“Can we not talk about that?”
“Why not?”
“Seriously, stop answering my questions with other questions.”
“Why would I?”
Ugh. This prick.
He tilts his head in my untouched dish’s direction. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t eat all night long, so you must be.”
“How do you know that…? Wait a minute, were you watching me again?”
He cuts through his food, and even though he doesn’t answer me, I’m sure he was.
Does that mean the small bursts of apprehension I had throughout the week were real? But that’s impossible. He couldn’t have been there since he was recuperating from what happened in the fire.
I know because Anni told me.
A part of me is relieved that he’s safe. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if he’d suffered the fallout from that fire.
I still hate his ways, though.
“Stalking is a crime, you know.”
“Only if it’s proved.”
“What?”
“A stalker only becomes a criminal when he’s caught. Besides, I prefer to call itinquiring.” He cocks his head in my direction. “Eat. If I ask a third time, it won’t be with words.”
I clench my fingers around the utensils and glare at him. “How do I know it’s not poisoned?”
“I’m a direct person. If I wanted to kill you, it would be via more brutal methods than poison.”
My mouth falls open. I’ve always known Jeremy belongs to a criminal organization, but this is the first time I’ve had full comprehension of that.
“What if you drug me to have your way with me?”
He glides his forefinger across the rim of his glass, back and forth, in a cryptic rhythm, as if attempting to hypnotize me.
“It’s more fun when you’re awake. How else will I hear you moaning, gasping, and most importantly,screaming?”
I should be sick to my stomach, and I am, but at the same time, I’m caught in a trance by the subtle change in his tone and expression when he says the last word. By the way his voice deepens and a familiar spark flashes in his usually cold eyes.
It’s the same expression he wore when he pinned me down on the deck until I had nowhere else to go.
Instead of getting trapped in it all over again, I lower my head and cut a small piece of the omelet thingy and throw it in my mouth, fully intent on swallowing without tasting.
But I do taste it and I pause, then take another bite and chew it slowly this time.
Despite the normal ingredients and the canned tuna, there’s something special about it that I can’t put my finger on.
Maybe it is drugs, after all.