points toward his feet. “Down on your knees. That’s where I’d love to see you.”
I’m going to throw up.
I’m going to pass out.
I push those fears aside and force another set of thoughts through the trembling lobes of my brain.
I’m not going to die.
Not without a fight.
Not without telling Bradley I love him.
I’m not sure where that last thought comes from, but the instant it floats to the surface, I cling to it like a life ring.
That day in my living room, it killed me to hear him say it. I love you. The plainest, most important words in the English language, and I couldn’t bring myself to say it back.
But it’s the rest of what he said that hits me square in the gut. With a gun pointed at my chest, with my life flashing before my eyes, it’s Bradley’s voice I hear.
“Plans change. The future you think you’re destined for—it can become something different in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, that’s tragic. But sometimes, it’s the best thing that could happen.”
As Skullcap stares me down, I take a deep breath. This is it. My chance to change the future. To alter the course of everything. I’d prefer to do it without the threat of rape and death, but here we are.
I swallow back my fear, fighting not to show Skullcap how petrified I am. “If you lay a hand on me,” I say with as much menace as I can muster, “my parents will have you hunted down like the animal you are.”
“Maybe.” He laughs again, and dances back like it’s all a big game. “I’m willing to be a martyr for my country if it means keeping it in the hands of pure Saxenheimers.”
Good God, the man is insane. I suppose I already knew it, but hearing him speak drives home the point.
Slowly, I let my hand drop to the arm of the sofa. I keep it there, waiting to see if his eyes follow the movement. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on mine, dropping briefly to my legs as I cross and uncross them.
A lightbulb flickers in my brain.
Letting my fingers skim the top of the gun safe, I shift my legs again and watch his gaze linger over my ankles. “Who sent you?” I don’t care at this point, but I want to keep him distracted.
Want him to miss the fact that my fingers just brushed the top of the keypad, the numbers smooth beneath the ovals of my nails. It’s an electronic combination lock, the kind that requires a combination of numbers.
Or letters.
The raised figures beneath my fingertips tell me each digit corresponds with a handful of alphabetic characters, just like a phone keypad. I file this information away as my eyes stay glued to Skullcap’s.
He sneers at my question. “None of your damn business who sent me.” He leans one shoulder against the wall, enjoying the game, or maybe the sight of my dress hem riding up my calf.
I pray this new angle takes my hand that much farther from his view. Fingering the keypad, I commit each button to memory. As I do, Lily’s voice lilts through my brain.
“You’ve got a great rack, girl. The kind of rack that makes men stupid.”
I’ve never had a use for stupid men. Not until now.
“It’s unbearably hot in here.” I unfasten the belt on my coat and let it fall off my shoulders, watching as his eyes drop to my breasts. “Do you think maybe you could open a window?”
“Don’t be an idiot.” He says the words directly to my chest. “You didn’t used to be this hot.”
The compliment sends my skin crawling again, but I accept it with grace. “Thank you.” I flutter the dress’s neckline, pinching the silk between two fingers as my other hand skims the keypad. “Maybe I could at least get a glass of water? Before you rape and murder me, that is.”
He frowns at my characterization of his plans. “I’m supposed to wait for backup.”
“Backup?” My surprise is nearly as evident as his. Apparently, he didn’t mean to say this. “Will someone else be joining us then?”
With a scowl, he lowers the gun. “Wait. Don’t you have some kind of liver thing?”
I’m unsure why this matters or if it’s worth clarifying the difference between kidneys and liver, but I give a curt nod and keep fluttering my neckline. “If I could just have some water—”
“Jesus, don’t faint or puke or whatever.” He backs away, gun still gripped