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Inside the hotel, the furnishings are dated, and the room smells musty, but at least it’s clean. We sit quietly at the small wooden table and chairs and eat our chicken and fries. Even though he hasn’t eaten in over eight hours, he still eats slow and deliberate. I’m pretty sure, judging by the way he straightened the box of chicken on the table, he is OCD or some shit. I deliberately moved the box to stir him, and just as I suspected, he shifted the box back. He narrows his eyes at mine as if he was daring me to move it again.
This would have to be the weirdest moment of my life. Sitting at a table eating chicken with a kidnapping murderer. I should be scared. I should be fighting to be freed. Instead, I am curious, and if I am honest, relieved in a way that this is finally coming to a head; no more running, no more hiding. I am facing my demons head-on. I just hadn’t envisioned I’d be sharing a meal with that same demon who looks and acts more of a man than the monster I had expected.
Pumpkin rubs himself against my leg, sniffing out the chicken. I tear off a few small pieces for him and feed him. He is so friendly. I bet Logan spoiled him rotten. He’s so affectionate. I don’t know why he has taken to me, of all people.
“That’s disgusting.” Luca screws up his nose in distaste.
I glare back at him, confused. “What is?”
“Do you know how unhygienic cats are? They lick their own ass, and now you're feeding him chicken from your fingers. The same fingers you're eating with.”
“I’m finished eating,” I answer. “Besides, I am sure you’d lick your own ass too if you could reach it.”
Luca stares at me for a long moment before shaking his head and rolling his eyes. He continues to eat, choosing to ignore me as I keep hand-feeding Pumpkin. I loudly slurp my soda, hiding back the smirk as I watch his eyebrows wrinkle in annoyance.
Once Luca finishes his meal, he clears the table, discarding the box outside the door. I assume it’s so Pumpkin can’t scavenge through it. I am jerked up from my seat as he pulls me up by my arm with a force in which I feel already is bruising my skin.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yell, pulling my arm back.
He grabs it again and starts to drag me off towards the bathroom. “I need to take a shower, and I don't trust you on your own.”
“I am not showering with you!”
“I didn’t say you were.”
I protest all the while. Luca is ignoring me as I stumble into the bathroom. He shuts the door behind me with a loud bang then backs me up against it. “Give me your wrists,” he orders.
“What?”
“Hold out your wrists,” he repeats, pulling out a small length of rope from his back pocket.
“No.”
“Red!” He scowls.
I stare defiantly into his eyes, letting him know I am not obeying his orders. “What sort of lunatic carries rope in their back pocket?”
He remains completely unaffected by my words. “You have a choice. Give me your hands, or I will strip you bare and make you shower with me.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side, undressing me with his eyes. “What’s it going to be, red?”
Huffing, I swallow my pride and hold out my wrists.
“Thought so.” He raises his brows in satisfaction.
“Psycho!” I spit.
He grins like I had just complimented him as he ties my wrist together with the rope and then fastens one end to the door handle. It looks more like Japanese origami than a knot, and I'm certain I won't be getting out of it on my own.
I pull on my restraints, wincing. “It’s too tight.”
“It’s fine.” He turns and lifts the toilet seat.
“Um... what do you think you're doing?” I gasp as I hear his zipper unfasten and the trickle of his pee hitting the toilet bowl. OMG, yuk, he is peeing in front of me. I hope he doesn’t expect me to do the same.
“What the fuck does it look like I am doing? I’m taking a piss.”
“Have you no shame?”
“Obviously not.” He flushes the toilet and washes his hands.
