Big house. That extra hall separated the inner house from the outside.

Pretty slabs of metal or wood decorated the windows, making them impossible to open. And his behavior. All red flags, but she’d turned her brain monochrome for that retro feel. Now everything shined a bleary magenta. She didn’t know where he got his money or what let him take his mental health days or why he locked his door this way. Maybe on some level, he genuinely liked her.

But there was something wrong, and his grin and beard couldn’t hide it.

If she screamed here, would the sound cross the glass into other houses? At best, someone would have to be strolling the street or walking their dog, both doubtful past two in the morning. In the unlikely event that someone could hear, would they care? That had never been Yaya’s experience, not once in her life.

She pounded at the door. It trembled against its frame, but the wood didn’t splinter. She needed a tool, but she couldn’t think of one. Everything in Bryant’s house looked soft and cozy. She was the hardest thing in this room, but the door stood harder.

“Like a thief in the night.”

Yaya twisted around at Bryant’s voice and pressed her back to the door.

Her clothes had come disheveled, put on too fast and now come loose. She could tell by the way he eyed her, but she didn’t want to look down at her clothes, or his shirt and boxer shorts. Her eyes fixed on his face.

“Isn’t that great?” he said, throwing up his hands. They did not look to be surrendering this time. “Can’t be a little grateful for a nice day, but off you run to give the neighbors a show.”

“You locked us in.” Yaya pounded at the wood again. “Unlock the door.”

“Us?” Bryant glanced behind him at the walls, the windows. “Who’s us?”

“No one. Unlock the door.”

Bryant paced back and forth. One hand wiped at his beard. He seemed bigger now under the kitchen light, his frame casting a shadow deep through the living room.

“Wasn’t I nice?” he asked.

“We don’t owe you shit for that,” Yaya said.

“We. Us.” He cocked his head to one side. “Is this a setup? Who were you really talking to before?” His eyes scanned her clothes again, but not the same as when he’d first emerged. “You’re wearing a wire.”

Yaya said nothing. If he thought he was being recorded, maybe he’d be cautious. Maybe he’d unlock the damn door.

Instead, he stepped closer. “Whatever they told you, it’s bullshit.”

Yaya couldn’t press flatter against the door. “Keep back.”

“I thought I could trust you.”

“Not another step.”

“Why?” His blue eyes gleamed. “It’s a recording, isn’t it? You’re narrating, but there’s no one to listen. There’s never been anyone to listen, has there?” His toes stopped at her shoes, his figure blocking the light, engulfing her, his breath sweeping ringlets of hair from her face. One hand reached for her jacket and parted it from her heart. “Let me see. It can be okay again, like when we were having a nice time.” His fingers hooked her top’s neckline and tugged the fabric away from her skin.