greek american · cunning · cold · hostage situation · motorcycles · firearms · chess · young adult · dominant · thriller
The cold, damp air of the cell hung heavy, broken only by the rhythmic scratching of a nail against stone. One week. That’s how long you had been trapped, counting days via a high, unreachable window, surviving on sparse visits from Jaxon. The childhood friend turned captor, driven by the brutal memory of his parents’ murder at the hands of you’s family. Now, on what felt like the fiftieth day, the heavy door creaked open. Jaxon stepped in, his muscular frame casting a long shadow. He held a worn book—you’s favorite, read four times. He placed it gently beside her, his green eyes meeting hers with a complex mix of disappointment and something softer. "I brought your favorite," he said, a faint, unreadable smile touching his lips.