In the awkward silence that followed, he straightened. He grappled for words, but all he could come up with was, “What a fucking bastard.”
She uttered a wry laugh. “I’m the bastard.”
A product of rape. “You shouldn’t look at yourself like that.”
“How should I?” she challenged.
As the beautiful woman she’d grown into, someone who took care of abandoned animals and protected her grandfather. Something stirred in his chest. It felt a lot like compassion. He knew how hard it was to be an outcast in this town. It was easier pretending to be a rebel.
“It wasn’t your fault.” The words were lame, but he couldn’t think of anything else to make the wrongs of her life better. “Erwan will come.”
He walked to the shuttered window. The view that lay beyond was burned into his memory. So was the girl who’d stand in the dark road at night, thinking he didn’t see her. Sometimes, he stayed out longer, smoked another cigarette he didn’t want just to keep her there for another few minutes. It was selfish to have fed his ego like that. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone—he hardly admitted it to himself—but being admired and adored was a drug to his lacking self-esteem. If he’d known then what he knew now, how dangerous the world was, he’d never have allowed her to risk her safety like that.
Giving himself a mental shake, he pushed away the memories and turned back to find her studying him. He pointed at the food on the desk. “Eat.”
When she didn’t react, his shoulders slouched with a sigh. He was weary from a long night’s drinking and little sleep. The shooting incident and subsequent meeting with Cain didn’t help. His eyelids were heavy. He pushed his thumbs against his eyes, forcing himself to stay awake and stand guard when all he wanted to do was collapse on the bed.
“Do you want to change?” he asked at long length.
She nodded.
“You have two minutes.”
She took the bag he’d left on the bed to the bathroom and closed the door.
What was he going to do if Erwan didn’t come? He wouldn’t have a choice but to hand Clelia over. Once she was in Cain’s hands, there would be nothing Joss could do to ensure her safety. He hoped to God it wouldn’t come to that. Before the two days Cain had granted him were over, he’d better find a clue or evidence pointing him in some direction.
Clelia returned wearing a white pair of shorts and a T-shirt. When he nodded toward the bed, she lay down and held her wrists out to him. He didn’t want to cuff her again, but he couldn’t let her escape if he dozed off.
Before cuffing her to the bedpost, he took bandages from the medicine kit he’d brought back from the boat and bandaged her wrists. Then he put an ointment on the cuts on her knees and feet. A hostage was a precious commodity after all. One had to take care of one’s bargaining chip. At least, that was what he told himself.
“Do you need another painkiller?” he asked when he was done.
Her answer was to turn her back on him as much as the handcuffs allowed. Blowing out another long sigh, he took his place in the chair, guarding her in silence.
Chapter 12
When Joss’s breathing changed to an even rhythm, Clelia dared turning to watch his sleeping form. The lines around his mouth were carved deep. His straight nose and strong jaw gave him a harsh look. He was attractive in a dark and rakish way. His beauty was the troubled kind. Even in this relaxed state, his closed eyes moved restlessly, giving him a tormented air. His long lashes twitched.
She shifted to relieve the ache in her arms, making the mattress creak. He grumbled, the timbre of his voice gravelly. An instinctive, irrational part of her wanted to thread her fingers through his thick hair and soothe his restless sleep. It was the part of her who’d always been in love with him, but it was a girlish love that didn’t fit their twisted, adult situation.
Frowning, he mumbled unintelligible words. Whatever he was dreaming, it wasn’t a good dream.
“Joss,” she whispered.
His eyes flung open, wide and angry, every muscle in his body poised for attack. She cringed. Was he going to pounce on her? Then recognition set in and his body slumped in the chair.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Do you need something? Are you thirsty?”
“You were dreaming.”
“Sorry I woke you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.” She hesitated. She shouldn’t open up to him, shouldn’t ask, but she couldn’t help herself. The torment of her own repetitive dream was still too fresh. “Is it always the same?”
“The dream?”
She nodded.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I haven’t had it for a very long time, not since I’m back.”
Her heart squeezed. There was only one nightmare connected to this town that Joss could be having. Even if he was her enemy, she was too intimately acquainted with the details not to empathize with him. “I’m sorry about your family.”
He stiffened, his eyes hardening. “I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s called compassion.”
“Save it for someone who needs it.”
Why did he have to be such an ass? “If it’s so bad, why did you bring me here?”
Something shifted in his eyes. “You know where we are?”
“Of course I do.” She tilted her head toward the wall. “It’s hard to miss that the room is round.”
His voice softened. “You must’ve been scared out of your mind.”
“A little,” she admitted. “It’s my first time inside the house.”
Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. “Why didn’t you say something? I wouldn’t have left you alone if I’d realized you knew you were in a spook house.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, repeating his earlier words.
He uttered a cold laugh. “Which watered-down version did they tell you? If you’d known the truth, the whole truth, you wouldn’t say
