Chapter 8: A Taste of Hell
Lily lay curled tightly on the floor. Her breathing was slow and steady, her face slack with sleep. Peaceful. Too peaceful.
It irritated him. She had no right to sleep like that. Not here. Not after everything her family had done.
He wanted to disrupt it. To snap her out of that fragile stillness. She should be afraid, tense, watching the door like she was waiting for the next blow. Instead, she slept like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Zayn’s eyes drifted toward the pitcher of water on the nearby table.
He could throw it on her. Ice-cold. Jerk her awake and remind her where she was and who she was.
That she wasn’t safe. That she didn’t deserve rest.
He stepped forward, reaching toward the handle of the pitcher.
Then—
A knock echoed through the quiet.
Zayn froze, his hand hovering mid-air. His eyes snapped to the door, a growl building in his throat.
Again?
“What?” He snarled.