed up like a cabin.
She looks up at me. Wary, sharp-edged. But the way she sets her fork down? That’s ayes. She doesn’t say it at first—but I feel it.
“Sure,” she mutters. “Why not? Might as well see the rest of the prison.”
I smirk. “That’s the spirit.”
I guide her through the place like I’m hosting a damn Airbnb walkthrough. Point out the wood-burning stove I installed with my own hands. The generator I wired before the first frost hit. The paneling. The water lines. The insulation.
All the ways I made sure this place could keep her warm, fed, and completely mine.
I feel her eyes on me the whole time. Not the way she used to look at Alex—with that innocent, dopey admiration—but deeper. Unsettled. Like she’s trying to figure out what kind of monster I really am.
“This is all your family’s land?” she asks, staring out the big front window.
I nod. “Twenty-seven hundred acres. My grandfather bought it after the war. Place is a ghost on the map. Locals don’t even remember the access roads to get here.”
She presses her lips together.
I grin, stepping in closer, letting my voice drop into something darker. “Good luck calling for help.” And just like that—I see it. That flicker of panic. Quick,instinctual.
So fucking beautiful.
God, I could drown in that look.
She hates giving me reactions. Which makes them all the sweeter when they slip out anyway.
We reach the small mudroom off the back where I keep the supplies. Extra firewood. Fishing gear. A deep freezer. I open the pantry doors and gesture to the shelves.
“Stocked for the season,” I say, cracking the fridge door just to show her how serious I am. “Everything you like. I even got that weird vitamin powder you mix into your smoothies.”
She stiffens at that. Eyes narrowing like I’ve just confessed to something worse than kidnapping.
