Chapter Seven

Eli’s POV

Her lips tasted like strawberries. She was on her knees in my dream, wild and eager, tugging at my belt with her teeth like she was born to sin. I was seconds away from grabbing her by the hair, teaching her how dangerous it was to want me when something cold and shocking hit me right in the face.

I gasped and jerked awake, coughing. And there she was, the object of my dreams staring at me as if she wasn't sure if I was dead or not.

Only she was not the girl with red lips of smoky eyes. She looked liked a version of her that had been dragged through a storm. Her hair was a mess, sticking out in angry tufts. Her eyeliner had run down her cheeks, making her eyes look like black smudges. She was barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. Her knees looked bruised.

And me? I wasn’t anywhere near my bed. My wrists were bound behind a chair, the ropes cutting into my skin. I blinked and took in the grim little apartment, the cracked walls, the faint smell of coffee and flowers, and a pathetic excuse for a kitchen shoved into one corner.

And then I looked at her again. She held an empty glass, tilting it lazily as if drenching me in cold water had been the most natural thing in the world.

The audacity.

“What the hell,” I said, voice low, clipped, steel-edged. “Where am I?”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was examining a stray dog. “You’re awake.”

“Clearly.” My jaw tightened. “Untie me. Now. ”

Her mouth twitched into something sharp and mocking as she ignored my words “You were dreaming.”

“So?”

“So…” she lifted the glass and pointed it straight at my lap. “You’ve got a problem."

My gaze followed.

Fuck.

I cursed under my breath. My jeans were tented, evidence of the dream she had interrupted.

She didn’t look away. She leaned in, voice low but cutting. “Yeah. That kind of problem.”

“What I dream about is none of your fucking business.”

“Language,” she sing-songed mockingly. “And wrong again. You’re in my house. That makes everything you do my business.”

I studied her, cool and sharp. This girl—this mess of a girl—thought she had leverage over me. Me. The thought almost made me laugh.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” I said softly, deadly.

She raised her eyebrows in exaggerated mockery. “Oh, right. Cue the big scary monologue. ‘I’m powerful. I’m untouchable. Bow down before me.’ Spare me. You look like an asshole in a chair.”

I smirked despite myself. She was sharper than she looked. Still stupid, though. “You’ll regret saying that.”

“Maybe. But you’ll regret underestimating me sooner.”

She tossed the glass aside and padded into the kitchen corner. Her bare feet slapped softly against the floor, reminding me again of how vulnerable she looked. Oversized shirt, no pants, messy hair. And yet—here I was, tied up.

“You’re heavy, you know,” she muttered as she reached for a jar on the top shelf. “Dragging you back here almost killed me.”

I frowned. “You dragged me?”

She shot me a withering look over her shoulder. “What, you thought you floated here in a magic carpet?”

I tilted my head, studying her like a puzzle. She didn’t make sense. A clumsy, disorganized little thing—yet she’d managed to get me here.

When she stretched, the hem of her shirt rode up, and I caught the faintest glimpse of curve of her ass. The part of me that liked her stirred again, but I forced my expression flat.

“You dress like that in front of men?” I asked, cold and biting.

She turned, unimpressed. “You don’t count as a man. You’re just a problem I need to deal with.”

“Keep talking, sweetheart. Sooner or later, you’ll choke on your own words.”

Her lips quirked. “Better my words than your ego.”

Then her phone rang. The sound was almost comical—bright and cheery in this dingy place. She froze mid-step, shoulders stiff, eyes darting to the counter. She grabbed the phone and glanced at the screen, and just like that, her expression softened.

“Hey,” she said gently, voice stripped of the sharp edges she had aimed at me. “Have you eaten?”

My eyes narrowed. I couldn’t hear the reply, but I watched the subtle change in her—her posture tense, her eyes flickering with worry. Her voice dropped low, urgent.

“No. Don’t come home. Stay with a friend tonight. Please. Just… just stay there.”

She turned her back on me, but not before her gaze flicked in my direction, wary and sharp.

“Yeah,” she whispered into the phone. “I’ll be fine.”

When she hung up, she set the phone down too hard, exhaling as if she’d been holding her breath

I broke the silence. “Boyfriend?”

Nothing.

“Brother? Husband? Secret fiancé?” I pressed, voice smooth, amused.

Her head snapped toward me, eyes like ice. “Shut. Up.”

I leaned back, ropes biting into my wrists. “Scared he is going to find out you have a man in your house?”

She crossed the room in a few quick steps and crouched down in front of me, face close, hair brushing her cheekbones. Up close she smelled like smoke, sweat, and some sweet perfume that smelled like strawberry clinging stubbornly to her skin.

“You don’t scare me,” she whispered.

I smiled, slow and cold. “That’s your first mistake.”

Her lips curved, crooked and dangerous. “I think you should start praying because you’re already screwed.”

She stood and turned her back on me, moving to the stove with casual ease. She put water in a kettle, set it down, as if this scene wasn’t completely insane.

“Want tea?”

I barked a laugh. “I’m tied the fuck up in your apartment, and you’re offering me tea?”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug, smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s either that or nothing.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes, breathing through the sting of the ropes.

I was tied up. Humiliated. Pissed.

And all I could think about was how goddamn sweet her lips had tasted in my dream.

The ropes dug deeper as I shifted. “Untie me,” I commanded again.

She snorted like I’d just told her the sky was purple. “You really think I’m that stupid?”

“Do you want me to break this chair in half?” I asked, my voice cold, eyes fixed on hers.

She leaned against the counter, arms folded, smirk curling her lips. “Try it, Mr. Ego. Go ahead. Snap the chair. I’ll just club you over the head again. You’re not that scary when you’re unconscious.”

My jaw ticked. She was infuriating. “I don’t play games.”

“And yet,” she sing-songed, grabbing a plate from the cupboard, “you’re the one tied up in my kitchen.”

She plunked the plate down in front of me with a clatter. The smell of eggs and toast hit me, my stomach tightening involuntarily.

Then she sat in front of me, holding a fork like she was about to feed a toddler. “Open your mouth. Say ah.”

I stared at her. Stone-faced. “You’re joking.”

She widened her eyes, mock-sweet. “Nope. You’re not dying on me, Ice King. I need you alive long enough to collect the ransom.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that her wish weren't going to come true when my stomach betrayed me. Loud. Pathetic. A long growl that echoed in the silence.

Her grin spread wide, victory flashing in her eyes. “Well, well. Here comes the choo-choo train.”

I glared, voice low, venomous. “When I get out of here, you’ll pay for this.”

“Sure you will,” she said cheerfully, then shoved the fork between my lips before I could close them. “For now, be a good boy and eat.”

I wanted to spit it back out. I wanted to tell her where to stick her fork. But hunger clawed at me, and the food was hot, buttery, annoyingly good. Against my pride, I chewed.

“See?” she said with mock pride. “Good boy.”

I swallowed, hating every second. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” she chirped, cutting another bite.

And so it went. Bite after humiliating bite, her grinning like a demon, me chewing in cold silence. She had me cornered, and she knew it.

When the plate was finally empty, I leaned back in the chair, swallowing the last of my pride along with her lousy toast. “I need a bath.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh? The great and mighty one wants to smell like less of a sewer?”

“Can you just ducking untie me,” I said, ignoring her jab.

“Fine,” she said, far too easily.

For a moment, I thought she’d come to her senses. That she was actually going to free me. But then—she tied my ankle to the chair leg, looping the rope tight before untying my hands. The bastard rope burns throbbed as blood rushed back to my fingers.

Then, before I could so much as stretch, she tied my wrists again, this time in front of me. After that, she untied my ankle.

I blinked at her. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.” She smirked, grabbing my arm and tugging. “Bathroom’s this way.”

She pulled me down the hall, surprisingly strong for her size. The bathroom was barely bigger than a closet, steam clinging to the cracked mirror.

And then—she reached for the hem of my shirt.

My eyes snapped to hers. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

She smiled, wicked and infuriating. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Her fingers brushed my skin, casual, almost playful, like she was peeling an orange. My muscles went tight, rage and something darker knotting in my chest.

Her grin widened and she replied mockingly “Relax, my lord. You said you wanted a bathe, so you are getting a bathe. ”