The prey

I woke up to a splitting headache, the kind that made every heartbeat feel like a hammer against my skull. Confusion clouded my thoughts as I slowly blinked my eyes open, trying to get my bearings. Soreness spread through my limbs and a dull ache that made me wince as I shifted on the bed. I wasn't sure what hurt more-the throbbing in my head or the tension knotted in my muscles.

Groaning softly, I pushed myself up, immediately noticing a small glass of water on the nightstand beside me. Next to it, a few pills and a note.

Have them.

Underneath, it was signed: K. M.

Kyle? I squinted at the writing, my eyes tracing the initials. Could Kyle have left these? I didn't recall him ever leaving a note like this before. But... the handwriting. It seemed... off. Did both of them have the same writing?

Whatever. I didn't have the energy to think it through. I grabbed the pills, downing them with a gulp of water. The liquid felt cool and soothing against my dry throat, but it did little to ease the heavy fog in my mind.

I pushed the blanket aside, bracing myself for the cold as my feet touched the floor. Immediately, a sharp hiss escaped my lips as pain shot up my leg. God, even my feet hurt. I moved slowly, steadying myself as I headed for the bathroom to freshen up.

I didn't even remember what that monster did to me last night. Did we have… sex? No. He couldn't have possibly take me when I was unconcious. Or… did he?

Damn. Why couldn't I recall?

After splashing water on my face and changing into a sweater and joggers, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Pale. Tired. My eyes were red-rimmed, and there was something hollow about the way I looked, like I hadn't slept in days. Maybe I hadn't. Who could tell anymore?

As I was about to head to the kitchen, it all came rushing back. Like a tidal wave of terror, the events of last night crashed into my mind-Carlo's dead, glassy eyes staring up at nothing. And Judas... the way he'd killed those men, his eyes so cold, so unfeeling. I swallowed hard, my body going still.

The memory gripped me, and I felt my stomach turn. Was it a nightmare? I almost wished it was. But it wasn't. It was real. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the image to go away. I didn't want to see him. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

The thought of facing Judas, of seeing him again after what he did... I didn't know how to feel. Was I scared? Angry? Something else? It was all tangled together swirling in a confusing mess. My breath caught in my throat, and I clutched the counter, trying to steady myself. I couldn't do this. I couldn't face him. Not yet.

But... I couldn't stay here, frozen in place. I had to keep moving. One step at a time.

I forced my legs to move, dragging myself toward the door and stepping out into the living room. It was empty. A strange sort of relief washed over me at the sight of the vacant room. No Judas. No one. Just silence.

That relief didn't last long though. The clanking sound of pots and pans from the kitchen pulled me toward it. My body tensed as I approached, every nerve on edge. I could hear the faint, deep murmur of a voice-Kyle's voice. He must've been talking on the phone, wearing those earbuds of his.

As I reached the doorway, I caught part of what he was saying. "-asleep." The rest was in Russian, and I couldn't make it out. He was cooking, his back to me, wearing his usual dark clothes. His movements were sharp, efficient, like everything else he did. But his phone wasn't in his hand. Where was it? Was he even on a call?

I cleared my throat loudly, making my presence known.

Kyle didn't turn around right away when I cleared my throat. He didn't even acknowledge me at first, just kept moving around the kitchen, stirring something in the pan with deliberate, calm motions. Typical Kyle-indifferent to everyone and everything around him. The scent of something savory filled the air, but it did little to ease the tension that coiled inside me.

"Where's he?" I finally asked, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

Kyle paused for a beat, then turned his head slightly, just enough for me to see the faint outline of his profile. His mouth twitched, but there was no real expression on his face. He didn't answer right away, just stood there, like he was debating whether my question was worth the effort. Finally, with a slow, almost deliberate turn, he faced me fully.

"Already missing him?" His voice was flat, but the undertone of sarcasm was unmistakable. He folded his arms across his chest, the spatula in his hand dangling lazily. His dark eyes flickered over me, sizing me up like he always did, like he was trying to decide if I was worth responding to.

I stiffened, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "I'd never…" I began, but the words got stuck in my throat, my voice faltering. The memory of Judas, of what he'd done, still haunted me, but the last thing I needed was Kyle's snide remarks.

Kyle let out a dry, humorless laugh, tossing the spatula onto the counter. He leaned back against the kitchen island, his gaze sharp and unimpressed. "He's gone," he said simply, like it was nothing. Like it didn't matter. And fortunately it did not.

"You've got two weeks to play around." He shrugged, his tone casual, dismissive, like the weight of Judas's absence didn't affect him at all.

If Judas wasn't here, why didn't he take his side-chick with him?

Two weeks. The words echoed in my mind, but I wasn't sure whether to feel relief or something else. With relief, there was a strange sensation too. What would I do in this suite? Was I allowed to go to the college? He said I could, right?

Two weeks without Judas... but also two weeks stuck with Kyle.

"I'm not playing around," I snapped, taking a step closer. The frustration bubbling up in my chest was impossible to hold back. "You think I care that he's gone?"

Kyle's eyebrow arched slightly, his lips pulling into a faint smirk. "I don't know. Do you?" He pushed off the counter, turning back to the stove as if the conversation was already over, like I wasn't even worth his attention.

"God, you're impossible," I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "You act like you don't care about anything. Does nothing phase you? Do you ever-"

"No. I don't. And you know why? Because this-" he gestured vaguely between us, between the walls of the apartment "-this isn't real. None of it is. I don't even know why I am stuck here when I should be with him. No offense, but I don't get paid enough to babysit a defenceless woman." He narrowed his eyes as his every word hit the nerve. "You think he cares? You think he's any different? You think you can change him. Well, he's cut from the cloth devil wears like a pride."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come out. I didn't know how to respond. I hated how Kyle could always twist things, make everything seem so black and white. Like nothing mattered but the endgame.

And why did he think I wanted to change that psycho? He could remain as he was for all I care as long as his psychotic tendencies did not bother me.

"You have no idea," I muttered, stepping closer, fists clenched.

Kyle glanced over his shoulder, clearly unimpressed. "No idea, huh?" His voice dropped an octave, low and condescending. "Tell me then, what exactly am I missing, huh? That maybe you think he cares about you? That all this shit between you and him actually means something? That's why he put a leash on me and be your guard dog. Fuck, I'm even cooking for you, you damn woman."

I glared at him, my pulse quickening. "Don't twist my words. And I did not ask you to cook anything for me."

He gave a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "I don't have to twist anything, Ms Rosewood. You're doing a good enough job of that all by yourself. And yes, you didn't ask me to cook for you, but here I am. Doing the dirty work while you sit pretty, playing damsel in distress. What a joke."

I crossed my arms, heat rising in my chest. It was this easy for him to talk when he wasn't even in my shoes. Was he blind or what? Couldn't he see his so-called master was the sole reason for my misery.

"I can survive just fine without your half-burnt omelets and passive-aggressive babysitting."

"Oh, survive, huh?" He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. And I swore I wanted to smack him hard. "Is that what you're calling it now? You think this-" he gestured around the apartment, mimicking my earlier movements "-is surviving? You're not surviving, Rosewood. You're barely existing."

My glare hardened. "And yet, here you are, wasting your time on someone who's 'barely existing.' You really must be as bored as you are insufferable."

Kyle's grin widened. "Oh, trust me, I'm not bored. I'm entertained."

I clenched my fists, stepping right into his space. "You don't know anything about me, Kyle. So stop pretending you do. If you're so concerned about him not taking you with him, then tell your boss to leave me alone and then you can take my place. I won't mind."

Hah. There.

"We both know I'm the better one

"You're an ass," I shot back, stepping away, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration.

"And you're naïve," he retorted, crossing his arms as if he'd won. "But don't worry, Rosewood, I'll be here when you finally figure it out. Maybe then you'll thank me for the burnt omelets."

I narrowed my eyes, stepping around him. "Whatever. I don't even care. I'm far beyond ecstatic he's not here, and I won't let you ruin that for me. Shove those omelets down your throat, because I won't be needing them. I'm going to college."

Kyle raised a brow and his grin returned. "And who gave you permission?"

"Your boss," I shot back, turning toward the door. "He said I could."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "No hard feelings, but it's better you stay inside this suite. That'd make both of our jobs easier."

"Why?" I spun to face him, my pulse quickening with irritation. "You're afraid I'd run?"

Kyle's smirk was instant, sharp. "You can try."

I took a step toward him, challenging, my hands curling into fists. "You think you can stop me?"

His eyes glinted with amusement as he calmly turned back to the stove. "You're not going anywhere, Rosewood."

He flipped the omelet onto a plate, slapping two pieces of toast next to it, his movements quick, precise, but laced with arrogance. He grabbed the plate, moving faster than I could react, and before I knew it, he was in front of me again, shoving the plate into my hands.

"You're eating first," he said, his voice firm, but his grin mocking.

I tried to push the plate away. "I said I'm not hungry."

Kyle wasn't having it. "And I said you're eating."

Without warning, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the table. I struggled, but his grip was iron, and in one swift motion, he practically threw me into the chair.

"Sit," he growled.

I glared up at him, chest heaving with frustration. "You can't just manhandle me like that!"

Kyle's eyes darkened with amusement. "I just did. Now eat."

The room was tense, our eyes locked, a battle of wills raging between us. My pulse raced, but I knew I wouldn't win this one-not now. Not yet.

I sat there, fuming, staring down at the plate of omelets and toast like it was my mortal enemy. Kyle leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me with that same infuriating smirk plastered across his face.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" I muttered, glaring up at him.

His smirk only deepened. "A little. You're making this harder than it needs to be."

"Maybe because I don't like being treated like a prisoner," I shot back, jabbing the fork into the omelet without taking a bite.

He raised an eyebrow, pushing off the counter and taking a few steps closer. "You're not a prisoner, Rosewood. You're protected. Big difference."

"Protected?" I laughed, though there was no humor in it. "Locked in a suite with a bodyguard who won't let me step outside? Yeah, sounds like protection to me."

Kyle tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Do you really think you're safer out there? You have no idea who's watching, waiting."

I slammed the fork down. "I'm going to college, not running through a war zone. You're being dramatic."

He sighed, clearly tired of the back-and-forth, but I could see his resolve cracking. He leaned forward, placing both hands on the back of the chair. "Fine. You want to go to college? You want to walk out of here? Go ahead."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Wait... what?"

He straightened, crossing his arms again. "You heard me. Go ahead. But don't make things difficult. You know the rules."

I stood, my pulse racing with triumph, but before I could move, I heard the faint click of a phone camera. I whipped around to see Kyle lowering his phone, a smug grin on his face.

"Did you just take a picture of me?" I snapped, incredulous.

Kyle didn't even flinch. "Daily report."

My brow furrowed. "He asked you to do that?"

"Ordered me," he replied casually, slipping the phone back into his pocket. "Now eat quietly, or I'll have to send another one of you not following orders."

I clenched my jaw, staring him down, but the fight drained out of me. I sank back into the chair, picking up the fork with a huff. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

Kyle smirked, leaning back against the counter again. "I've been told."