Before I could respond, his hand tightened slightly against my waist and suddenly his lips crashed against mine.
The kiss stole the air from my lungs instantly.
Fast.
Desperate.
Messy in the way fear sometimes becomes desperation.
I froze completely...
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The sound of the lock turning has become something I hate. Because every single time I hear it, it means one thing.
Carlos.
I look up from the armchair near the window. The book in my lap closes immediately. Outside, the forest stretches endlessly beneath a grey afternoon sky. Inside, my stomach tightens.
The door opens and there he is.
Carlos Moretti.
He was wearing a black shirt that hugged her chest just right paired with dark trousers. His sleeves rolled up carelessly to his forearms revealing dark tattoos along his forearm.
Looking perfectly relaxed. As though he's walking into his own living room instead of the room where he's keeping a kidnapped woman.
My jaw immediately tightens.
"What do you want?"
Carlos closes the door behind him. The lock clicks. The sound echoes through the room.
Then he leans casually against the door. Studying me. Watching me. The same way people watch storms from a distance.
Interested. Patient. Dangerous.
"You know," he says eventually, "most people would've given up after that escape attempt."
I stare at him.
"Most people wouldn't kidnap somebody in the first place."
A small smile appears on his face. The sort of smile that belongs on a wolf.
"I suppose that's true."
The casual response irritates me far more than if he'd argued.
I stand from the chair as the book drops onto the cushion behind me. I crossed my arms over my chest and asked -
"Why are you here?"
His eyes follow the movement. Then return to my face.
"To tell you something important."
The answer immediately puts me on edge. Because nothing good has ever followed those words. Not once. Not in the books I write, not in the films I'd watched. And certainly not here.
"Then tell me."
Carlos pushes away from the door. Slowly. Deliberately.
Every movement feels calculated. Like he's already rehearsed this conversation a hundred times. He stops several feet away. Far enough not to crowd me. But close enough to remind me who's in control. Then he says it just like that, without hesitation, without warning.
