Chapter One-Hundred and Fourteen: Your Game My Rules 

Thane’s POV

“I see you're not dead… Yet.”

My tone holds a hint of mockery.

The room is stuffy and smells so bad, as has hasn't had his bath for three days straight, also following his nonstop sweating and waste of food.

“Hmm.”

I hiss, covering my nose with my hand.

About to puke, I root out a nosemask and seal my nose with it, trying not to die before the does.

“What are you doing here?”

I chuckle.

“In my house? Is that supposed to be a joke?”

I demand keenly.

“Or, you're slowly losing your mind?”

He looks up at me. He is just weak from the daily torture and minimal food and water. But he isn't under the influence of the noxious gas.

“What do you want?”

He asks instead.

Taking out a pair of clean gloves from the stack, I set my suitcase on the table far off and wear the gloves, one at a time.

“Do you not really know what I want?”