“I can see you’re catching my drift.” He grins and leans close like earlier. I don’t like it, or how it makes me feel, or how my body responds to the closeness with arousal. It reminds me how fucked up I am. “If you try that shit you did like earlier, I will punish you. If you think to strike me again, I will punish you, and you will not like it. I will fucking spank that perfect ass of yours so hard; you won’t be able to sit on it for at least a week. Is that clear, SummerReeves?”
“Yes,” I grate out stiffly, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
On my reply, he releases me, and he reaches up to undo the chains.
As my hands come free, they drop to my sides like lead, and the blood rushes back into them, stinging and burning so strong it hurts. I bite down on my back teeth to hold in the emotion threatening to spill out.
If he knows what happened, I don’t want to look any weaker than I already do.
Sometimes it takes strength to retreat but running, and hiding shows you haven’t got what it takes to fight back.
He holds the shirt out for me to put on, and I do. It’s miles too big for me and stops at the tops of my thighs, but at least it covers most of my body.
When he motions for me to sit on the bed, I make my way over and lower on to the firm mattress.
He grabs the little wooden chair from the window and sits in front of me, still looking big and powerful. I’m by no means short at five four, but I peg him to be around six feet four, so even sitting down next to him, I’m tiny.
Bringing my trembling hands together, I decide to ask the question on my mind. “What do you know?”
“A lot.”
“How?”
“There was a surveillance recording of what happened to your sister in your apartment.”
I suck in a breath. “I was told it wasn’t working.”
“It wasn’t. It was tampered with, but now I know the truth. I know the man who killed your sister thought she was you. I need to talk to you about him. I want to know how you know him and why he wanted you dead.”
He pulls out a picture from his back pocket of Jake. When I see it, I hold my heart to stop it from beating out of my chest.
“Who do you know this man to be?”
I meet his eyes. “Jake Wainwright.”
“His real name is Robert Carson.”
My God. I pull in a breath. Jake is Robert Carson. It doesn’t surprise me that he used a fake name. Everything about him was fake.
“You know him?” I ask.
“Yes, and I need to find him.”
“He really killed my sister? He really shot her in her head?” I already know the answer. I just need to hear it.
“He did.”
My hand flies up to my mouth as tears run down my cheeks.
Oh, God. Scarlett. I’m so sorry.
I’m so, so sorry.
My shoulders wrack as a sob escapes my lips. Hearing the confirmation makes me feel even worse. In my stupid twisted mind, I thought it would lessen the blow if someone else had shot her. Maybe Micah or one of the other men who were there. Not Jake—Robert. A man I knew. A man I was sleeping with. A man who managed to fool me and sway me into being the his fantasy girl at the fucking club.
I try to gather myself. I don’t want to look weak. It’s hard, though.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” I mutter more to myself than to Eric.