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His expression hardened and he fixed her with a stern gaze. “I have a gun and I know how to use it. You try anything and you’ll be sorry—very, very sorry.”
A squirt of fear shot through Callie’s veins. Was he going to kill her? At the same time, a glimmer of hope sparked in her soul. She’d gone out hunting with her dad since she was a kid, and knew how to handle firearms. If she could find that gun…
One thing at a time, she reminded herself. First thing is to get upstairs.
He slid the choke collar over her head. The chain links felt cold against her skin and she shuddered. With a tug, he caused the collar to tighten until it fit snugly around her neck. Fear rippled through her body at this additional restraint.
But then, to her relief, he unclipped the cuffs around her wrists and ankles from the chains anchored to the cot. But her relief was short-lived.
“Hold out your wrists toward me,” Damon instructed.
Not daring to refuse, Callie obeyed. But instead of removing the cuffs, he clipped them together. Then he tugged at the leash, pulling her into a sitting position.
“Get up,” he directed.
A wave of dizziness washed over her as she got to her feet, accompanied by a hard knot of nausea in her gut. Her legs felt like rubber. She swayed, trying to get her bearings. Damon’s gaze flickered over her naked body, a hard glint in his eyes. A blush moved up her chest and licked against her cheeks. She longed to cover herself from his probing gaze. Instead, she took a wobbly step forward.
Damon put his arm around her shoulders, steadying her. She wanted to shake him off, but didn’t dare. She needed to keep her focus on her goal—stay alive, get upstairs, gather data, make plans.
“Whew,” he said with a mean grin. He dropped his arm and took a step back, the leash still in his other hand. “You stink, girl. First thing we gotta do is hose you off.”
Callie bit her tongue to keep from snarling a curse at him. She looked away so he wouldn’t see the rage in her face.
He tugged on the leash and took a step toward the stairs. She followed, her cuffed arms hanging in a V in front of her, making it that much harder to maintain her balance in her weakened state. Her legs shook as they navigated the stairs. He put a firm hand on the back of her neck as they climbed. While her skin crawled at his touch, she was glad of the extra support.
They came up into a hallway that led directly to a large, spacious kitchen with gleaming appliances and stone countertops. Sunlight poured in through a window above the sink, the sky a vivid blue. The light was different than in Chicago. Where in god’s name had he taken her?
He led her into the room and directed her to a counter on which stood a glass of what looked like water. “You need to hydrate first, and then we’ll get you showered.”
She started to reach for the glass with her bound hands, but Damon jerked the leash, causing the collar to tighten painfully as he yanked her back. “No,” he snapped. “I’ll do it.”
Too thirsty even to be annoyed, Callie dropped her arms and waited. Damon lifted the glass and tilted it to her lips. She drank eagerly, trying not to choke as she swallowed.
He let her drink the whole thing, though some of it spilled down her chin, splashing onto her chest. Her thirst somewhat slaked, her stomach gurgled with hunger. At the same time, her skin and scalp were itchy with dried sweat.
Leading her again by the leash, Damon pulled her out of the kitchen and down the hall. They walked past a large living room with an open, spacious floor-plan, the furniture wicker, the floor tiled with smooth, cool white marble. A large ceramic bowl filled with beautiful seashells sat in the center of a polished wooden table. The place had the feel of a beach house, albeit a very elegant one. The entire back wall was covered by vertical louvers from floor to ceiling. Every window they passed had the plantation shutters firmly closed.
Farther along the hall was a bedroom. It contained a king-size bed set low to the ground, covered in a yellow and blue striped duvet, flanked by white wicker night stands. A large wardrobe stood along one wall, and some chairs were set around a low table in the corner. Like the living room, the back wall was flanked by closed louvers, probably covering sliding glass doors.
He brought her into a large bathroom with a glassed-in shower stall and double sinks. She could see into a smaller room, the door ajar. It contained both a toilet and what she assumed was a bidet. The toilet had buttons on the top instead of a flusher on the side. It reminded her of the toilets they’d had in Spain when she’d been there with her family after high school graduation Where the hell had he brought her?
