Page 175 of Revere: A Legacy Novel

It was the Marcello in her.

Rhys sighed, and flicked his hand at Rami.

“Spoiled girl,” Rami told her. “Quiet your mouth.”

Catherine suddenly found herself being dragged back the way they had come—toward the water. Every inch of her wanted to fight, and the self-preserving part of her almost started begging. Terror filled her to the brim, and her chest hurt from how tight it became.

She got one good gulp of air in before she was forced to her knees at the very edge of the beach. Rami grabbed a fistful of her hair, pushed forward without care, and her face hit water.

One second … two.

One heartbeat … two.

The old, soothing mantra she had used during panic attacks filled her mind. Her lungs burned as she refused to cave to the need to breathe.

Even if she survived this place, would they actually get away?

Catherine peeked over her knees as the door to her prison was opened up. It wasn’t really a prison—more like a very fancy, large bedroom and attached bath. Still, she was locked inside, the windows were nailed shut, and she was not allowed to leave. Her door only opened when Rami came along to bring her food and water, or once, for a change of clothes that she refused to wear. They had been men’s clothes, after all, and she was not wearing some man’s shit.

She was given nothing to distract herself. No books, games, television, or otherwise. She had nothing but her thoughts to keep her company.

That, and her fears.

Catherine found it odd that despite the amount of men she had witnessed when she first came onto the island, the place was strangely quiet. It was eerie, really. Occasionally, she would peer out the window to look at the back side of the island. It seemed the men who guarded the place rotated. Half of them on the front, the other half on the back.

“Food,” Rami said from the doorway. “Move, now.”

Catherine stared at him. “I’m not hungry.”

She said that every time Rami brought her something to eat, although he didn’t look to be holding any food this time. She did drink the bottled water, but only if the cap had not been tampered with.

He shrugged. “Boss says if you not eat here, you eat with him. Get up.”

Catherine considered refusing, but she had the distinct feeling that Rami would simply drag her from the room. She pushed up to stand on tired legs, and followed Rami out of the bedroom. She rubbed at her wrists, thankful at least that her bindings had been cut off the first night.

She didn’t pay much attention to the decoration of the house, or the paintings on the walls. She didn’t care for the intricate tiles on the floor, or the furniture in the rooms she passed by. None of it mattered—she just wanted out.

“Here, boss,” Rami said.

Catherine was shuffled into a dining room entryway. Rhys sat at a long cherry-stained oak table, with a napkin tucked into his collar, and a steak knife and fork in his hands. He pointed his knife toward the seat at the very end of the table, opposite to him.

“Sit, Catherine,” he demanded.

She quickly moved to the seat and sat down, staring at the plate that had been set out for her. Steak and vegetables—cooked perfectly, by the looks of it.

Her stomach growled, but her mind refused.

She was not eating for this man.

“It’s the twenty-third of December today,” Rhys noted.

Catherine only stared at him.

“What were you expecting to do for your holidays, young lady?”

Loving Cross.

Eating good food.