I can’t believe this. I’m bound and gagged and freaking drooling all over myself while Zach’s in the shower, singing! It’s been twenty minutes. I’m going to kill him when he unties me. I’m going to strangle him!

It’s useless trying to get free. My wrists hurt, and this gag is humiliating and uncomfortable as hell. I try to wipe at the drool that’s dripping down onto my chest but only manage to make a bigger mess.

Ten minutes later, the shower switches off. I don’t know if I’m relieved though because for all the whistling and singing, I know he’s serious about getting answers. I don’t know what he’ll do when he realizes I don’t have what he’s looking for. What he thinks I did, if he knew why, he’d understand. But he has to know I was betrayed too. I didn’t intend for what happened to him or his men to happen. I didn’t know what Armen would do. I was tricked. Set up and used by my own brother.

My back is straight and I’m glaring into the hallway when Zach walks out of the bathroom. He’s drying his hair with one towel and he’s got another one wrapped low around his hips. Like last night, I can’t stop looking at him.

He tosses the towel he was using on his hair aside so it’s all standing up around his face. He cocks his head to the side and looks at me like he’s sorry for me, and walks toward me.

“You’ve got a little drool…” he trails off as he wipes some of it away, but he’s only smearing it across my cheek.

I twist my face away, embarrassed when I should be angry.

“You know what though?” he asks, sitting down so I have to scooch my legs over so his aren’t touching mine. He pets the back of my head then uses my ponytail to make me look at him. He leans in close, runs the scruff of his jaw across my temple, then moves his mouth to my ear. His breath is hot and he’s tickling the ridge of my ear with the stubble on his chin. “I like it wet,” he whispers.

I go rigid as he lingers there, warm and close. Too close.

When he finally releases me, my chest is tight and I have to force my lungs to take in air. He rises to his feet and I can see the outline of his cock. He stands there, watches me looking. Lets me. His eyes are hard when I turn mine up to his and for a moment, my head races to the conclusion that he’s here to take what he thinks is owed him. What he thinks he bought that night.

No. He won’t do that. He won’t take if I don’t give. I know him, and he’s not a monster.

He turns away and fishes out a pair of boxer briefs and jeans to get dressed. When he drops the towel, I force myself to look away. I won’t be caught watching. It’s what he wants, I’m sure.

When he turns back to me, I face him. He’s got his jeans on and has to adjust his cock to get them zipped. He pulls a black T-shirt over his head. It strains to contain him.

“Ready for me to take it out?” he asks.

For a minute, I’m not sure what he’s talking about. But then he gets that cocky grin on his face and points to the gag.

“The gag, habibi. What did you think I meant?”

I mutter a curse.

“What’s that?”

I repeat it.

“It’s really hard to understand you with that thing in your mouth. You want it out?”

I nod once, angry.

“Are you going to scream?”

I narrow my eyes, glaring at him.

He sits down on the bed again, head to the side, studying me. “I’ll ask you again. Are you going to scream?”

I shake my head once, but I’m still glaring.

He smiles wide. “Good girl.” He reaches back and I think he’s going to take it off, but then he pulls away and I know he’s playing with me. “Do you know what will happen if you do scream?”

I make a noise. It’s me telling him to go fuck himself, but I can’t actually form the words.

“What’s that?”

I say it again.

“I’ll tell you what. You scream, and I’ll gag you until lunch and we’ll try it again then. Understood?”

My shoulders slump, and I nod. If there’s one thing I trust, it’s that he means what he’s saying.

He reaches behind me and a moment later, slides the ball out of my mouth.

“Fuck,” I say, closing and opening my mouth, the muscles of my jaw sore. I try again to wipe the drool off on my shoulder, but he takes the towel he just discarded and wipes my face with it. I realize it’s the one that was just wrapped around his dick, and feel my face heat up.

“What is that, your little bag of kinky sex toys?” I ask, gesturing to the duffel.

“You like kinky sex toys?” he counters.

“Uncuff me.”

“I don’t think so. I like you like this.”

“My arms are sore and my wrists hurt.”

“Then you’ll know for next time not to struggle.”

“I hate you.”

He shrugs and goes into the bathroom. I hear water running and I assume he’s washing the gag because when he returns, it’s dry and he sets it on the nightstand.

“In case we need it again.”

I have no doubt he’ll use it again the moment it suits him.

He stands and moves around the room to close the windows. He then takes the single chair from the corner, brings it closer to the bed and sits down on it. Any joking or laughter is gone from his face when he folds his arms across his chest and studies me.

“Why did you decide to turn informant on your own brother, Eve?”

I’m surprised by his question. It’s not the directness of it. It’s just I guess I’m not expecting that one. Because why would he care?

“My parents were dead. My two other brothers had disappeared. Armen was all I had left, and I knew what he was doing was going to get him into trouble. Or worse.”

He doesn’t speak, just sits there as if waiting for more. I know he’s versed in interrogation techniques, and for a moment, my mind wanders to other methods. Darker ones. I think he knows what I’m thinking, and there was a time when I would have said no, Zach Amado would never use those tactics. But now, after yesterday, seeing his reactions, seeing how unhinged he’s become, knowing what he’s been through in the last two years, I’m not so sure anymore.

“I-I wanted to save him. It was my deal. The man I dealt with before you, he promised—”

“He lied.”

I just watch him. I guess I knew that was a possibility back then. And it doesn’t matter anymore anyway. Armen’s dead.

“You were naïve.”

I shake my head. “No, not naïve. I was out of options. And besides, I trusted you.” I feel my eyes fill with tears.

This time, it looks like he’s the one surprised by what I just said. It takes him a moment to continue with his impromptu interrogation. “Save your tears, Eve. They won’t sway me. What you said—you trusting me—it means nothing. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

But I know it means something. And it does matter.

“You were willing to give up your brother, knowing he’d be taken into custody? Jailed? Or worse?”

“The worst happened. He’s dead.”

“Is he?”

That stops me. “Y…yes. No one could have survived that night.”

“You did. I did.”

My eyebrows knit together. “But—”

“Did you see him go down? Did you see his body?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t see anything. Something hit me on the head. I thought it was a bullet, that I was dead, but I was just knocked out. I saw pictures of the place later. Saw the bodies. My brother was blown to bits.”

He shakes his head, watching me, unblinking. “Are you certain it was him? Did you see his body?” he repeats slowly.

“Is he alive?” Something like hope—a thing I’ve not allowed myself to have for too long—begins to bloom within me.

“I didn’t say that,” he says, unfolding his arms and putting one bare foot on the chair, resting an arm on his knee. And just like that, with those few words, he quashes that hope of only moments ago.

“You like messing with me? Like having me tied up and hanging hope out there only to obliterate it seconds later? Does it make you feel good?”

“No, Eve, it doesn’t. Not much makes me feel good anymore.”

“You’re hateful.”

“Who saved your life that night?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I told you, I was knocked out. When I woke, I didn’t know where I was. I dealt with one man. I didn’t know him. I’d never seen him before. He told me passage for me to travel to the US had been arranged. Said it was the safest thing. Said it was my payment for having helped you. ‘Helped the American effort’ were his exact words.” I’ve never forgotten them, or the way he said it. How he answered my questions about survivors. I’ve never forgotten how terrible I felt that day.

Zach’s face hardens and he’s sitting up again, forehead creased. “What nationality was this man?”

“He sounded American. Looked…I don’t know, American.”

“Looked American how?”

“I don’t know, Zach! Blond hair, blue eyes. I can’t remember. I didn’t care—”

“If you’re lying to me, I swear—”

“I’m not. Why would I?” I pause, but he doesn’t reply. “I never wanted to come here. I never wanted this life. I just wanted my brother back and I wanted us to be free.”

“What happened that day? Before the night? Your hands were tied when Armen hauled you onto the auction block. It was after the arms sales. When business was done.”

I feel the tears coming now. “He found out what I’d done, but what he did, I think he was made to do it. The man he worked for—”

“Malik.”

“Malik the Butcher. I never met him, never even saw him. He only came to the house a handful of times, and he always stayed in his car. Armen went to him when they would meet. The man never even got out of his car when he did come, and the windows were tinted almost black. I couldn’t even see shadows, outlines of people inside.”

“Tell me what happened when your brother found out you’d snitched on him.”

“He was furious. He said I was going to get him killed. Get myself killed. That you were all liars. Murderers. He said I needed to tell him what I’d told you. I wouldn’t, not at first, but then he told me why he was working for that man. He said Malik could find Seth and Rafi. That he was working on saving them. He said he could get them back that night if I told him what you knew. And Armen also said Malik would have our brothers both killed if he failed.” I drop my head, tears warm in my eyes. “That’s why I told him.”

Zach is staring at me, but I can’t read what’s in his eyes. He must hate me.

“I chose my family over you, and I can’t apologize for that.”

He keeps on studying me, not saying a word, but I mean it. If that was my choice again, I’d choose the same way again.

I continue, it’s all I can do. “He told me later that I’d be punished. That Malik required it, but that he’d negotiated my life would be spared. I didn’t know what he meant. Didn’t know he’d…” Sell me to be raped.

I can’t say that part out loud. My own brother, a man who should have protected me, put me on that auction block, stripped me naked…

I’m not looking at him when I hear him rise. A moment later, he’s wiping my face, my eyes and nose.

“Thank you,” I say before I catch myself.

He grunts, then sits back down and he’s studying me again.

“Your other brothers, Rafi and Seth, did you ever see them?”

I shake my head.

“What happened to them?”

“I don’t know. I would guess your military knows more about them than I would.”

“It’s not my military.” There’s venom in his words. Betrayal in his tone.

I realize something then. “Do they think you’re dead? Is that why the alias?”

He takes a long time to answer, and when he does, it’s a slow nod.

Now it’s me who has questions. So many questions. He was betrayed that night, and it wasn’t just me who did the betraying. But does he think it’s his own people? And what does he want now?

I shake my head at myself. I can’t be stupid. I know what he wants. I saw his naked back. Saw the graveyard there. He’s here for vengeance. And I have the feeling he’s willing to do anything to get it. Even die. He’s unhinged, unpredictable. Desperate. And I know if I want to survive, I can’t be anywhere near him when the bomb ticking inside him goes off. Especially now.

His questions about Armen though—if I saw his body—they make me think. I saw photos of the scene. The man who gave me my passport showed me. I just assumed…

But maybe, just maybe, he is still alive. I assumed Seth and Rafi had been killed after that night, too. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe that’s why I’m here, because why else? Who else would bother saving my life? I’m not worth anything to any of them. Why save me when everything would be a hell of a lot easier if I’d just died that night?

“My wrists really hurt, Zach.”

He gets up and fishes a key out of that bag. He moves beside me, and I lean forward as he uncuffs my wrists. He leaves the cuffs attached to the headboard and I swing my legs off the bed, rubbing my sore wrists. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do but when he walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, I follow and sit across from him. I pick up my fork and eat the now-cold breakfast he made me while he watches. He’s right. I don’t waste food. I’ve known hunger.

* * *

He doesn’t talk to me most of the day. He spends it on his laptop instead, and I find myself tiptoeing around my own house. I can’t stop thinking about what he said. That maybe Armen isn’t dead. Maybe Seth and Rafi are alive, too.

I don’t have the privacy I need to search through his things and get my passport. He doesn’t trust me enough to leave me alone just yet, and I can’t try to leave without it. Once I have it, I’ll disappear. If there’s any chance my brothers are alive, I have to go back. I’m not of any value to him anyway. I don’t know anything. Even if I did, I’m not sure I’d give him the information because he’s on a suicide mission, even if he doesn’t know it himself. And for some reason, I want to save him from that.

“Where do you live?” I ask that evening.

He’s still absorbed in whatever he’s doing on his computer and it takes him a moment to reply. “Here, for now.”

“When did you get into the States?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“How did you get the passport? Michael Beckham’s, I mean?”

He shrugs. “I know some people. Maybe the same ones who made yours, Eve Adams.”

“What happened that night? After the explosion?” I ask.

We’d been in Beirut. It’s where I was born. In comparison to other Middle Eastern countries, Beirut was safe. But still, we had our own militant groups and the man Armen was working for was involved in arms sales to other groups. Terrorist groups.

Zach is studying me over the top of his laptop. After a long time, he draws in a deep breath, closes the lid and sits back to watch me. “A local doctor saved my life. I was badly burned and I’d been shot. All I remember was the pain. He and his son somehow dragged me from the rubble of the place and had the foresight to hide me.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I guess I am in comparison to the others.”

“Does it still hurt? The burns?”

He shakes his head. “Some numbness, but like you said, I was lucky.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what happened to you.”

He only studies me, and it’s unnerving. Like he wants to crawl inside my brain. Learn everything.

“Can I see?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can think. My heart picks up its pace at the thought of it, of seeing him bared, his scars, his regret.

I can’t make out what the emotion in his eyes is. He’s so very schooled in hiding what he’s thinking.

“What do you have to drink?” he asks.

I guess that’s a no. I get up and open a cabinet and realize this could be my opportunity. “Only a little bit of wine.” I hold out the nearly empty bottle.

“No whiskey?”

I shake my head. “There’s a liquor store two blocks away. I can run out—”

“I bet you can run.” He stands. “Get dressed. We’ll go together.”

I fold my arms across my chest. I’m not as afraid of him right now. I know he won’t hurt me. “What do you plan to do with me, exactly? I told you what I know. And I don’t think I filled in any of the blanks. You can’t stay here forever. You can’t just walk into my life and—”

“Get fucking dressed or I’ll gag you and bind you to the bed while I go on my own. You have two minutes.”

I glare, but he taps his watch so I turn and walk down the hall and into my bedroom.

“Door stays open,” he says, just as I’m getting ready to close it.

Fine. I know I’ll have one chance to do this. If he catches me looking through that bag for my passport, he will cuff me to the bed, I have no doubt. So I get to my closet to choose clothes, which is when I notice the two suits hanging there. His. When the hell did he do that? I touch them, then lean in and smell them. Smell him on them. Abruptly I pull away, annoyed with myself.

Leaning my head out, I make sure he’s busy in the living room and kneel on the floor to push two stacked shoeboxes out of the way. I open a third one and lift the tissue paper out to find the small pistol I bought when I got here still tucked neatly inside. I’ve never had to use it. I’m not even sure why I bought it, or if I can use it.

I take it out of the box and feel the weight of it in the palm of my hand.

“Time’s a tickin’, Eve,” he calls out from the other room.

I quickly take it over to the bed and slip it between the mattress and box spring on my side, then put on a summer dress and return to the living room.

He’s waiting for me by the front door. My heart is racing and I’m sweating. If he notices how anxious I suddenly am, he doesn’t let on.

“Do I need to tell you how to behave?”

“No, I got it.”

“Good.”

Even though the liquor store is within walking distance, we take his truck, and he’s holding my hand tight the whole time we’re inside, like he’s warning me. Afterward, we drive through a fast food place to pick up dinner.

“Sorry it isn’t more fancy,” he says in a tone that tells me he’s not sorry at all. “What would you like?”

“I don’t care.”

He orders two meals, and we drive home. There, he sets the food on the coffee table and gets two glasses. He pours me a drink and sets it beside his.

“Come here, Eve.”

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

“We’ll see tomorrow. Sit down.”

I do. He hands me my drink and I accept it, take a sip after he touches his glass to mine and drains his. Maybe he’ll get so drunk I can walk out of here, but I doubt that. He’s eating his burger when I hear a buzz and he reaches into his pocket to take out his phone. I can’t read the text message from where I am, but whatever it says has him sitting upright. He types something back before pocketing the phone and glancing at me.

“You’d better eat while it’s warm. It’s barely palatable when it cools.”

I unwrap my burger and take a few bites, then abandon it to pick at the fries. He pours me another drink and I can feel his eyes on me.

“So what do you do besides work?” he asks.

I glance at him. “We’re making small talk?”

“I guess we are.”

“My life isn’t all that interesting.”

“Boyfriend?” he asks, and from the look on his face, I know he’s messing with me.

“No. No juicy stories for you to get off on. Sorry.”

“That why you wanted me to take my shirt off earlier?”

I see laughter in his eyes. “I’m going to bed,” I say, standing.

He catches my wrist. “It’s early.”

“I’m tired.”

The way he’s looking at me is unnerving.

“You can sleep out here,” I tell him.

It’s like he’s trying to read me. I wonder if he can see right through me. But a moment later, he lets go of my wrist.

“Door stays open.” He picks up his laptop and pours himself more of the whiskey. It’s his third glass.

I nod, and walk back toward the bedroom. It’ll be tricky to do what I want with the door open, but I’m hoping he’ll be distracted and that the whiskey will relax him. At least a little. Enough for me to get my passport. I won’t try to escape tonight, but I need to be ready to go tomorrow.