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I decline dessert for both of us. I don’t want her sleepy after this, and I’m ready to leave. When I rise and take Sadie by the elbow, her face looks troubled. Cloudy. She chews her lower lip and fidgets. I dismiss it, because we’ve had a long day and both of us are tired. When we get to the elevator, her eyes are cast down and her lower lip sticks out in a pout.
“Why so forlorn?” I ask her. “You behaved well at dinner. I’m not sure why you look like someone just ran over your cat.”
When she looks up at me, her gaze is confused. “Did I?”
“Did you what?”
“Behave myself at dinner.”
“Of course,” I say, confused. “I told you I’d warn you if you didn’t.”
“You squeezed my leg twice,” she says quietly, casting her eyes own. “You told me the second would mean punishment. I’ve been wondering what it would be like sleeping behind bars and feeling your...your lash, as you call it.”
I blink and think for a moment as the elevator sweeps upward. Christ. I did squeeze her leg a second time, but it wasn’t a warning.
I shouldn’t have done that.
I shake my head. “That wasn’t a signal of punishment,” I tell her. “It was an appreciative squeeze.”
She sputters and blinks. “What?”
I take a step toward her and slide my hand through her soft, fragrant hair tucked up on her head, then pull her close to me. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Not this time.
She closes her eyes, her tone a breathy whisper. “I wasn’t frightened.” But she’s lying. And though a part of me stiffens at the lie—she’ll learn to speak nothing but the truth to me—her reaction tells me that she wants to submit. She dislikes the idea of punishment.
I’ll use this to my advantage.Chapter TenSadieAfter dinner with Dimitri—the man my captor obviously reveres and respects, though one look at the man tells me he’s capable of wicked, terrible cruelty—I’m sickened. The food was richer than what I normally eat, and though Kazimir fed me a moderate portion, my stomach churns. Maybe it’s not the food but something else.
My nerves are frayed, my mind as confused and twisted as tangled rope. In such a short space of time, I went from dread of the punishment he would mete out to relief that I wasn’t in trouble. But as I think about the very fact that this man can, and likely will, punish me, my hands clench into fists so tight my knuckles whiten.
And yet… and yet a twisted, deviant part of me wants to know what that looks like. What he’ll do. His utter control makes my pulse race with more than repulsion.
I’m afraid, but it’s the type of fear one feels at a horror movie. It’s unnerving, yet… something more.
A normal person would by plotting to find a way to escape. I’ve been kidnapped and held against my will in an unknown place. The men who orchestrated this should be arrested. But where would I escape to? Who could I trust?
I’ve always been a logical person. Even when I was a child, I was unnaturally practical. It annoyed my teachers and peers, but I didn’t know how to shut off the part of my brain that chose logic over emotion. So instead of trying, I chose to be alone.
And until Kazimir, that worked perfectly fine for me.
I think what I hate most about what he’s done to me is that he’s robbed me of the solace I crave. My privacy.
The elevator cruises to a stop on his floor, and my belly swoops right along with the elevator. I stare unabashedly at Kazimir.
He runs a hand through his short, dark hair, so that it’s a little untidy. A neatly-trimmed beard makes him look formidable, but it’s his eyes—danger and power lurk in his gaze. He looks away from me, but I’m not sure why.
Taking my hand in his, engulfed by his large, rough palm, he pulls me off the elevator and into the hall that brings us to his suite.
“You lied to me, Sadie,” he growls.
I blink as I skip to keep up with him. With a sweep and flourish, he opens the door and half-shoves me in.
Why is he so angry? He told me I behaved myself, and promised to reward me.
“What did I lie about?” I ask in earnest curiosity when he slams the door behind him. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. I’m alone with this large, powerful, angry man, who’s accusing me of lying and promised to punish me.
“You said you weren’t frightened,” he says, prowling closer to me so that I take a step backward.
“I… well…” I stammer, but I don’t step back again. I decide to stand my ground. He’s so close to me, the tips of his shoes hit mine. Was I lying? “I didn’t mean to—to lie,” I try to explain. “I suppose the truth is, it isn’t just fear I feel. It certainly wasn’t the predominant emotion.”
