He approached her and held it up.
“I need my hands. Untie me. Please?”
He ripped it open and held it toward her mouth.
Jolie forced herself to part her lips and accept a bite of the bar when everything in her wanted to recoil at the thought of this bastard feeding her, but she had to waste time to stay alive and make every second count until she was saved.
Soon Archer would call and check on her. When she didn’t answer, he’d know something was wrong and find a way to rescue her, she was sure of it.
As he leaned in, his sleeve rode up.
A burn scar marked the inside of his wrist.
Her gaze caught on it. The scar wasn’t clean or left by a surgeon’s blade. It had a shiny, uneven look that came from brushing skin against hot metal.
Like a pizza oven.
He noticed her staring and snapped, “What?”
Her pulse kicked. “Your scar.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“That looks like a scar from a pizza oven. Was it a Blodgett conveyor oven? I think ours is a 1048. That’s what we have at the restaurant where I work, and none of us walk away without battle scars.”
Sweat glistened along his hairline even though the cabin was cold away from the stove.
She was getting to him.
“The belt on the conveyor would jam or someone would reach in too fast, and the metal touched your skin before you knew it. It happened all the time. You’d be rushing, trying to get orders out and then—” She nodded toward his wrist. “That.”
“At Antonio’s Ristorante.”
Her stomach pitched. Oh god. Heknewher. Knew where she worked.
She wasn’t just some random woman he picked up. He’d hunted her down.
But why?
She wet her lips twice before she could force out the words, “You saw me there?”
“With your friend.”
Even though bile pushed up her throat, she arranged her features into a frown. “Friend? You must mean one of the other waitresses.”
He didn’t say more, just glared at her and stopped pretending he cared if she ate the granola bar or not.
“There are so many workers who come and go. There’s no loyalty in the restaurant industry,” she probed.
“You were training a new girl.”
“I’ve trained a lot of new people,” she said as evenly as she could.
“Stina Velez.”
Her blood ran cold.
Stina.
