Page 20 of His Pet

“It’s the copper one.”

I lift my eyes to him for a momentary glare and then try to work the copper key into the lock on the chain.

“It’s for the collar.”

I feel for the lock on the collar, and when I find it, I struggle to insert the key while holding my hair out of the way. Every time I bend forward, the chain weighs heavily on my neck.

Lorenzo walks to me, and when he tries to help, I jerk away from him. “I’ve got it,” I croak.

He grips my jaw and forces me to look at him. The keys fall from my fingertips and land behind me on the rug. His fingers squeeze into my bone until tears prick my eyes and I yelp.

“There are very few kindnesses I will ever give you, and this is not one of them, Amelia. You are taking too long, and you’re testing my patience. Right now, I do not have much to give. Be still and be quiet.”

He plucks the keys from the carpet, and I hold my hair up while he easily unlocks the collar. It falls to the floor, along with the chain, and my body instantly floods with relief. I take several deep breaths while Lorenzo stands up straight and stares down at me.

“Up,” he commands like he’s speaking to an animal again.

My gut reaction is to resist. Demand respect. But this isn’t the time to challenge him. I’ve already done it, and I’ve yet to find out what it will cost me. I stand, appreciating every second that the chain doesn’t pull me back to the floor and search my brain for a new plan. One that will get me back into Lorenzo’s good graces, if it even matters anymore. For all I know, he wants me to come with him to dig my own grave.

That thought leaves me catatonic, and when Lorenzo urges me to move with his hand at my back, I stand motionless.

“Move. Now.”

“Wait, just wait a second, okay? Please.” My voice wobbles, and the breaths I try to take to steady myself are shaky. Lorenzo steps in front of me, and his head tilts to the side when our eyes meet. Curiosity enters his eyes again.

“Could you tell me where we’re going? I—” I swallow and give my sore throat a moment when my voice croaks. “I would feel so much better if I just knew what you were planning.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

My lips part, and my eyes go wide. I search Lorenzo for some sign that he’s merely threatening me, but there isn’t one. His tone doesn’t sound malicious. It’s like he’s just stating something honestly. It makes the statement worse, and I’m filled with foreboding.

“Yes, I would.”

He blinks and looks at his watch. “I have to be somewhere by three, and something you may want to know about me is that I abhor being late. By any amount of time. If you make me late, Amelia, it will make what I have planned for you much worse. I’m not entertaining your requests, and I have zero care about what would make you feel better. The sooner you figure that out, the better.”

“Now,” he waves toward the door. “Walk. I don’t like to use force, but I will if necessary.”

I swallow and put my head down as I shuffle toward the door. Lorenzo follows with his hand on my lower back. It sends shivers up my spine that make me want to leap forward, but I fight it. I’m in no hurry to get to wherever he’s taking me.

Lorenzo stops and I look back at him, pausing. He opens the bathroom door and gestures for me to enter. I scurry inside and he steps in after me, shutting the door behind him. There are bandages strewn out on the sink with a bag beside them. With a quick peek inside, I see it’s a first aid kit. I glance at myself in the mirror only for a second before looking away. Not quickly enough to miss the bruises around my neck, but quickly enough not to study myself. I don’t want to know how bad it is. It’ll only make me feel worse.

Lorenzo pushes the bandages to the side and lifts me onto the sink. My whole body tenses and I yelp, but it’s like Lorenzo doesn’t notice. Does he get a thrill from never clueing me in on what’s coming?

I stare at him with my brow furrowed as he pulls the bandage from his forearm and tosses it in the trash can. Blood oozes from the gash, and I wince. I scoot as far on the edge of the sink as I can without falling off and turn my head away from him. The bag rustles as Lorenzo sorts through it.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

The rustling stops, and I bite my lip before turning to look at him.

He’s staring at me with his head tilted. “Are you sorry or are you scared?”

Scared, my brain immediately goes to. I glance at the gash, still oozing blood, and a jolt tenses my own arm. I can feel the pain he must be experiencing, and part of me actually is sorry. Mostly scared of the repercussions of slicing him with a knife, but a little sorry too. I’ve never wanted to hurt anything or anyone in my life.

“Both,” I say, tearing my gaze from the wound to meet his eyes.

His eyebrows pinch and he squints like he isn’t happy with my answer. Or maybe he doesn’t believe me.

He goes back to the bag and sorts through until he finds what he’s looking for. A needle and thread. A bottle of antiseptic sits on the countertop.

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