AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I clutch at my temples. Am I being unreasonable?
Maybe, but if Roman really wanted to sit for a portrait today, then why don’t I have my art supplies? Why didn’t he shake me awake? I’ve never blacked out on two half-bottles.
They let me sleep on purpose because I’m a prisoner.
“You’re lying,” I say.
Tony gives me a blank stare. “Huh?”
“You two are covering up for him, using the wine as an excuse.”
Dominic smirks.
That’s all the confirmation I need. Roman plans on avoiding me so I can’t paint that portrait and earn the money and fake ID I need to leave. Maybe this pseudo confinement is stage one in a schedule of manipulations to lure me in that bondage chair.
Fuck that.
I try to push past them, but they’re a solid wall of muscle. A wall that’s impossible to scale.
“You’re keeping me here against my will,” I say, my voice breathy.
Dominic winks.
My stomach drops. That’s a fucking confession.
“Am I or am I not a prisoner?”
Neither man responds.
“Answer me!”
Palpitations squeeze my heart, bringing up a fresh wave of terror. I swore to myself that I would never fall under the control of another man, and now I can’t fight my way out. I can’t talk my way out. I can’t even make a move. I’m trapped. There’s only one option left: Roman needs to be so sick of my presence that he casts me out through the gates.
I turn on my heel, storm into my room, and hurl the first bottle. Glass shatters against the wall, creating an explosion of red. I throw the second over the pattern and watch it create a shower of splinters and white wine.
My door slams open, and both men stand at the threshold with their mouths agape.
“What are you doing?” Dominic asks.
“What does it look like?” I snap. “Fucking things up.”
Tony steps forward, but Dominic elbows him back. It looks like Roman ordered them to keep their distance. Good. Then the only way I’ll stop trashing this room is if Roman comes down here himself.
“Do either of you have a blade?” I ask.
They both give me blank looks.
“I’m not going to hurt myself.” I hold out a palm.
Dominic smirks, reaches into his pocket, and produces a flick knife. I step back, wondering if it’s a trap, but he places a forkful of food in his mouth as though wanting to watch the show.
“Put it on the floor,” I say and slip my feet into a pair of flats. There’s no way I want to slice open my toes.
He tosses it at my feet.
I pick it up, upend the table, and let the plates crash to the floor.
“Woah!” Tony says.
