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“I didn’t say I’d drop you off at your apartment and that you’d go back to your old life. I haven’t decided what I’ll do yet when the charm of owning you wears off. Maybe I’ll sell you, or maybe I’ll kill you. I guess it depends on how I feel about you and your efforts to please me.”
Shit. My heart thudded like it wanted out of my chest. Mindfuck?
“I’m a captive, not your slave.” I rushed the words. “You don’t own me.”
“Don’t I?”
“People can’t own people anymore.”
“What a delightfully sheltered notion.” His slow smile made me shiver. There was nothing nice about it, even though he did seem amused. He set a paper plate down in front of me, as well as a plate of bacon and toast in the middle of the table. “Coffee? Tea? Juice?”
Okay, so this wasn’t a stranger. This had to be a dominant. He was being too polite to be some sort of kidnapping murderer.
“Cold tea, or hot tea?”
He chuckled. “Tea is tea. Iced tea is something entirely different and not available at this point in your captivity, although I might send out for some if you’re a very good girl.”
“Coffee would be great.” Hopefully it would be hot enough to use as a weapon. Even a mug would be decent.
He stood and went to the counter directly behind me, not dropping his hold on the leash. He poured coffee and added cream and sugar without asking me.
“How do you know how I take it?”
“I listened to you order at the café.” He winked at me.
“Nice to know you care,” I said sourly, not liking the gleam in his eye or the way my stomach somersaulted when he winked. He wasn’t flirting, he was a monster. This was all just part of keeping me off balance.
“I wouldn’t want it said that I don’t take good care of my property.”
He set the mug down in front of me, and I realized it was in a takeout cup instead of an actual mug. Damn. Also, not that hot.
I nibbled at my bacon and devoured two pieces of toast, before helping myself to an apple from a wicker bowl on the table. Wasn’t there anything to use as a weapon in this house? Even a slow, covert scan of the kitchen told me no convenient butcher knives were to be had. Not even a steak knife. The kitchen smelled like bacon, but there was no evidence of the frying pan he’d used.
Anyway, I needed to know for sure what the situation was before I brained him with a frying pan.
Slowly, I ate a third piece of toast that I had slathered with strawberry jam, while sipping at my coffee, stalling for time. It felt like he was biding his time until his next planned attack. Now that I wasn’t wolfing down my food, every swallow brought with it an awareness of the collar around my neck and the fact that I couldn’t take it off myself. The lock made me claustrophobic. The fact that he was still holding the other end of the leash had kept my nipples hard through the whole meal even though I’d tried to forget.
“Done?” he asked with some amusement.
“What? I was hungry.”
“You might have been hungry in the beginning, but now you’re just stalling.” He tugged me to my feet using his grip on the leash. If I walked a dog, I would think twice before yanking its leash.
“Where are you taking me?” I demanded, as though my wishes on the subject made any difference to him. He led me through the house, and I enjoyed the feel of the smooth, room temperature wood under my feet. My soles and bones still ached with cold.
He opened a door, and I found myself unexpectedly looking at a pretty patio and huge rolling lawn. A wooden fence ran the perimeter of the property, but when I looked from one side to the other, I realized there were no other houses nearby. Up a small slope to my front, horses grazed in the distance. There was no one to signal to for help. I couldn’t see over the side fences, but there was nothing other than trees to my left and right.
“You like your privacy.” The wind was still strong, and I was a bit chilly, considering I was naked.
“You should be happy there’s privacy. I’m sure if I lived in some sort of gated community the neighbors would either be complaining to the home-owner’s association or taking pictures of you right about now.”
“If you had neighbors, I could scream for help.”
“Good thing I’m antisocial.” His lips curled in a cruel smile. “That would be even more tedious than having to make small talk about the weather or how best to cook steak. Where would I even bury all the bodies?”
He had said it glibly, but what if it was him, his true nature? My obsession with CNC made me wonder how far I would go. Mr. Scott, or whatever his name truly was, seemed capable of terrible things.
“What are we doing outside?” I hugged myself, shivering.
