32. Salinger
32
SALINGER
“ S alinger!” she yells, fists pounding on the door.
I’d replaced the door hardware, thinking it might come to this.
“You can’t trap me here!” she shouts. “I’m calling the police.”
“You don’t have your phone, and there is no landline in that room,” I tell her through the door.
“You’re going to be sorry when I get out of here.”
“Considering how only two minutes ago, you were begging for my cock, I’m pretty sure I know how to handle you.”
There’s a pause, then the cursing and banging start again.
“You’re a sick fuck, Salinger Svensson. I know exactly what you’re planning. Don’t think you’re going to play mind games with me, mister. My sister tricked me into reading a dark-romance book once. I know how this goes. You’re going to choke me, tie me up, and use dildos and butt plugs and clamps. I bet you’re in the mafia!”
“The mafia? I’m an investor. I don’t need an organized crime ring. I have lobbyists. All the shit I do is sanctioned by Congress. The mafia is for losers who aren’t smart, attractive, or charming enough to convince the government to write laws in their favor.” I lean against the door then wince when she throws herself against it.
“Fucking psycho pig. If you think I’m going to be some scared little girl waiting for you to have your way with me, you have another thing coming. I just had a pap smear and the ob-gyn used an obscenely large metal speculum and told me I’m playing fast and loose with my waning fertility, so I’m not scared of you, Salinger. You want to tie me to meat hooks and take me up the ass, go the fuck ahead.”
“First off, I’m a little shocked at your choice of reading material. I’m reading an excellent biography of George Washington that I highly recommend. I’ll bring you a copy.”
More cursing and a graphic description of where I could shove said biography.
“That’s not very mature of you, and honestly, you can’t be mad. These are the consequences of your own actions.”
More unintelligible, angry screaming, something along the lines of, “I’m going to shove your consequences up your dick.”
“Don’t be histrionic, Mandy. Twice now, I’ve had to rescue you from wandering around in the middle of the street with no shoes and your clothes in disarray because of running from your stalker. This is absurd. What am I supposed to do?”
“You can go fuck yourself. ”
“That was a rhetorical question, by the way. You’re playing with fire. What if you end up hurt or worse? What would I tell your father? How could I look him in the eye and inform him that I let something happen to his beloved daughter, even though it was in my power to prevent you from getting hurt?”
There’s a long pause.
“You”—Mandy must have her face right up against the door frame—“are fighting dirty.”
“I’m fighting to win.” I rest my hand against the door. “Since I apparently care more about your safety than you do, that’s what’s required.”
“Don’t you dare leave!” she screams at me as I head back down the hallway, unbuttoning my suit jacket.
There’s a crash as she throws one of the glasses against the door. I wince, thinking of the dent in the custom-stain finish. They’re never going to be able to match it.
The lights are off in my bedroom. I drape the suit jacket over a chair, loosen my tie, and turn on a lamp.
In the exact middle of the bed is a corgi, her round belly rising and falling as she snores on her back.
“Pepper, do you want to go outside?”
I’d had Seward install a grass planter on my roof deck, and Pepper moseys around it while I try to decide what the hell to do about Mandy.
It’s a logistics problem, really.
It makes you wonder what the hell my father had been thinking, trapping dozens of us in his desert compound.
For example, I need to feed her. It’s not like I had this house designed to keep someone prisoner. There’s no slot in the door for a food tray. I can’t just bring her downstairs to eat, and if I take a plate up to her, she’s going to attack me with a lamp as soon as I open the door.
Additionally, I don’t have any leverage over her. It isn’t like I’m going to threaten to hurt Pepper to keep Mandy in line. I had dogs as a kid, and that’s how my father liked to control us. I would rather cut off my arm than hurt an animal.
I should have just taken her to my island. She would be easier to contain there. Now, it’s too late. Besides, I had planned on working this weekend.
Pepper hops over the doorway and makes her way to the kitchen.
In the fridge, my chef has left several meals in glass dishes to be reheated. They don’t seem like the usual thing Mandy likes to eat, but there are take-out menus in the drawer next to the silverware. Maybe if I have some of her favorite food brought in, that would keep her from tearing up my custom wallpaper in that guest room.
I’ll also go ahead and heat up the prepared food. I set out the protein-heavy stir fry, the pork lettuce wraps, the baked fish.
When I turn to shut the fridge, the corgi has half climbed inside, going for a charcuterie board on the lower shelf.
“Get out of there.” I grasp the tray and move the dog over with my foot, then I take pity on her and throw her some cheese.
I scrounge around for a pencil in my study then carry the charcuterie board and the menus upstairs.
“Mandy, I have a snack for you, and I want to see if you’d like anything for dinner.”
No answer.
I slide the menus and the pencil under the door .
Paper rustles as she takes them. A moment later, one slides back out.
Fuck You is written in bold on the first page.
“Very mature.”
I weigh the merits of unlocking the door.
I really need a camera in there is the thing, because I have no idea where she is. She could be waiting just on the other side of the door, ready to hit me over the head with a vase. “So, you’re not hungry?”
“Can’t you read?” Her voice is slightly muffled through the locked door.
I can’t just leave her in there. “Mandy, I’m coming in, but I need you to try to act like an adult.”
“Fine.”
At least she’s not sobbing. I might just cave and let her out if she starts sobbing.
The key slides in the lock. I ease the door open—
“Eat shit.” Her fist connects with my rib.
I hiss, almost dropping the tray, then yank her to me before she can grab the door handle. She’s still deliciously naked, and I want to kiss her until she’s pliant as butter.
“You sure you don’t want your cheese tray?” I ask.
“You’re sick!” she screams. “You trap me in here with no clothes just for your amusement?”
“Grow up, Mandy. There is a robe in the bathroom,” I tell her roughly, “though if you want me to admire your tits, I’m happy to do so.”
“Oh. Asshole.” She darts to the bathroom and comes out as I’m unwrapping the charcuterie board and setting it on the table by the window. Grabbing a glass from the breakfast bar in the room, I pour out the water.
Mandy uses the excuse to race to the door .
I’m faster.
I slam her against the door. I’m inches away from kissing her neck, her jaw, pushing my hands under the soft fabric of the robe.
“I brought you here,” I remind her as she vibrates under me, “to keep you safe. Tell me you don’t feel safe and good.” I give in and press a kiss to the soft spot under her jaw.
“Are you going to...”
“What, throw you on the bed and fuck you? Seems a little wrong to both lock you up and also stick my tongue in your cunt. Why don’t you have a snack instead?”
She turns to look at me, eyes dilated with the anticipation of pleasure. “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of villain. You’re really not living up to the hype.”
“I’m more of a Machiavellian archetype.”
“You can’t be a tease and kidnap a girl then just show up with a cheese tray.”
“This isn’t technically a kidnapping. This is a safety precaution.”
“Semantics.” She reaches down and palms my cock through my pants. “You’re getting off on this.”
I grab the back of her neck. “Stop it.”
“You want to throw me on the bed and fuck me while I scream, while you ask me if I like how much it hurts.”
I’m going to crack a tooth. “Of course you’re going to stoop to character assassination and hysterics—the person who sticks her head in the sand about the actual man trying to harm her.”
“You want to handcuff me to the bedpost, fuck me ’til I pass out, then come all over my hair.” She strains against me.
“Is that from more of your questionable reading material? ”
“You sick fucking bastard. You’re just like your fath—”
I grab the back of the robe and throw her on the bed before she can say the word.
“You’re so getting off on this,” she snarls at me.
I straighten my cuffs. “I’ll bring your clothes up in a second.”
“Wait, what?” She props herself up. “What clothes?”
“I already took everything out of your car. Your clothes, your laptop bag, a lunch box—”
“Don’t open that,” she yelps.
“I just put it in the fridge. Relax.”
She scowls. It’s adorable. “How did you…”
“Find you? Your sister posted your location on Instagram. Imagine my surprise to see you there.”
“Why are you following my little sister on Instagram?”
I recognize that anger—it’s the “mess with my sibling and I’m going to throw you off a fifty-story building and sing ABBA while you fall” type of wrath.
“I promise I’m not going to hurt your sister. I just needed it as a stopgap if you went missing. She posts a lot on social media.”
“She’s addicted.”
“Sounds like my brother.”
“Better not let them get together. Wait. Stop making me like you.”
I lean in and kiss the corner of her mouth. “I’m ordering you Italian for dinner, since you can’t seem to make up your mind what you want to eat.”
Pepper sits by the oven, watching intently as the food heats up, while I call Seward with the order for Mandy. She can eat all that pasta, but I usually eat protein—though right now, I just want to eat her .
I am well aware that what I’m doing is straight-up illegal and could ruin my business, but Mandy has no sense of self-preservation. She won’t listen to what I tell her to do and waltzes around in back alleys, completely oblivious. I will not have her end up like my mother or sisters.
Mandy’s chewing on a cracker when I unlock the door again and walk in carrying a laundry basket full of her clean clothes.
“Did you wash those yourself?” she asks.
“I have a ton of little brothers.” I set down the basket on the dresser. “My dad couldn’t seem to sire girls, and my mom was usually too out of it to take care of us. Someone had to do laundry.”
“Ever the martyr.”
My head tilts. “We didn’t have electricity or a washing machine. Laundry was an all-day affair. Haul the water, chop the wood to heat the water, boil the laundry, scrub the laundry, hang it out to dry. Pressing a button is easy. After doing laundry by hand, I promised myself I was never going to do another load of laundry as long as I lived.”
“Well, don’t I feel special? And a little shitty.” She holds up a piece of cheese. “Can I get some wine to go with this?”
“Why, so you can bash me over the head with a bottle?” I put her dress on a hanger.
“Then just bring me a paper cup of wine.”
“There isn’t a single bottle of wine in this house that is worth less than a thousand dollars. I’m not serving it to you in a paper cup.”
“I promise to be a good girl.” She crooks her finger at me.
I know I shouldn’t, but I go to her .
“I’m going to be the best little prisoner,” she adds. “I’ll do anything .”
“Stop it.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” She’s latched on. Mandy’s always had a knack for ferreting out my weaknesses.
I grind my teeth. This was a mistake.
“Red.” She snaps her fingers at me. “Be quick about it. I expect a high level of service at Salinger’s kidnapping resort and spa.”