Nightfall (Devil's Night #4) - Penelope Douglas Page 0,44

out of here tonight, but I could hoard some food.

“And again, in the walls down here,” I said. “But you’re all in here.”

I didn’t pass anyone on my way downstairs, and it appeared they were all already down here when I arrived.

“You’ve never heard anything before?” I asked.

The surveillance room, probably one of many, and movement in areas of the house where there weren’t supposed to be people?

But he knew where I was going with my train of thought. “There’s no help for you here.”

He sank below the surface, submerging his body, and rose up again, swimming to the other side and then smoothing his dark hair over the top of his head as the steam billowed around his body.

Unable to stop myself, I dropped my gaze. The curves and dips of his tight stomach, the bronze skin that looked like he was loved by the sun on some Mediterranean island instead of a cold, desolate house in the middle of nowhere, and the V of his hips that disappeared down into the water would make lots of women—and men—happy to look at.

And I had no doubt he was well aware of it.

“Come here,” he said softly.

I darted my eyes to his, seeing him tread through the water to the edge closest to me, looking like a god on Earth.

Too bad for him, I worshiped no one.

“Why do you control the food?” I demanded, staying right where I was.

“Why would I control the food?” he challenged and then looked behind me. “Taylor?”

I looked over my shoulder, seeing Dinescu approach. I moved away.

“Because we’re surviving,” he answered for Aydin. “When you can’t run to the supermarket or get takeout from a restaurant, you have to make sure people don’t overeat.”

“Or maybe controlling basic necessities helps you control the people,” I retorted, shifting my gaze from Taylor to Aydin.

It was a basic tactic common amongst dictators. When people spent their days fighting for food, shelter, and safety, they didn’t have the time or energy to fight for anything else. Keep them poor, hungry, and dumb.

“In any case,” I said, looking him up and down, “you don’t seem to be underfed.”

Unlike Will, who gave his ration to Micah, and how often was he doing that anyway?

But Aydin simply smiled. “Stay on my good side, and you won’t be, either.”

I’d rather eat razors.

He walked out of the pool. Taylor tossed him a towel, and I watched him dry off his face as he stood there naked, because he could.

“You want to walk out of here with a bag of food and water, right?” he guessed. “Maybe a sweater?”

Yes.

“Tell you what, then…” he said. “We earn what we eat here. You can fight for it. If you win, you can leave. Or try to,” he added. “But if you lose, I’ll show you to your own room with a private bath and some clean clothes until the restock team arrives in twenty-nine days.”

He wrapped the towel around his waist and approached me.

“Or, if you prefer, we can come up with another arrangement.” His eyes drifted down my body. “Women have their uses, after all.”

Taylor laughed under his breath to my left, and I stared at Aydin, trying to keep my nerves in check, even though my insides were bouncing off the walls.

Fight for it? Jesus, he was so nervous about how the size of his cock measured up against everyone else here that he made them fight him—or beg—for whatever it was they wanted or needed.

Did he expect me to have a chance?

“Ready to give up?” he asked, a smile ghosting his lips.

But I stood there, thinking about my options. I could hunker down, earn his trust, hoard supplies when no one was watching, and then make my escape some night when they’d lowered their guard.

That would be smart.

But I also had no idea I wouldn’t be put through hell in this house if I stayed, either. I couldn’t risk it.

“All I have to do is win?” I pressed.

Will lurched forward before he could respond, his whole body tight and flexed.

“One more step,” Aydin growled over his shoulder to Will, “and the choice is no longer hers. We can explore a whole slew of other arrangements to help her earn her freedom.”

Will halted, breathing hard, and the first glimpse of worry in his eyes I’d seen since I got here darted between Aydin and me.

“Isn’t that right, Micah?” Aydin prodded. “And Rory?”

Both boys stood off to the side, bleeding, sweaty, and defeated. “Right,” they murmured