Page 20 of Pulse Zero
I bet it would be—
“Let’s go,” I snap at him, pissed at myself. I definitely shouldnotbe rewarding him for inciting those thoughts. “Before I change my mind.”
Suspicion flashes across his face before he smooths it into something cocky.
“Field trip?”
“Out!”
He scrambles forward, then approaches more cautiously the closer he gets. All it does is make me impatient, so I grab him by the arm and shove him out of the room.
“Over here.”
I point to a corner of the basement where he won’t be able to see anything on my monitors, but I’ll still be able to see him.
“Sit.”
He doesn’t hesitate this time, but he does stare up at me as he lowers himself to the concrete floor. I can see all the questions he wants to ask swirling around in his eyes, but he’s holding them back behind a dam because he doesn’t want to ruin whatever freedom from that room he’s being granted.
“Hand.”
The crease between his brows deepens, but he raises his lefthand.
I swiftly pull a pair of standard steel handcuffs out of my back pocket and secure one around his wrist. His lips part, eyes widening in surprise, but he doesn’t say a word as I fasten the other cuff to a heavy support pipe bolted into the foundation.
He tests the slack. There isn’t much.
I retrieve his food from my desk and hand him the plate.
“Eat. Don’t speak. Understood?”
The moment I see realization dawn on his face with a faint little smile, I regret my decision. He’s going to think he’s winning. He’s going to think he’s achieved something, that he’s weaseled his way exactly where he wants to be.
He presses his mouth into a thin line and nods all too eagerly.
“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.”
He sucks his lips into his mouth, and it barely conceals the grin he’s trying to hide. I hold his gaze, daring him. It’s a cliché. It’s something he’d normally give me shit for, crack a joke or two because he just can’t help himself.
But he holds it in.
“Good boy.”
I see his brows shoot up into his forehead just before I turn away, regrettingthattoo.
Returning to my desk, I sit down, pick up my sandwich, and take a bite. As I get back to work, the basement fills with the sounds of chewing and typing. I glance over at him a few times just to make sure he’s not getting up to anything he shouldn’t be. Not that I can imagine what that’d be while he’s cuffed.
But I know better than to underestimate him.
After I finish off my sandwich, I look over at him yet again. This time, his eyes catch mine. He just cleaned off his plate too. Without breaking eye contact, he raises his free hand and licks mustard off his thumb.
I turn back to my computer.
My expression is one of disinterest, I make sure of it.
Not that I have to put in much effort.
Idon’t.
