Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Game of Words
The ropes still hurt, and Isabelle's shoulders ached. But she wasn't going to cry.
Sitting up straighter in the chair, she locked her eyes with him. Her arms were tied, but her mouth? Oh, that still worked perfectly.
Maxx was just by the door, calmly sipping his water again like he didn't just confess to murder. Like this was a casual day.
He looked too proud of himself and maybe too relaxed. That annoyed her more than anything.
"You know," Isabelle started, clearing her throat, "I expected more from a murderer."
Maxx didn't answer. He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised.
"You walk around like some cool villain," she continued, "but I've seen more dangerous things in a toy store."
Maxx smiled slowly. "Still have that fire, huh?"
"I mean it," Isabelle said, shaking her head. "Even your threats are weak. You kidnapped me, tied me to a chair, but you still talk like a bad actor in a cheap movie."
