I shake my head. “Anton…”
“Jessa.”
“Please… don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do this,” I whisper, gesturing between us. “I’m not a threat.”
His eyes gleam with a kind of anti-light. Like they’re sucking it in instead of reflecting it out. “You know what?” he says. “I actually believed that before tonight. Now… not so much.”
I feel fear snaking down my spine, but I manage to keep it from overwhelming me. What was Freya thinking, calling the cops on Anton? As if that would stop a man like him. He could have easily put a bullet into each officer that walked through the door.
Then one into me, for good measure.
“It was just a coincidence,” I say. “Bad luck.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences. And I make my own luck.”
“Anton,” I say, stepping towards him for the first time that I can consciously remember, “I swear to you: I’m not the one who called the cops.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know,” I lie immediately. “I have no clue, but I did not ask anyone to do it.”
He stares down at me for a long moment. Then, thank God, he nods. I’m not sure if it’s an I believe you nod or an I don’t give a shit about arguing with you anymore nod. Either way, it lets me breathe again.
“It wouldn’t have helped either way, you know,” he remarks. “Nothing they can do to me.”
“Meaning what? You’re above the law?”
He nods. “Exactly that.”
“So then you don’t have to worry about anything, do you?” I ask. “Even if I went to the cops, no one would believe me.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t need my phone.”
“So it is important?” I ask.
He gives me an ironic smile. “It belongs to me. Of course it’s important.”
He traps me between the fridge and his body. He’s not even touching me, but he might as well have me in chains. I feel paralyzed. Like I can’t move until he gives me permission.
“If anything happens to me tonight, those two cops have seen your face,” I point out. “I’m guessing neither one of them works for you.”
“Not yet.”
I frown. “You can’t be as powerful as you claim to be.”
“Care to test that theory?” With a devilish smile, he takes another step towards me. I twitch back so hard against the fridge that I hear things toppling over inside.
“What’s that expression on your face, Jessa?” he murmurs, reaching up and tucking a stray lock of hair back behind my ear.
“Disgust,” I spit, but the word doesn’t come out anywhere near as forcefully as I intended it.
His smile only gets wider. “Disgust,” he repeats, his fingers sliding over my breasts. I know he can feel how hard my nipples are. “I don’t think so. Looks more like excitement to me.”
I have no idea if he’s about to stab me or kiss me. But when he drops to one knee in front of me, I feel an undeniable frisson of excitement rip through me.