Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
I had no idea what time it was, but at least twenty-four hours had passed since my last meal. I chugged the water, thirsty anyway, and when I finished, he made good on his promise.
The bathroom door led out into a luxurious bedroom with a king-sized platform bed and a plush leather couch to one side. On the coffee table before it, a bowl of soup and half of a French baguette waited.
“I’m sorry it’s barely warm, but I didn’t want you to get any ideas about throwing it at me.”
I ate, not caring if it was drugged or poisoned, not caring that he sat on the couch beside me, his watchful gaze never leaving me. Did he realize the water and food would eventually give me back some strength?
“If you have any more ideas about escape, there are other men here at the house.”
“I know, the Italians,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “It’s safer if you stay in this room. Or,” he paused, “I can take you back to the basement.”
This made me evaluate the room critically. It had windows and a door that didn’t appear to have a bar over it. But if he was offering to let me stay here, where there were at least a dozen things I could use as weapons, there had to be a reason.
“What’s the catch?”
“This is my room.”
Of course it is. I stifled the knee-jerk reaction to tell him I’d go to the basement. This was another attempt to position me just where he wanted. It would give him more chances to mess with me, physically and psychologically.
Or worse.
But the opportunity was too good to pass up, and he knew it. I’d have to table my hatred. “You expect me to stay here, with you?”
“Yeah, I do. I figure you’re probably tired, and I’ll let you sleep here.”
Implying he wouldn’t allow me to sleep in the basement. But if I were here, where, exactly, was he going to be? He looked as tired as I was.
“You’ll sleep on the couch,” I told him. If he was even planning on sleeping.
“There are clothes in the closet for you.”
I went into the walk-in closet and shut the door, banding an arm around my stomach, trying to hold myself together. The space was almost entirely empty, so there was nothing I could use to defend myself. A single set of folded clothes waited on a bare shelf.
You can do this. I repeated it as a mantra as I slowly pulled on a pair of pajama pants and the long-sleeved shirt meant for me.
“What are you doing in there?” he asked, impatient.
When I came out, he was shirtless and sitting in the large bed, already under the covers. His gaze fell on me like he was excited to see how I’d react. I only made it a few steps toward the couch before he leapt from the bed and wrapped his arms around me.
His mouth was by my ear. “The bed. I’m not discussing it.”
His hold was a vise, and the drugs wore thin now, making it hard to fight. “No. I won’t. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Why? Because you hope to kill me if I fall asleep? That’s not going to happen.”
It’s because I don’t know what you’ll do to me. He dragged me to the bed and forced me to sit on the soft mattress.
“It’s been a hell of a day,” he said. “You can feel free to try to kill me in the morning. But right now, you’ll sleep.”
He’d given an order and waited for me to comply with a hard expression, but how was I supposed to do this? Lie beside him and share a bed with my captor?
His cold, authoritative eyes stared back at me, and it lit the fire I needed. I wouldn’t let him win—I’d just let him think he had. He wasn’t wrong about my plan to kill him when he was asleep. My defiant gaze drilled into him as I begrudgingly lay down and pulled the covers tight up to my neck.
Satisfied, his heavy footsteps carried him to the other side of the bed, where he flipped the light off, plunging the room into darkness. The mattress shifted under his weight.
“No, no!” I said, when his hand slid across my stomach, his body against mine.
“I’ll have to get the handcuffs, the ones you threw in the toilet.” Another challenge, more pressure. “I’d like to believe you’ll just sleep, but I can’t.”
“You want to put your hands on me.”
“Plenty of truth there. What will it be?” He moved his hand so it was more comfortable for him, not so subtly making me aware of its presence. Like I didn’t already know it was there.
In the darkness, he couldn’t see my face crumble. This wasn’t a choice. Just the thought of the metal on my skin made me shiver. Another part of me died inside, more power going to him. “I don’t want the handcuffs.”