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I spat out some rope thread. “Yeah. I had so many fucking options but decided to sit right here and not move.”

“Smart decision.”

I looked up as Granite placed a bowl and a beer on the bedside table. “You forgot something.”

He gave me a questioning glance.

“You forgot the feeding tube.” My finger tapped on the armrest, and even with the unamused look on his face, I refused to break eye contact.

After a few seconds of an intense stare-off between us, Granite grabbed a sheet off the bed and used it to cover the vomit on the floor. “I’ll get someone to clean that as soon as you’re done eating.”

“How the hell am I supposed to eat with the stench of chocolate vomit stuck in my nose?”

“Maybe you’ll think twice before you vomit next time.”

“Maybe you’ll think twice before you come in here covered in blood.”

He shot me a wicked grin, as if my being bothered by bloodstained clothing amused him. Psychopath.

The mattress whined when he sat down. He took off his cut, placing it next to him, and reached for the bowl of food. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I will not—” He shoved a spoonful of macaroni into my mouth. Immediately, I spat it out, but Granite just forced another spoon in my mouth—which I spluttered all over my lap, only to get my mouth stuffed with more food.

“We can do this all day, Alyx. There’s a lot more where this came from.” He held up the bowl and grinned. “I got nothing but time, woman.”

“You know, usually, when psychos kidnap women, they starve them. Not force-feed them.”

He raised a dark brow. “Usually, when psychos kidnap women, starving them is a way of torture. In your case, it’s forcing you to eat.”

“So, you admit you’re a psycho?”

One corner of his mouth curled in a half-grin. “That’s one statement I’ll never argue, ballerina girl.” He held up the spoon. “Open wide.”

I frowned. “Please tell me you’re not about to make airplane noises.”

“No, but I’m about to shove this spoon down your throat.”

With my lips sealed shut, I glared at him, weighing my options. The determined look in his eyes was enough to tell me this was a battle I wouldn’t win.

Always choose your battles. The one thing my dad taught me—especially when it came to my mother.Choose the battles you know you can win. He knew all too well no battle with my mom was ever something you could win. God, sometimes I hated him for loving her so much that he would turn a blind eye to the kind of relationship she and I had.

My gaze remained on Granite’s as I reluctantly opened my mouth, feeling like a fucking toddler forced to eat.

He slipped the spoon of macaroni into my mouth and smiled. “There you go. Not so hard, is it?”

The words “fuck” and “you” came to mind, but again—choose your battles wisely.

After another bite of food, I looked at the tag on his cut which was still on the bed. TheBlood Brotherstag caught my attention.

“What does that mean?”

Granite turned to where I was staring then looked back at me. “Shut up and eat.”

I studied him while chewing. There was a burning curiosity, a need to find out more about him. Even though he had been nothing but cruel to me, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something more. Something I’d need to dig for if I wanted to find it.

I swallowed the chewed mush of pasta and had to really concentrate on getting it down. The spoon was in front of my mouth as soon as I swallowed, but I turned my face away. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Granite frowned. “You’re hardly in a position to make a deal here.”


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