Page 12 of His Pet

I abandon my plan to search for a weapon and wrap my arms around my knees as I think.

A phone. That’s what I really need. I need to call my dad. Maybe he already knows I’m gone, although that’s doubtful. I see him maybe once a month if both of us are free, which doesn’t always happen.

Monica is supposed to meet me at the shelter today, so maybe she’ll know something’s wrong and call my dad when I don’t show?

The elevator dings, and my gaze darts to the open door. I can’t see the elevator from here, but I can hear whoever just arrived say something to Lorenzo. A couple minutes go by before I hear Lorenzo’s voice calling to me.

“Kitty, breakfast!”

I grit my teeth at the moniker, but my stomach betrays my anger and rumbles. I stand and make my way from the room. I need to survey the rest of the place anyway.

Now that I’m not overcome with fear, I have a chance to recognize the cold beauty of this place. It’s very much decorated with the dark taste of the owner in mind, with all the furniture either black or gold, but it has every bit the luxury you’d expect from a psychopathic rich guy. My eyes lock onto a fireplace on the far side of the wide-open space that makes up the living and dining room. There’s a rug in front of it with tiger stripes.

“It’s faux fur.”

I blink and turn my head toward the dining room table where Lorenzo sits. He has a plate in front of him, and I can’t help but notice it’s the only one on the table. My stomach growls in protest, but it isn’t loud enough for him to hear.

“What?”

He casually points his knife in the direction of the fireplace. The deft way he yields the blade reminds me he isn’t just crazy, he’s dangerous.

“The rug. It isn’t real tiger fur. I can tell you’re wondering.”

I open my mouth to make a smart comment, but close it and hesitantly walk to the table and sit down in the chair opposite to him, my head down.

“Kitty?”

I meet his gaze.

“Pets are not allowed on the furniture.”

I open my mouth again, but he tips the knife, and my eyes dart to it. He’s still holding it, and I have no idea if he’s doing it to scare me or if he just forgot to set it down, but it’s enough to make me swallow the protest lodged in my throat.

“Where am I supposed to sit?”

He spins the knife and points it down beside him.

I take a steadying breath and stand, but I can’t bring myself to step toward him into the vicinity of that blade. He looks like the type of person who wouldn’t hesitate to slit my throat just because the temptation is there.

He seems to read my mind because he sets the knife down and goes back to his food like he wasn’t just giving me a silent threat. I eye his plate and my stomach falls. Bacon and eggs. Surely he’s researched me enough to know I won’t be eating that.

I walk toward him and spot the silver dish at his feet. I kneel beside it and bite my lip as I lift the lid and steam hits my nostrils. Bacon and eggs.

I place the lid back on slowly and push it away.

“Something wrong?” Lorenzo asks. I don’t look up at him, but I can feel his gaze burning a hole in the top of my head.

“I can’t eat that.”

“Why?”

“I’m a vegan.”

He chuckles. “Not anymore.”

“I’m not eating animal products. If you won’t give me anything different, then I guess I’ll starve to death. That wouldn’t make you a very good pet owner, now would—”

Suddenly, the tip of the knife is to my chin. I didn’t even hear him pick it up.

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