Emmy stared at Dean, that familiar face—the same one she’d once loved, once hated. The words caught in her throat. She just couldn’t speak.
Dean’s patience snapped. Without warning, he grabbed the edge of the bamboo bed and started shaking it, making the whole thing creak with a sound that was way too suggestive.
He leaned in, voice rough and pretending to be angry. “What’s wrong, cat got your tongue? Say my name.”
He shook the bed harder. “No? You really not gonna do it?”
He glared, voice low and threatening. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Right then, someone banged on the door. A gruff voice called out, “Mr. Sparrow, take it easy. Don’t break her—the boss still needs her.”
Dean shot a glare at the door. “Get lost!”
He raised his voice, annoyed. “And tell Pearl, if he sends anyone else to spy on me, he’s not getting those two shipments!”
The footsteps outside scrambled away in a hurry.
Finally, Dean stopped. He sat up and reached for Emmy’s wrist. The anger vanished from his voice, replaced by a concern that almost sounded real. “Are you hurt?”
Emmy jerked her hand out of his grip and scooted back, wrapping her arms around her knees. She kept her voice low, eyes sharp and wary. “How did you get in here?”
Seeing the suspicion in her eyes and the way she shrank from his touch, Dean felt something twist painfully in his chest.
There was a time—another life—when she’d trusted him without question. When they’d been so close, nothing could come between them.
Now, even when her life was on the line, she wouldn’t even let him touch her.
Dean looked away, shoulders slumping as he sat on the edge of the bed. The bamboo frame let out a quiet creak.
“If I hadn’t gotten in,” his voice was hoarse, thick with bitterness, “what, was I supposed to just let them torture you to death?”
Emmy pressed her lips together, gaze locked on him, unflinching.
After a moment, she asked, “This place is a fortress. How did you even make it inside?”
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