Chapter 7 Ethan
Chapter seven
Ethan
Before leaving in the morning, MacKenzie makes sure I know he can see me on multiple cameras. Not that I can leave the bed, but he also shows me the texts to his cleaner telling her to stay clear of the guest house. I don’t think anyone is even close enough to the property for me to yell.
Wrong place, wrong time doesn’t begin to cover how stupid I feel for hitting on a man who ended up murdering some rich bigwig in front of me. Checking the news on the big screen TV, I find out the man was notorious for abusing women and children, so at least he killed a bad guy.
But then the Fat Cat Killer always takes out people who are objectively trash humans. I followed his crimes for a reason, and cheered when they couldn’t find a culprit. Hell, even Owen MacKenzie’s show touched on the topic.
And how brazen is that? The man committing the murders reporting on them in such a detached way I have to wonder if he’s a psychopath. Who am I kidding? He’s definitely a psychopath.
Within an hour of leaving me alone, I get antsy. I’ve eaten most of the food, and don’t want to drink too much water without access to the bathroom. Switching to a telenovela for background music to remind me of times before my asshole father, I find myself drifting off to sleep.
My mind conjures up stories where I’m in the show with MacKenzie as the dark, brooding man I shouldn’t want. Not far off the truth, so I can feel myself close to being awake. He calls me ‘pet’ and I like it. I can’t help my body wanting more sexy times as his pet.
Then, of course, my brain betrays me and it switches to the times my dad locked me in a room while he had guests.
I sometimes went more than a day without getting fed.
I had water, from the attached bathroom, but there were bars on the window and a sturdy lock on the other side of my door.
I learned how to be alone, but it doesn’t mean I like it.
At least MacKenzie gave me food and promised to be back in a few hours. I’ll see if he keeps his promises soon, or I really will wet his bed. Punishment be damned, he needs to learn he can’t ignore me. I hate being ignored.
The mental image of getting his attention in the form of a spanking across his lap is interrupted by the sound of a door closing.
I jolt upright, grabbing for the blanket until I realize I don’t care if MacKenzie sees me naked.
He’s already seen and felt up all of me.
I spread my legs to give him a good eyeful, hopeful he hasn’t returned and decided he’s done with me.
The person who pushes open the bedroom door is not Owen MacKenzie.
A curvy black woman with colorful braids gathered in a bun at the top of her head and thick glasses enters the room and I screech, rushing to cover myself.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask, when I should probably be asking her to set me free.
She doesn’t avert her eyes or look surprised to see me though. “Hola, Ethan! I’m Di.”
“What?” I yell, my mind slowly catching up that she didn’t tell me I’m going to die, but her name. I saw the contact name ‘Di’ with a skull and crossbones pop up on MacKenzie’s phone that morning when he was showing me the texts to the cleaner, so I guess this is her. “How do you know my name?”
Di smirks and moves into the room, closing the door behind her. She leans against the wall, and I notice a plastic container in her hands. “Your name is only the beginning of what I know about you.”
Taking in her melodic accent and flowery dress, I’m at a loss for how she’s connected to MacKenzie. She sounds Dominican or Puerto Rican, but could also be Cuban like me. My accent is long gone. Beaten out of me by my father, but I don’t trust her from the familiarity alone.
“For instance, I know you were cut off by your father after being kicked out of culinary school.”
“That’s creepy, you know that, right?”
She shrugs and moves closer, still keeping her distance. Di sets the dish on the side table and adjusts her glasses. “Creepier than being naked with a serial killer?”
“I–” she has me there. “What would you do if you found yourself kidnapped and needed to survive?”
“I know exactly what I’d do.” Di sighs and smiles without humor. “What I needed to survive.”
The implication of her words hits me. She’s been kidnapped before. “Was it MacKenzie?”
She barks out a laugh. “Mac? That man rescued me and helped me find purpose again.”
“Oh,” I let out the breath I hadn’t known I'd been holding. Somehow, the knowledge he is a killer but not normally a kidnapper eases my worry. I also like her nickname. Mac suits him. “So then, how…?”
Di doesn’t answer right away, pulling the lid off her food container and pushing it towards me with a fork before sitting in the armchair between the bed and the door.
“Eat up. It's the mofongo I made last night when I couldn’t sleep.”
She waits until I move to the edge of the bed. I can stand with my arm still attached to the bed, but then I lose the fabric giving me a modicum of privacy. I take the fork and dig into the dish, taking a bite as the garlicky flavor hits my tongue and I recognize plantains and pork.
“It’s good,” I compliment, wanting to be on her good side in case being here means she might help me escape. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she nods in approval as I continue eating.
“I was Mac’s part-time assistant for about a year before he sent me on vacation back home to the republic.
He insisted, and I know now it was so he could commit murder without me asking questions.
They snatched me at the airport, and my own family didn’t know, because I meant to surprise them.
When I didn’t reply to Mac in over a day, he called my family. And then he went hunting.”
“Did he catch the people who took you?” I ask, enthralled by her story.
“Some of them,” she narrows her eyes at me and purses her lips. “We thought we got the top guy three years ago, but I’ve recently learned it is someone else who pulls the strings.”
Taking another bite, I process the information. It sounds like Di and Mac, as she calls him, spend a lot of time researching and hunting down the people he kills. So at least he’s methodical and not impulsive like kidnapping me suggests.
“You know about him,” I state. It is time to lay my cards on the table. “Everything. Including that he’s a psychopath with his own TV show. And about his hobby.”
“Ha, nice way of putting serial murder of bad people,” Di laughs and pulls out her phone. She types something with a smirk on her face and then looks at me again. “Yes, and I help him. Plus, he’s not the only psychopath with a platform. I’d rather help one with a code.”
“So, you won’t be helping break me out of this luxury prison?” I venture.
“Sorry, no.” She shrugs, looking only a little guilty about it all.
“Well, at least you brought me good food.” I pick up the fork and scoop some more mofongo into my mouth.