Chapter 2 #2
The kitchen opened to the dining and living rooms, and a wall of windows and sliding doors revealed the well-lit, landscaped yard. The black ocean sparkled in the moonlight, not too far away, reminding me that if I wanted to run, the treacherous waves were my only path.
"Your bedroom,” the regular lawyer-looking man continued. "The outside space is yours to use. There’s a path to the beach." He turned to me once he walked into the only bedroom in the house, tucked behind the kitchen.
Apprehensively, I took a few steps inside and assessed the surroundings, firmly believing this was just a nightmare and that I’d wake up soon, because nothing made sense.
The bedside lamps cast a soft glow, illuminating the king-sized bed with linen sheets and a ton of pillows. Is this how captives lived now?
Who the hell were these idiots?
"You're…You're going to make me live here? Why? For how long? What the fuck’s even going on?" I turned to both of them, desperate for some semblance of information.
But neither one shared any details except…the dark-haired trouble stared me down as if I wasn’t there. He glanced up and down my body—shamelessly leering!
Starting at my feet, he inspected my strappy heels. Couldn't blame him—these were my favorite pair. Up and down my legs, unashamed and clearly not cluing in that I was watching him, he assessed my thighs, hips, and my tits, landing his coffee-colored devil eyes right on my neck.
"Did you get a good look at my whore outfit?"
Jesus fucking Christ, what the actual fuck was wrong with me? I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, couldn’t get a grip. Usually, I was in freeze mode when under stress, but not tonight. Not with this guy. This guy deserved all my fight.
At my words, he snapped his gaze to mine, and my next words caught in my throat. This was the first time he looked at me like a normal human being.
I was tumbling down a hill filled with thorns and rocks. Every wrong word and look pierced my skin, leaving bruises and cuts. But this was the first instance when it didn’t hurt. The first time in the last hour when I wasn’t kicking, screaming, burning.
He was just a regular man. In that moment—having been caught staring—he wasn’t an asshole, a kidnapper, or a criminal. He was just there, like the guys at the club, checking me out. But unlike the guys at the club, he was awfully tall and broad.
I focused on his shoes instead. Nice shoes. Nice, expensive shoes.
"I did.” His deep voice brought me back to the clusterfuck at hand. “Your dear daddy should be ashamed you’re dressed like this."
His words were like hot lava on my skin. What a judgmental piece of shit!
"Why’re you so obsessed with my dad?” I stepped closer to the bed, wondering if it was as soft as it looked. “You had to kidnap his only daughter to get his attention?” I turned back to the two mastermind criminals. “He's going to cut your balls off, fry them, and then feed them to you."
That was all true—my dad's retribution would know no bounds. Wow, did they miscalculate. My father was going to abso-fucking-lutely lose his damn mind—I was his only child, and he was a controlling parent. No, that was putting it mildly. He was a psychotic, controlling parent.
Just as that thought died down, another petrifying one floated to the top of my mind. Would my father be enraged only at them? If I ever made it out of here alive, I'd be on the receiving end of his wrath too—I was out without his knowledge and permission.
As if on cue, they rolled their eyes, dismissing my threats. Without another word, the blond husband turned around and disappeared behind the door, leaving me alone with my personal tormentor.
"You have a filthy mouth on you, don't you…Preziosa?"
His voice was unexpectedly louder and deeper, and he strolled closer, his arms folded on his chest.
All my courage vanished without a trace now that we were alone. With the blondie, even if I didn’t know him, I felt safer. He looked like a dad, like some of the law school guys I had class with—regular and acceptable.
Not this motherfucker, though.
That feeling of drowning was somewhere close by, and while he inched closer, I stepped back, plopping onto the bed with a bounce.
Fully in control, he crouched down in front of me again, dangerously close to my naked legs.
"I'm surprised you talk so much.” All his attention fell on my thighs once more—like he was free to look. I pulled down my dress instinctively. “But I guess…like father, like daughter, huh? He can't keep his mouth shut either."
A foot away from me, I noticed the way his jaw ticked and how wide his shoulders were. There’d be no escaping this monster, no way to even push him over. He leaned in even closer, and my legs went numb. Dear God, no.
I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable—he was going to touch me, undress me, hurt me. Instead, his finger slid underneath my chin, surprisingly soft and warm.
My heartbeat hammered in my ears just as he tilted my head up, the scent of him hitting me all at once. "You still have my blood on you, you soul sucker."
I opened my eyes—slowly, enough to catch the glimmer in his, neither anger nor violence reflected in his wide, blown pupils. No. He was concerned.
"Don't..." I pleaded weakly, on the verge of tears again. “Please don’t touch me.”
Something sparked in his eyes, and he listened…immediately. His huge body straightened out, and I found myself craning my neck again, just to keep eye contact.
"Maybe get some rest. If you can.” He motioned toward the bed, but I sat there as still as a rock, unsure if the worst was yet to come. “Wash your filthy mouth. And you can tell us all about your dad's revenge plans tomorrow morning."
That couldn't have been it. My blood flowed through me a mile a minute, and nausea and fear crept up my neck because I knew—I knew—men were deceiving.
Half-paralyzed, I blinked at him, still expecting an attack, but he slowly headed toward the door. Easy. Simple. Right before stepping out of the room, he turned back, tracing his gaze over my legs one last time. “Sweet dreams.”
My skin was on fire. I sat there, staring at the closed door, my thoughts scrambled and jagged.
How long would they keep me here? Days? Weeks? Months? You can tell us all about your dad's revenge plans tomorrow morning. They were coming back tomorrow?
Silently, I kicked off my heels and wandered around the room before venturing back into the living area, making sure they were gone. They were—the front door was locked.
I looked around, reluctant to admit that the house was…cute. Was that meant to disorient me? Were they going to keep me in this nice place and then drag me to some warehouse and put needles under my fingernails?
The lighting was soft throughout, and the kitchen was fully stocked. Cups, plates, cutlery. I opened the fridge to see it filled with food. There was even ketchup and mustard in the door!
Lost and confused, I stood barefoot in the dimly lit kitchen, taking in my surroundings, hoping to find something.
And I did—a small camera on top of the kitchen cabinets.
Hidden, but also in plain sight. So they were planning to monitor my every move.
How entertaining for them—keeping me locked up all alone, filming a movie of me going insane from isolation.
While my rage bubbled in the utter silence, I stared at the camera and it stared right back. There were no voices anywhere. Not a car passed by, not an airplane, only the sound of ocean waves reminded me where I was.
They wanted a show, huh?
The thought swirled inside me, and I yanked open a drawer, looking for the longest utensil I could find. It turned out to be a spaghetti spoon. I aimed right at the little black thing, doing a few practice swings, before launching the spoon right on top of the cabinet, jumping as high as I could.
Bingo. The camera clattered loudly and fell over somewhere unknown, shielding me from their prying eyes.
They wanted me to live here, huh? Fuck it, I would.
I’d make it my own fucking property.