Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             He said he wanted to see how far I would fall. I fell too deep, my wings broke, shattering my will into unredeemable pieces.

                             Aaron gets what he wants. I won’t attempt to run again. My fear of darkness is greater than my yearning for freedom.

                             Not long after I jump him, he pries my hands from around his neck. He nudges me backwards with a soft yet a firm touch that refuses any struggle.

                             With an indecipherable face, he stands, leaving me in a heap on the tiled floor.

                             I push off the ground. My wobbly legs barely keep me standing, screaming at me to sit down. Their little strength is enough to drag my body to the bed.

                             I slump in a sitting position, my tortured skin thankful for the soft cotton material.

                             Aaron stands at the foot of the bed like a statue. One hand in his black trousers’ pocket, the other resting by his side. My gaze travels up his navy blue shirt to his expressionless face.

                             The man is a damn blank board. I can’t detect anything from him. Aside from the serial killer vibe, of course.

                             Deafening silence dominates the room, accentuated by Aaron’s unmovable stare. I hold eye contact for a few seconds before cowering away.

                             If his plan is to mould me into a nervous ball then he’s certainly achieved it.

                             I was never good with silence.

                             “What?” I whisper.

                             He says nothing, focusing on my face as if observing a painting. I stare back this time. I won’t recoil. If those black eyes can hypnotise me, then so be it.

                             I’m screwed as it is.

                             “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I ask after a while, voice a little louder.

                             Again, not a word. Not even a twitch of his finger.

                             “Is this a pattern now?” I throw my hands in the air. “I ask and you don’t reply?”

                             His unbreakable silence sends fury boiling down my spine. The prick. How dare he ignore me after what he did to me?

                             “Hey! Why do you refuse to talk to me?”

                             “Because it’s fun,” he says, face static.

                             “Huh?”

                             “You’re too talkative.”

                             I narrow my eyes. “And that’s fun because...?”

                             He reverts back into a mute. I sink my nails into my palm in an attempt to stop the building rage from sweeping me south.

                             Freaking bastard. He finds pleasure in tormenting me.

                             “That.” He points at my face. “You’re expressive to a fault. Apparently, the lack of conversation makes you nervous and that soon transforms into anger.” He pauses, his lips curving in a cunning smile. “Interesting.”