I’ve been kidnapped. Two nights have passed since I was torn out of my carefully curated world. I desperately need to get out of here. Every day that passes is one too many that I’m being kept from everything that’s important to me.
That same, recurring sense of anxiety is wound tight inside me again as I get out of bed. I’m not handcuffed or chained, thanks to the window being blocked up and the camera Scorpion added to spy on me.
A camera I’m all too aware of as I pad across the cold, rough floor in nothing but one of his shirts to flip on the light switch. Is he watching me now? It’s quiet out in the main living area. I haven’t heard so much as a footstep since I woke up.
The lone ceiling bulb floods the small room with unnatural light, and I face the camera, feeling defiant.
“When are you going to let me out of here?” I demand.
But there’s nothing but a little black camera staring at me and no answer from the other side of the locked door. I’m starting to go stir-crazy. This is the longest I’ve gone without some form of exercise in as long as I can remember. I’ve been training as a ballerina for my whole life. It’s what I eat, breathe, and sleep.
Until now.
Now, I’m trapped in this hellhole with no escape in sight.
“Answer me!” I rage at the camera.
Still nothing.
Beyond the cabin walls, I hear birds chirping. It’s definitely daylight. My shouting would have woken Andriani if he’d been asleep. And he could be ignoring me. That’s his MO. But I swear that I can feel his presence when he’s anywhere close. I don’t think he’s here.
With a frustrated sigh, I stomp to the bathroom, doing my morning routine. And because he’s not here and I’m sick to death of being a prisoner, I decide to take a shower on my own. I drag it out for as long as possible, doing my typical morning stretches under the water. Shampooing my hair twice. Soaping myself up and then rinsing before doing it all again.
By the time I’m finished, the tiny bathroom is almost humid, and my body feels slightly appeased, even if the rest of me feels anything but. I throw back the shower curtain and let out a scream.
Because there he is.
Andriani, watching me from the doorway with a scowl and a designer suit.
I instantly jump backward into the shower, pulling the curtain over me.
“What are you doing in here?” I demand, water running down me, heart rapping against my chest faster than it does when I’m onstage.
“You’re my prisoner, remember?” His tone, like his impassive expression, is unimpressed.
I’m not even sure he looked at me. I may as well have been fully dressed. His disinterest is almost as annoying as his intrusion into my shower is.
“You could have knocked.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it.”
He’s sinisterly beautiful, dark hair falling over his brow, that damn stubble on his sharp jaw even thicker. His tatted hand rests on his piece, a reminder that I’m not here of my own free will.
“What do you want?” I bite out.
“Time for lunch.”
“Lunch? What happened to breakfast?”
“You slept through it.”
My eyes narrow on him. “Did you drug me again, Andriani?”
It’s possible. He did feed me dinner last night. And wine. I don’t ordinarily drink, but it was there and I was bored and it’s not like I had to stay sharp for class and rehearsal today. Maybe that’s why my brain feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls.
“Didn’t need to. You drank three glasses of wine, and I practically had to carry you back to the bedroom.”
Vague and indistinct memories hit me from last night. I shouldn’t have had anything to drink. I should have known better. I don’t usually have such a loose grip on my control, but this whole situation has turned everything upside down.
