Page 24 of The Woman with the Handcuffs

Right.

Because that was why I was here.

To get answers.

Not get confused about why a guy cuffed to a chair was telling me how to throw a punch.

Of course he wanted me to believe my wrist was broken. Then I would leave the apartment for hours to get it looked at. While he was free to try to get the cuffs and zip ties off without anyone seeing.

That was not happening.

I shook out two pills, using my good hand to cup water and swallow them. After that, I located the elastic bandage, wrapped it around my hand, wrist, and forearm, secured it with the clips, then made my way out of the bedroom.

“Done being stubborn yet?” he asked when I moved into his line of vision.

“It’s fine. It’s kind of numb now.” My fingers, at least.

His brow raised and he shook his head, but he said nothing.

“Alright. It’s your body. Wanna top this off for me?” he asked, pushing his mug further across the table.

“I’m not your server,” I told him. “You’re lucky you got one cup.”

He shrugged at that.

“Put your hand behind your back.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

Why was he cooperating so much?

Even after I punched him?

Granted, I hurt myself more, but I did make him bleed. Wasn’t he supposed to be angry? Uncooperative?

Or was he just smarter than me?

Like all those women and girls I’d heard true crime stories about who tamped down their fear and pain and tried to make their abductors and abusers think they were their friends? Tried to disarm them enough that they either let them go, or got sloppy and they were able to get away?

Was that what he was trying to do with me?

Well, that was just too bad.

I might not be good at this whole thing, but I wasn’t going to let the man who kidnapped my father charm me.

I grabbed his wrist with my good hand, holding it hard even though he made no move to grab me or pull away.

But that meant I had to use my other hand to squeeze the cuff.

I managed to get it closed but cried out and moved away, clutching my screaming wrist as stupid tears pricked my eyes and slid down before I could blink them away.

Gavino watched me, something almost soft slicing across his dark eyes.

“As a fellow stubborn-ass, I respect your dedication to bullshitting yourself. But your wrist is fucking broken. It’s not going to get un-broken because you want it to. You need an X-ray, a cast, and some pain meds.”

I blinked back more tears, my lower lip trembling before I forced it to stiffen up.

He was right, though.