My eyes remain on Frost’s hand and the large bag it’s carrying, unable to look away from the handles in his grip, the beige fabric and the patterned logo at its center.

Until he closes the door behind him.

And locks it.

My gaze darts upward impulsively, and I find myself scooting to the very edge of the bed without even realizing it when he advances toward me.

With a neutral expression, he stops just barely a foot away and sets the tote on the bed next to me, keeping up his silent routine and gesturing with a simple nod to look inside. I eye him warily, still on high alert from what happened downstairs, but despite my apprehension, I go for it, reaching inside it tentatively as I look between him and the bag. I’m entirely unsure of what to anticipate, my nerves spiraling out of control, making my fingers quake even more as they grab the tote with one hand while the other continues to clutch the pillow to my chest. I gulp audibly in spite of myself, shuddering as I inhale, almost expecting to see those silver handcuffs again.

Or worse.

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