Page 36 of Unlocking Ruin

“Listen.” I sit taller and try to reason with him gently. “You have to let me go.”

“If I do that, another monster will come for you.” He looks away sharply. “I already showed you the cameras at your house; they are hunting you as we speak. Better the devil you know than the ones you’ve yet to meet, isn’t that right, Rylan?”

My chest sinks. There is no escape. I scan the room, my new cage. Studying every detail, down to the crown molding.

“You’re an asshole.”

“At least I’m honest.”

“Is that what they call stalkers nowadays?” I fire back.

“I’m not going to lie. I am attracted to you, but I won’t make a move until you permit me. Maybe I should wait till you beg.” His eyes look to the bed as if he’s envisioning what he’s lusting for.

“Is that why you took me?”

“I took you to keep you safe,” he mutters as he rubs his jaw.

I turn to the window, squinting into the harsh daylight. My eyes ache, but I refuse to look away until they adjust. Outside, the world is cold and mountainous, barren and rocky. A few stubborn trees dot the distance, but this is a place only predators could call home. My gaze drops, catching a flash of pristine blue water far below.

“Where are we?”

“Norway. The fjords, my house.”

“Norway,” I repeat in disbelief. “That means I have to get on a plane to go back home.” I glare at him, from his golden skin to his dark hair, but those blue eyes shine so bright it’s hard to look away.

“My father was from here,” he states. “My mother was Moroccan.”

“You hit the genetic lottery. Congratulations.”

Why is he telling me this?

“What about your family?”

“What about them?” I snatch the water bottle from the nightstand again and drain it. My eyes sweep the room; the only possible weapons are the towering floor lamps or the empty bottle clutched in my hand.

“Your mother left you behind,” he adds with caution.

“That wound is so old that not even pouring salt in it causes an effect,” I bite as I scrunch the water bottle in my hand like a stress ball. “So what?”

He crosses one leg over the other. “Why did you hack for Frank?”

“He hit my mom,” I admit. That’s a secret I’ve kept hidden for years. It feels odd, almost wrong, to release it.

“So you tried to protect a woman who didn’t protect you?”

“We all have vices.”

“Vices or weaknesses?”

“Before he hit my mom, hacking was fun at first,” I confess. “Frank taught me how to hack. I felt like maybe I’d be like the other kids at school and have a family. A mom and dad who cared.”

“When did you discover he was using you?”

“Just tell me what you want.” I shake my head, frustration boiling over. Suddenly, I’m overheating, so I kick off the covers. I’m still in my black dress, but now my bare legs make me feel exposed. My ankle has been wrapped in a tight bandage. It’s still swollen, but it looks much better than it did the night of the incident.

He doesn’t give me time to breathe before he asks, “When did he start hitting you?”

Something inside me shatters. I launch myself off the bed, stomp onto the floor and lunge at him. Pain flares in my ankle, but I don’t care.