13. Erica
Cain cuts into his steak with the same precision he sliced my skin with the scalpel.
Gently.
With elegance.
He puts a piece of rare, pink meat in his mouth, chewing slowly, and a twist of heat flows through my center.
Why the hell am I getting wet from watching him eat steak?
Cain’s eyes close, the disrespect of the gesture dousing my arousal.
He really doesn’t consider me a threat.
How rude!
And probably a correct assessment.
When I try the first bite of juicy meat, I understand why he’s savoring it.
The beef melts on my tongue.
The flavor is rich, earthy and wholesome, incomparable to any steak I had before.
I always buy the cheapest cuts, and this doesn’t even seem like the same meal.
“Oh my god,” I moan, immediately slicing off more.
And more.
A few bites of the side dishes in between.
More meat.
When my plate is empty, I notice Cain staring at me and my cheeks light up.
I hide behind my napkin.
Has he been watching me the entire time while I was stuffing my face like a starving animal?
“You make the same noises while you eat and when you come,” he says too nonchalantly.
I toss the napkin on the counter, seething.
“Is that all you think about? Sex ?”
“I do think about sex an awful lot when you’re around, Erica. But that ain’t all.”
“Go on then! What else rattles around in that primitive caveman brain of yours?” I lean forward and poke him in the forehead.
His mouth curves as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“Don’t ask questions if you don’t want an honest answer.”
“Oh, but I do! What can you possibly say that might shock me? That you’re going to kidnap me? Fuck me? Hold me hostage?” I let out all my flippant anger and confusion in a sarcastic laugh.
“Been there, done that, Cain!”
“Alright.” His intense stare sends a shiver down my spine.
“Right now, I’m thinking about buying more wagyu because you enjoyed it that much.”
My jaw goes slack.
He gets up to collect our plates and cutlery, sorting them into the dishwasher.
“And now, I’m thinking that I’ll have to dust off the unused side of the walk-in closet, so you have a space for your stuff.”
What the fuck?
Is he trying to throw me off?
He reaches out in a slow gesture and takes my hand.
Tingles sweep through my belly as his thumb caresses over my knuckles until he stops at my ring finger.
“Now, I’m thinking that I forgot to measure your ring size while you were sleeping and I don’t know which size to get for your engagement ring,” he says, voice husky.
“My what ?” I squeak.
“Well, your wedding ring, too, but that comes later. Step by step, darlin’.” He pats my hand.
“Have a lil patience.”
I rip my hand from his.
“I am not marrying you, curly!”
He smirks, pupils blown as if he’s looking at something super adorable, like a fluffy kitten.
The urge to murder him increases by a thousandfold.
“Curly?” he asks innocently.
“Because of your stupid hair.” I gesture at his head.
“Cute.” He takes a sip of his drink.
“I like it.”
Fucking great.
He likes it.
“You’ve lost your last marbles if you think I’m going to marry you, Cain! I’ve known you for a few days, most of which I was unconscious !”
“So?” he asks with the most infuriating calm in his tone.
“I know this ain’t exactly the standard procedure for a healthy relationship, but I gave up on that when I kidnapped you. Besides, the adrenaline speeds up the process of getting closer. It’s a natural chemical reaction in the brain. That’s why many men suggest something exciting like a horror movie or a rollercoaster ride for the first date.”
I slap the counter.
“I’m your captive . We don’t have a relationship !”
“Not yet. But you will love me, Erica. Once you get to know me, I’m not so bad.”
“I will never love you.”
“You’ll love me and live freely by my side or you’ll die, little dove. Your choice.” He reaches into his pocket.
“Speaking of freedom…” He puts something onto the counter, and my eyes widen.
“My phone!” I squeal, grabbing it.
“I charged it, put in a leftover sim card from my family plan, and connected you to the Wi-Fi. I saved my number in your contacts, too.”
What am I supposed to say to that?
I hope he didn’t snoop too much and that he didn’t find my embarrassing, sexually charged bucket list.
That note is manually password-locked though, so I should be safe.
“Thanks, I guess?” I pause, squinting at his smiling face.
“You know I could call the police with this and tell them about your organ harvesting and kidnapping deal?”
“You could.”
“I could also ask them to send a patrol right away to arrest you.”
His chin dips in confirmation.
“Absolutely.”
“If they see your perverted lair in the basement, you’re getting the death penalty faster than you can spell, uh… spleen!”
“That’s not a very long or very difficult word, but I see your point,” he says.
This is too good to be true.
The breath rushes from my lungs and I leave the phone on the counter.
Cain is a sadist and an asshole, but he’s not stupid.
Far from it.
I suspect that an intelligent, razor-sharp mind hides behind his casual demeanor and charming drawl.
“What’s the catch?” I ask.
He chugs the rest of his soda.
With a mocking frown, he swirls the ice around in the glass, making me listen to the annoying clinking until he finally puts it down.
“Call the cops all you want. They won’t believe you.”
My scoff comes out as a shout.
“Okay, I’ll humor you for a second. Why wouldn’t they believe me?”
“Glad you asked,” he says, his tone giddy as if he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Stay here. Don’t try to run, darlin’. You might be feeling okay, but you’re still weakened from the drugs. You wouldn’t get far.”
My nails score my palms as his steps grow distant, his boots thudding like he’s jumping up the stairs two steps at a time.
He returns in less than a minute.
He’s right, I wouldn’t have had a chance to get far.
And where the fuck would I go with no money, no friends, and no car?
Cain throws a brown folder onto the kitchen island.
“There you go. I made copies for you in advance. Reckoned you ain’t gonna believe me unless you see the papers with your own eyes. The originals are stored safely where you can’t reach ‘em.”
I don’t remember carrying any documents in my bag. My gaze darts from the folder to Cain and back to the folder. With trembling fingers, I open it.
What. The. Fuck .
Medical files. My medical files, listing some minor health concerns I had in the past. A broken arm from when I fell out of a tree as a kid, a sprained ankle from when I slipped in a puddle in the kitchen at work, migraines, but—
“This part is all wrong,” I say, tapping the paper.
“I don’t have any of those things. Delusions, paranoia, bouts of violent aggression. And I don’t take any of those medications either. Are you trying to blackmail me? Because if you are, you’re stupider than I thought. This isn’t my file.”
He grins.
“It is now.”
My stomach churns with dread.
“But it’s wrong, this—”
“I’m Dr. Cain Morrow. You can search for my full name on the internet if you like. I’m a well-respected member of the medical community and advisor on countless ethics boards. I was head of surgery at the university hospital in San Antonio and I own half a dozen plastic surgery clinics across the South.”
“So you have an impressive career, but what does that have to do with this? With me?”
“If I wanna falsify a patient file, I can. Like this.” He snaps his fingers.
“And nobody is gonna believe that upstanding Dr. Morrow would do such a thing. I don’t have a criminal record, not even a speeding ticket. And you haven’t seen the best part yet.”
He slides the last page out of the folder and grips my chin, tilting my head down.
The dizziness from earlier returns with a vengeance.
I can barely make out the letters between black dots obstructing my vision.
“Look at that, Erica! You named me —your loving boyfriend and trusted physician—as your legal guardian if you have another one of your paranoid episodes.”
“No!” My shrill yell echoes beneath the high ceiling.
He taps the bottom of the paper.
“Ain’t that your signature, darlin’?”
I squint.
For a second, it feels like I’m falling.
For the fraction of a heartbeat, I doubt myself, thinking I’ve lost my mind, but my body goes rigid when I realize what’s really going on.
“You forged my signature!”
“It wasn’t too hard. I copied it from your driver’s license. But the whole idea…” Pride crosses Cain’s face.
“You gotta admit it’s a pretty neat plan, huh?”
My heart is about to burst out of my chest.
“S-so if I call the police…”
“Now you’re getting it.” With that malicious smile on his handsome face, I expect him to sprout horns like the actual devil.
“If you get the cops in here, I’ll show ‘em the files. If you run away, I’ll go to the cops myself and within a matter of hours, the entire country will be searching for you. After all, with these mental health concerns, you’re a danger to yourself and others.”
I can’t hear what he says afterward, his smooth voice background noise beyond the static filling my brain.
Pressure compresses my throat like an invisible collar.
Cain doesn’t need chains or ropes to keep me as his captive, and there’s no way I’m ever getting away from him.