Chapter 209
FAITH
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A pain throbbed through my body, a deep, unrelenting ache that seemed to settle in my bones. My head pounded viciously, the worst of it concentrated where I’d been struck. I wanted to lift my hand, to press against the sore spot and try to ease the pain, but I couldn’t. My wrists were bound.
A sick feeling coiled in my stomach as I darted my eyes around, taking in my surroundings. This wasn’t what I expected.
I had braced myself for something grim: a cramped, windowless cell, dank air, the pungent smell of mildew. That was what kidnappings looked like in the movies. Instead, I lay on a bed. A real bed. The mattress was soft, the sheets smooth against my skin. The room itself was well–furnished, too neat, too comfortable. The contrast made my skin crawl.
My breath caught, my chest heaving up and down too rapidly. Whatever this place was–deceptive and pleasant–it didn’t change the fact that I’d been kidnapped. I was a prisoner.
The question was -who did it?
Eliza? Nathan?
The very mention of them sent an icy shiver coursing through me.
The room was too still, too quiet; the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken threat. I could feel my heartbeat pounding against my ribs as I struggled to keep my breathing even, struggled back the growing panic clawing its way up my throat.
Then, the door creaked open. I stiffened at the sound, my pulse skyrocketing as I jerked my gaze that way. And there he was.
Nathan.
He strolled in like he had all the time in the world, hands tucked into the pockets of his expensive slacks, his expression unreadable. His presence filled the room, suffocating, charged with an unnerving calmness that made my skin prickle.
A slow, knowing smile curved his lips as his sharp eyes raked over me.
“Finally awake,” he murmured.
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “What do you want?” My voice was hoarse, my throat dry, but I refused to let it
waver.
Nathan exhaled, his head cocked to the side in a movement that suggested he was disappointed I asked the question. “Come on, Faith,” he said, silky smooth. “You know what I want.”
I clenched my jaw. His smile deepened. “You have to know.”
A shiver ran down my spine, and I racked my brain for the possible repercussions. Of course, I knew.
But to hear him say it would be so much worse.
Nathan leaned against the dresser, watching me in silence. He looked at me closely and asked softly, “Are you hungry?” he queried in his low tones.
I blinked again. The pit of my stomach twisted empty and unsettled. Hunger was not the biggest concern on my agenda. “How long have I been unconscious?” I managed to rasp in a low hoarse tone instead.
“A day,” he said, nonchalant, as if it was nothing. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Sorry about the hit. That wasn’t supposed to happen so
hard.”
I laughed, my throat tightening. Sorry? He kidnapped me. Held me hostage. And now he wanted to act like this was some unfortunate accident? I hated this–this sick, twisted act of his. The calm voice. The forced kindness. It was a game, a power play, and I wasn’t dumb enough to fall for it. Psychopaths like him always had two faces. One moment he could be soft–spoken, civil even, and the next, I could be lying on the floor with my blood pooling beneath me.
Still, I wasn’t in a position to test his limits.
A knock at the door broke the silence, and a man walked in carrying a tray of food. My stomach twisted again–not in hunger, but in sheer discomfort.
Nathan gestured to the tray. “Eat.”
I stared at it. The food looked normal enough—a plate of steaming rice, some grilled chicken, a side of vegetables. But my throat felt tight, my stomach too knotted to even consider eating. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or distrust, but either way, I had no appetite.
