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"No, not yet. I'm talking about when you get around to contacting her."
"Ah, I see." Vince smiled. "Sit forward, will you, so I can undo that rope around your wrists."
Miranda scooted towards the edge of the chair. She could see Joey measuring coffee in the kitchen. He was horrible, a human weasel, and he made her skin crawl. Vince did, too; she tried not to shudder as his fingers brushed her flesh as he untied her hands, but at least he was reasonable.
She had to concentrate on him, dire
ct her plea to him.
"How's that? Better?"
She nodded, flexed her hands and put them in her lap. The blood was pouring back into them and the pain was sharp, almost breathtaking, but she sensed it would be better not to admit it.
"Much better. Thank you."
Vince gave her another of his radiant smiles.
"Good. Now, what were you saying, Miranda?"
"I was saying that if you'd just let me go—"
"I'm afraid that's impossible."
"Why? Why is it impossible?" Miranda heard the hysteria mounting in her voice. She stopped, took a breath, and started over. "You're in charge, you said, isn't that right?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, then..."
He moved, so suddenly and swiftly that she had no warning at all. He grabbed a fistful of material at the round neck of her cotton shirt yanked down hard and ripped the fabric to the hem. Miranda screamed. She reached for the torn edges of the shirt but Vince grabbed her hands in one of his and squeezed. She could feel the bones of her fingers scraping against each other.
"Joey was right," he said conversationally. "You do seem to have lovely breasts."
"Don't," she said, in a high whisper of a voice that couldn't possibly have been her own, "oh don't, please don't..."
His hand closed on her bra and it tore in half.
"Ah," he breathed.
"Mr. Moratelli. Vince, please. I beg you..."
"Joey? Come here a minute, would you?"
The little man came scuttling over. His lips curled up, revealing a yellow grin as he peered at Miranda.
"What'd I tell you? Great tits, right?"
"Excellent tits. Stand up please, Miranda."
She shrank back deeper into the chair. Vince sighed, grimaced and hauled her to her feet.
"Please, don't make this more difficult than it need be."
She dug in her heels but he was strong, far too strong for her to stop him. She struggled futilely as he dragged her along after him, through the living room and down a bright hallway. At a doorway, he paused, shifted position, and shoved her ahead of him into a huge bedroom.
One wall, entirely made of glass, looked out over a perfect blue sea. The other walls were mirrored, as was the ceiling. The sole piece of furniture in the room was a huge four-poster bed, set on a platform.
"I love this room," Vince said, "don't you?"
