by Linnea May
Her shocked gaze follows me as I gather up the tray from the bed and turn away to make my way to the door. I expect her to call after me because I know she must be hungry and that alone should motivate her to not act like a goddamn bitch in front of me.
But Riley doesn’t yell for me to stay. She doesn’t beg for me to come back like she did last time.
She just watches me leave the room, taking the food and water with me.
Chapter 17
Riley
I never thought that my level of hunger could serve as a timekeeper for me. But it’s the only thing I have left, the only indicator of time passing, as the growling in my empty stomach grows louder and more painful.
It feels like my craving for food has been growing exponentially ever since Cain left the room—taking my only chance for a meal with him. I already felt the pinch of hunger when that disgusting thug brought me the sandwich, but it was bearable then, and strongly overshadowed by other emotions. I was scared, confused, angry, and desperate for answers and a way to get out of here. My hunger merely played the role of a secondary character in that mess.
That has changed now. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m feeling more and more lightheaded every time I get up from the bed and drag myself into the small bathroom that’s connected to my cell. Water from the bathroom faucet is the only thing I’ve been ingesting, and since I don’t have anything to collect the water in, I have to sip it from my cupped hands. It makes drinking in large swigs impossible, and I can only quench my thirst for a short time before I feel the urge to drink again.
At least, it’s something to do. My sad little routine of wandering back and forth between the bed and the water faucet keeps me busy and on the move when all I really want to do is sleep and wake up from this nightmare.
I do pass out in between, but it’s never for long, I’m sure. I’m not tired. My body doesn’t need rest, but it needs food. Desperately.
I lick my lower lip as I sit on the bed cross-legged and wrapped in the duvet. It’s becoming hard to focus and keep my thoughts straight because all I can think of is food—or the lack thereof.
I know why he’s doing this. I know he’s trying to break my spirit by starving me like this. It’s no different than the stupid good cop-bad cop routine he played out earlier. I’m sure he told the guy to attack and scare me like this. It’s all part of his fucked up plan. He told that guy to touch me, to intimidate me, and to come close to me like that just so he could sweep in like my knight in shining armor and save me.
It was all orchestrated to break me, and that’s what hurts the most. Cain doesn’t care that these men have seen me naked, and he doesn’t care that one of them came close to touching me in a way no man ever should without invitation. He doesn’t care about any of that because he doesn’t care about me.
But he needs me. I’m the only person he knows who can help him carry out that deceitful plan.
And I should use it to my advantage. Instead of dwelling on the fact that the man who turned my world upside down a few months ago has turned out to be a fucking psychopath, I should focus on how I can use my worth to him to my advantage. Despite being his captive, and despite his threat regarding my sister, I still feel like I have some leverage here—as long as he keeps thinking that I am, in fact, irreplaceable when it comes to this task.
“Use this.”
My low voice travels across the room in a hiss that barely sounds human.
He wants to break me, but I won’t give him that satisfaction.
“Use this,” I repeat, louder this time.
I won’t be on my knees when he comes back, promising I’ll do everything he asks of me if he’d just please give me something to eat—and promise to leave my sister alone and let me go once all of this is done.
Relying on this promise is a huge risk. Because how could I ever trust his word? That’s right, I can’t.
I need a guarantee, something way more solid than a verbal promise. But how do I get that from him?
“A lie,” I voice the first thought that pops up in my head. “I will have to lie.”
There really isn’t anything I could blackmail him with, especially since I know pretty much nothing about him. And what little I do know may not even be true.
His name? His job? Both lies.
The story about his parents’ death? Could be true, but it could also be a sob story to soften me to his demands. I need him to tell me more about that, and I need to identify inconsistencies in his story.
I nod with determination. Yes, that’s what I’ll do first when he comes back. I’ll make him talk, and then...
My decisive thoughts are cut off when I hear a noise coming from the door. Instinctively tightening the duvet around my naked body, my eyes scurry over to the turning lock.
The door opens only a bit at first, not enough for me to see who is about to join me, but after a moment, it swings open and Cain walks in. He’s wearing blue jeans and a black turtleneck sweater that hugs his broad arms and shoulders a little too tightly, making him look like an out-of-this-world handsome intellectual who spends all of his free time at the gym. I remember his chiseled physique all too well and can’t help the hot flare that his presence still ignites deep within my core.
For God’s sake, why does he have to be this attractive? Why am I still drawn to him after all he’s doing to me? I don’t want this. I want to hate him.
I need to hate him.
He regards me with a stern expression on his face—and he’s holding a basket in his hand. It’s a cute, red-checkered picnic basket, with a small bottle of what looks to be red wine peeking through at the side.
He has got to be kidding.
Is this his way of trying to lure me into submission? A freaking picnic in this godforsaken cell?
It seems like he notices the snarky look on my face, and he moves his arm to partially hide the basket behind his body as if to tell me, Not so fast, little Riley. You’ll have to earn this.
“How are you feeling?” he asks now, adding ridicule to this whole scene.
“How do you think?” I snarl back at him.
He raises an eyebrow at me and shrugs, visibly amused. “Guessing you’re hungry.”
“Well, I’m not,” I lie, forcing myself to ignore the damn basket in his hand—and the sweet promises it holds. “So, if you thought you could just shove some food in my face and I’d be ready to comply, you’re wrong.”
Cain just huffs at my little attempt of showing strength, shaking his head as he walks closer to the bed. I don’t move an inch when he sits down right next to me, despite his close proximity. I’m torn between the urge to caress the soft-looking material of his sweater, following the outline of the hard muscles underneath, and the urge to yell and spit at him for doing this to me.
I’m pretty sure he would enjoy either one of these options in his own fucked up way, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of either.
“We have to talk,” I say instead, pinning him down with a focused gaze.
“Okay,” he responds—and I love the fact that he looks slightly surprised.
He didn’t see this coming. He thought I’d be desperate and too starved to think straight at this point. Well, he thought wrong.
And he’s not going to like what’s coming.
Chapter 18
Cain
Riley is a headstrong girl. I have known that since the first time I met her.
But as much as she tries to be strong right now, I saw the look on her face when I first walked in. I saw the way her eyes flickered when she saw the basket in my hand, and I saw the despair creeping into her expression when she realized she couldn’t let herself give in this fast.
She’s not immune to hunger and the way it weakens the spirit, but she’s not ready to give in yet.
From the way she scrutinizes me now, I’d say she’s ready to bargain, but for what? She can’t possibly think that there’s anything she could hold over m
y head as a bargaining chip?
“What do you want to talk about?” I am determined not to let her notice even the slightest bit of insecurity in my demeanor.
As much as I hate to admit it, her current stance does unsettle me, if only to the slightest degree.
She takes in a deep breath and straightens her posture so that she sits slightly taller next to me.
“If I agree to do what you’re asking, don’t you think I need more details about all of this?” She pauses. “And about you?”
The expression on her face turns neutral, hiding whatever thoughts are going through her mind.
“Agreed,” I respond with a solemn nod. “And I’m here to tell you more, provided you’re ready to cooperate.”
I pause then for effect, locking her down with a strategically raised brow. “Are you ready to cooperate?”
Riley presses her lips together and swallows dryly, then she tilts her head, suggesting a subtle nod. That’s the only acknowledgement she’s willing to give.
“Tell me more,” she demands. “Who is this guy and why is he so important to you?”
I’m not sure how to feel about her boldness right now. I don’t trust her, even with the threat of harming her sister hanging over her head. It fucking sucks, too, because I have to trust her if this operation is going to succeed.
“The guy’s name is Charlie, as far as we know. He could be using an alias,” I begin.
“Like you,” Riley interjects. “Mr. Hewett. Or should I say Mr. Stanford, or maybe Cain? Is that one at least real?”
She juts her chin forward defiantly, and I notice a faint hint of disgust in her eyes.
I choose to ignore it.
“We don’t know where he lives,” I go on. “That’s the hard part. We know what Charlie does for the Covey, and we know how important his work is for them. That’s why they always have eyes on him. He’s constantly guarded and being watched, and there’s a good chance he even lives and operates directly out of their headquarters.”
“Do you at least know where their headquarters are?”
I don’t like the condescending tone in her voice right now. She talks to me like I’m a stupid kid who jumps into something without thinking about the consequences.
“Yes, of course we know where their headquarters are.” I adopt an equally pissy tone. “But as you can imagine, that house is under constant heavy surveillance. It’s not like we can just ambush him there. Anyway, that’s not what this is all about. I don’t want to kill the guy, I want to use him.”
Riley leans forward, her attention piqued. “Use him for what, Cain? You have been really vague about that part so far.”
She’s right about that, I give her that much. And even though I am not anxious about disclosing the cold, unsettling facts about a secret underground world that an innocent girl like Riley was never meant to know about, I have no choice if I want this to work.
“The Covey is an organized crime syndicate. They have been around for almost as long as the mafia in these parts. They often work in collaboration with them, but sometimes they work against them. Either way, they always operate in the shadows, whether their business and operations are legal or not,” I elaborate. “For a syndicate working on such a large scale as that, it’s of utmost importance to protect their members and remain anonymous and outside the bureaucratic system as much as possible. No one knows who their leading figure really is—they call him Big George—and no one knows who works for or with them. So even when there is a big blow-up against them—one happened just a few months ago when someone betrayed one of their mafia-linked operations with an ambush on the day of the execution—it rarely leaves a big mark on them. Their members are blood-loyal and never speak to the police, and there are never any clues or traces to be followed, no names that can be tracked, nothing. It’s all obscured under an immaculate network of false identities, fake documents and backgrounds, even false police reports.”
I pause for effect.
“And there’s only one person in charge of that, one guy who possesses the knowledge and skills to keep their system running.”
“Charlie,” Riley concludes correctly.
I nod. “That’s correct. If one wants to bring down the Covey entirely, Charlie is the guy to go after.”
“But what makes you think that I’m the person to do this? Just because I know how to code and hack into his system? I mean, even if that was true, how do I even get access to his computer? It’s not like I can just walk up to him, smile politely, and be like, ‘hey Charlie, why don’t you show me your super-secret severs where you keep all the dirty work for that crime syndicate no one knows about?’”
I throw her a warning look, but truth be told, I can’t suppress snickering at her sassy attitude. She may need a little more work, but she’ll do just fine once I get her where I need her to be.
“I told you, you’re perfect for the job,” I say. “And here’s why: Charlie is a huge nerd. We know that much about him. He’s brilliant at what he does, so that’s why the Covey is so protective of him. But unlike them, he’s not a criminal at heart. He’s just a genius who got involved with the wrong people because they value and pay him more than any legit job out in the world ever would.”
The furrow between Riley’s eyebrows grows deeper as I speak. She either doesn’t know where I’m going with this—or she doesn’t like it.
“So, wait, are you calling me a nerd?” she asks in irritation. “I’m perfect for this job because the guy you’re trying to get close to is a huge nerd and... so am I?”
I smile benevolently. “In a nutshell, yes.”
She gasps with indignation. “Excuse me, but—”
“You’re a brilliant nerd, just like he is,” I cut her off, leaning in closer and placing my hand against her cheek. She doesn’t appear to welcome the motion, but she doesn’t reject it, either. “But you’re also a cute genius, Riley. You’re fucking gorgeous, which is why I couldn’t keep my hands off of you when we first met, and I still can’t. There’s an allure about you that’s impossible to resist—and if I feel that way about you, how do you think a guy like Charlie will feel once you start talking code to him? He’s going to melt at your feet.”
Her reaction is just what I was hoping for—she blushes crimson and her eyes flit away from mine, her lashes batting nervously as she tries to gloss over the effect my compliments have on her. It’s easy to make her feel this way.
It’s easy because I don’t have to lie. I’m simply telling her the truth—and thus effectively revealing how I feel about her. Which is why I’m tormented by a hardening knot in my chest every time I imagine her with another man. I detest the thought of her with that Charlie guy. I hate the fact that she will look at him like that, that she will smile at him, maybe even touch him, and that he may touch her. I fucking hate it, even though I’m the one forcing her to do it.
And that is just the beginning of it. Riley doesn’t even know half of how important she really is to this whole operation—and to me.
“I… I’m not sure,” she stutters now, her gaze still searching for something other than me to hold on to. “I have never… seduced a guy. I don’t know how to flirt, or be sexy, or whatever…”
“Trust me, you’ll be all right,” I soothe her as I gently caress her cheek.
“Trust you, huh,” she murmurs with a hint of sadness in her voice. “I don’t even know you.”
She casts me a coy look then, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. There’s a lot I could do to her right now, a lot that I could take from her and play this situation to my advantage. But instead of exploiting it, I choose to turn the odds in my favor in a tender way.
“Cain Preston,” I say, relishing the way her eyes widen at that revelation. “That is my real name. I think you deserve to know that much about me.”
Her face hardens. “How do I know that’s not another lie?”
“Because it isn’t,” I insist. “I swear it on my p
arents’ graves.”
This is the most honest I have been with anyone in a long, long time. I never cared enough, never trusted anyone enough to throw caution out the window just to become closer to them.
It’s dangerous for someone like me. But it feels like the right thing to do.
I’m glad I chose Riley to be that person.
Chapter 19
Riley
“Your parents’ graves?”
Cain nods while pinning me down with a stern expression. Could he really be cruel and cunning enough to use his parents like that just to gain my trust and obedience?
I don’t want to believe that.
I want to believe that he’s being honest with me, and while he may have ulterior motives for doing so, he could have an earnest desire to be real with me.
I want to believe that. I want to believe him.
“Why are you telling me this? Why are you telling me your real name?”
“Because I want you to know,” he simply says.
“So, are you going to kill me after all of this is done?”
His eyes widen in shock, and I wish I knew whether it was because what I said hit the nail on the head, or whether my assumption is outrageous and far from the truth.
“Why the fuck would you say that?” he snarls at me furiously.
“If you let me go after I do what you need me to do, I could just go to the police and turn you in. Isn’t that what any reasonable person would do?”
Cain shakes his head swiftly and shifts positions, causing the bed to creak under his motions.
“I trust you. I trust that you won’t go to the police after,” he says. “And frankly, even if you did turn me in, I haven’t used my real name in a long time so there is really no trail for them to follow. Cain Preston disappeared off the radar shortly after my father died.”
“When was that?”
“I was fourteen,” he states in a sharp voice, averting his eyes from mine.
My heart sinks in an instant. “You were fourteen when you lost your parents?”
