I almost say a prayer that he’s using it to help and not hurt me, but I catch myself before the silent words escape. Ethan places the blade between my wrists and, in a small sawing motion, frays the rope strings little by little until they fall apart, setting my wrists free.
“Thank you,” I mumble, still sitting against the wall when what I should be doing is trying to run. Ethan brushes his thumb over my swollen lip, causing me to jerk away from his touch, the pain radiating through me.
“I need to get out of here,” I say with a glare, trying my best to sound brave, but knowing I’m falling short in the intimidation department.
He cocks a brow at me as a slight smile pulls at his lips, proving my words hold zero weight with him. “Feisty and beautiful. A combination I’m sure will fuck me in the end.” He murmurs the words so softly, I’m not sure if they’re aimed toward me or himself.
“Please,” I beg, quickly changing tactics.
“I wish I could, but I need to know what’s going on, so you’re going to have to tell me.”
Does this mean he’s not working with the man who killed Stephen and took me? Or is this a trick—to see what I’ll say?
When I don’t speak up, afraid of saying the wrong thing, he says, “Nevaeh…that wasn’t a request.” His voice is now cold and demanding, and if I were a smarter woman I would say something, but instead I keep my mouth shut, refusing to give this man anything. He’s intimidating, and calculating, and well, scary as heck, and what I need to find out is if these qualities will be used to harm or help me. If I speak up and he’s not on my side, I could potentially be digging my own grave.
I feel helpless and unsure. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, who I’m supposed to trust. Normally this is the moment when I would turn to God. I would bow my head and pray for him to give me the strength to make the right decision. I would pray for his guidance, for a sign as to what to do, how to handle everything that is being thrown at me. But that’s the old me. The new me accepts I’m on my own. I’m all I have.
Because Stephen is dead.
Without permission, a loud sob escapes my lips.
My brother, my best friend, isn’t alive to save me.
I’ll never see him again.
And according to the man who admitted to killing him, he was a corrupt cop with a gambling problem.
None of it makes any sense.
Through my lashes, I steal a peek at Ethan to see what he’s doing, trying to decipher where his head’s at. His gaze sears into me, making me feel dizzy and disoriented. The way he looks at me has me confused. I close my eyes, needing a moment to gather my thoughts and feelings, trying to make sense of the sensations he’s invoking within me. It started the night at the club when we kissed and has gotten stronger the more I think about him. I should be associating him with the man who took me. I should be scared for my life. But for some crazy reason, I think I might trust him.
Ethan lifts my left hand and gazes at the silver cross ring I have on my ring finger. The ring my mom gave me the day of my Confirmation.
“You’re praying to a God who has left you to fend for yourself.” He chuckles softly, but it comes out almost sad as he lets go of my hand and brushes his thumb down the side of my cheek. “In your time of need he’s nowhere to be found.”
He’s assuming, because my head was down, I was praying, and up until recently, his accusation would be spot-on. But now he’s wrong…
“For your information,” I hiss, whipping my face to the side so his hand is no longer touching my flesh. “I wasn’t praying. Besides, between the two of us, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who would need the saving.” If he’s working with the man who took me, he better start praying, because there’s no way God is letting him anywhere near the gates of heaven.
Ethan stands and peers down at me, making me feel small and weak, two emotions I can’t afford to feel right now. “Well, let your God know he’s wasting his time. I can’t be saved.”
He’s no longer my God, I think, but don’t bother to say.
As Ethan reaches to help me up, I quickly formulate a plan—fight-or-flight—I’m going for both. Sure, there’s a chance he’s here to save me, but what if he’s not?
I lace my hands in his, and he pulls me up. Without giving him any indication as to what I’m about to do, I bring my knee up and connect with his groin with every ounce of strength I have in me, preparing to run as soon as he stumbles back.