The Bounty

11. Pillow Talk

[ 11. Pillow Talk ]

Hayes the Killer was out of his fucking mind.

"You're not tying me to the bed," I said, placing my hands on my hips defiantly like I had any sort of choice on the matter. He stared at me blankly. "I'm not an animal."

With a smirk, he snorted a laugh. "You're right. If you were an animal, I'd have you in a collar and leash," he said. I swore I saw the color change in his eyes, though it was likely my imagination. "Just make this easy and lay down."

I took an unintentional step back. Hayes flinched, like he thought I'd run. "No. I want the chair," I said, this time crossing my arms over my chest. He sighed, teetering on his heels impatiently. "I don't have the lighter. I couldn't leave if I tried. You could even put the chair in here so you can keep an eye on me—"

"Are you seriously trying to bargain with me?"

My mouth shut. It was pretty ridiculous, right? Then again, so was this entire day. I should have been chopped into a million little pieces and burned in that chic fireplace by now, but instead I was trying to make a deal with the devil. Hayes wasn't budging, but neither was I.

I took another step back until my back was against the closet door. He looked frustrated. "I refuse."

"You don't have a choice," he snapped. I didn't move. He began approaching me with less aggression than usual, but still with an adamant look on his face, like this was the only way possible. "I'll be gentle with your wrist but you can't fight me. Come on, Vincent, get on the bed."

I shook my head. "No."

"Great, so we're not listening again?"

"No," I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

He took another step towards me. "This is your last chance to do this on your own accord before I make you," he said. When I made no move to obey his stupid commands, he closed the gap between us and lunged. This time, I acted.

I side-stepped and raised my fist, swinging hard. To his surprise, I managed to clock him in the cheekbone, earning a satisfying noise of discomfort from Hayes. I ran around to the other side of the bed with my hands still raised, ready to fight. He looked completely off guard, holding the side of his face in pain.

"What the hell, Vincent?"

"I want the chair," I demanded.

Hayes looked instantly more annoyed like a flip of a switch. I held my ground, glaring at him with flared nostrils and my chest heaving. There wasn't much fight left in me, but I was prepared to give it my all. Why I felt like I had any sort of choice in where I get tied up, I had no idea. But it felt like if I made my point clear enough, Hayes would listen. That probably made me naive.

He leapt around the foot of the bed, but I threw myself across the mattress. I clawed at the tangled blankets and sheets, surely a mess when Hayes woke up with a start to hunt me down.

I almost made it, but Hayes grabbed my calves and tugged me back. With one hand on my shoulder and the other on the side of my left thigh, he flipped me over. I tried to sit up and push him off of me, but he suddenly clambered atop of my body, pinning me to the bed.

We both caught our breath for a moment. His hands had found my wrists—really one wrist, because as soon as he touched the bandaged part of my burned arm, he instead circled his fingers around my hand—and held them over my head. I was all too aware of his body weight pressing me to the bed like a paperweight, flattening me under his abdomen and hips. His thighs straddled my waist, just the thin fabric of his sweatpants separating our bodies. Still shirtless, I could see a glimmer of a reflection from a silver chain dangling from his neck with a dog tag at the end shining over the skin of his breast.