I’m a master at controlling my feelings. I’ve had years of practice. My only release comes from cutting.
And pain. I like pain.
I don’t get involved in kidnapping…usually. Now, thanks to my father, I have a redhead locked in a room and cuffed to the bed.
Not just any redhead, this one has a smart mouth, and she’s a fighter. She fights me, and I love it.
She gets under my skin. She makes me feel.
She’s my firecracker.
But, if her brother doesn’t pay back the money he stole from us, I have to kill her.
Drinking a cocktail that was laced with Rohypnol is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
But with an alcoholic for a father, and a drug addicted mother, I suppose intelligence was never going to be my strong suit.
Now, thanks to my idiot brother, I’m being held captive by a man who gets off on taunting and humiliating me.
I should be scared.
But he’s making me feel things I’ve never felt before. He’s doing things no one has done for me before.
I should be focusing on staying alive. Instead, I’m falling for a killer.
Excerpt from Misty’s POV
His bedroom is spacious, just like the rest of his house. It’s also clean, and tidy. I glance around; there is nothing out of place. No clothes on the floor, or the bed. His bed is made and all the surfaces are clear. My brother’s room is like a tip with dirty and clean clothes thrown on the floor, along with empty potato chip and candy wrappers, and he never makes his bed. To be fair, my bedroom isn’t much better. I do make a point of putting away my clean clothes, but my dressing table is littered with make-up. His room is so tidy it’s almost anal. I’m no psychiatrist but I’ve read how you can tell a lot about someone by the state of their room. I already know he finds it hard to feel. Seems to me he may find it hard to let go in all things. I stand awkwardly by his bed. Normally I’d just sit, but I’m afraid of messing up his duvet. He plugs in his hairdryer. “Sit.”
As I perch on the end of his bed, he climbs onto the mattress and sits down behind me. He slowly runs his fingers through my hair as he directs the heat from the dryer. I’ve never had anyone dry my hair before. I hate doing it myself because my hair is thick it takes ages to dry and makes my arms ache. It feels good to be pampered. His touch is gentle and it crosses my mind that his hands which are being so gentle with me, have killed people. This shouldn’t be sexy. It so should not be sexy. But it is. I’m clearly sick in the head. Being cooped up in that room has fried my brain. I don’t care. I let all my thoughts drift away and focus on the warmth of the dryer and the feel of his fingers in my hair. By the time he has finished I’m so relaxed my muscles feel like jelly. I’m disappointed when he switches off the dryer and gets up off the bed.
“Do you have someone come in and clean your bedroom?”
He shoots me a glance. “No. I wouldn’t let a stranger root around in my bedroom.”
“You’re not a typical guy are you?”
He frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “My brother’s bedroom is a tip.”
He leans against the wall and folds his arms. “So your brother is a slob. What does that have to do with me?”
“Most guys are slobs. Hell even my room is messy.”
He fixes me with a glare. “What are you trying to say?”
“That you’re a little anal.”
His eyes widen. “I’m what now?”
I bite down on my lip. “Anal.”
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