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I stop short of declaring I’ll seek retribution for the things they did to her before walking out of the bathroom.
Chapter 22
Madelene
Second-guessing my choices isn’t a new thing for me. I’ve spent a lifetime wondering what if, wasted away most of my time since turning eighteen, questioning every move I’ve made, and it’s no different for me right now.
Hollis left to get food, and I wonder why he goes to get prepared meals two to three times a day rather than grabbing quick, easy stuff to make from the grocery store.
Maybe he needs a break from my presence as much as I feel like I need a break from him. It doesn’t stop my heart from racing a mile an hour every time he leaves. It doesn’t keep me from drawing the curtains tightly closed, fearful Alessio could be outside, waiting until I’m vulnerable to come in and take me. It makes no sense to even think that. Alessio wouldn’t waste a second killing Hollis. He sure as hell wouldn’t wait to grab me. He’s not exactly known for his patience, although he’s always been a little more calculating than Marcello, who acted first and rarely thought later.
The man I’m anxiously awaiting to return, literally shot a man in the head and dragged me to his truck before binding and gagging me. Yet, I’m sitting in his living room, hoping he doesn’t forget a packet of honey mustard sauce because I’ve discovered I prefer it over ketchup for my fries.
I’m the definition of clinically insane. I can argue that I’m choosing the lesser of two evils, but after what happened in the bathroom two days ago, I don’t consider Hollis to be evil at all.
I’ve never thought that all killing is wrong. Maybe it’s the way I was raised. Maybe it’s because it’s been drilled into my head that loyalty is everything. It’s the betrayal of that loyalty that warrants death that keeps me from lining Hollis right up beside Alessio and his team of villains.
Hollis is avenging a death, making things right in his eyes. If anything, I’m a complication to his mission, but he hasn’t asked me to leave since that first time. I’m not mistaken in thinking he wants me to be here, but at least he hasn’t shoved me out the front door and told me to fuck off.
I think he likes this game we’re playing, but I don’t imagine he’s going to stick to the rules much longer. He’s kept his distance the last two days, barely made eye contact with me since walking out of the bathroom after making me come on his mouth.
He hasn’t rolled over and touched me in bed, nor has he asked me to get naked, although my payment for food was paid in full the day before.
Eating yesterday was less enjoyable as I could feel the scratch of my clothes the entire time. I ached to get naked, but I didn’t.
This entire situation is deranged. The way I feel about all of it is the most complicated thing that has ever clouded my mind. Rather than thinking of a way to survive Alessio if I leave this house, I sit, dreaming up ways to push the boundaries until Hollis acts out the way he did in the bathroom.
Instead of walking away, taking my chances alone, I stay. Hell, I think I want to be here with him. As much as that should terrify me, it doesn’t. I couldn’t lie to myself even if I tried.
The safety I’ve convinced myself I have here is tenuous. It rests solely on Hollis’s ability to maintain control, and he almost lost it the other day. It’s only a matter of time before desire takes precedence over the composure he seemed to be struggling to maintain.
Access to the outside world is limited for me, but that has little to do with Hollis. We have a television, and he has a phone. I’ve never asked to use it. I don’t know that he’d tell me no if I did. He could easily hand it over, but who would I call? I don’t doubt my father would turn me right back over to Alessio after giving me a verbal lashing for having the audacity to get abducted in the first place.
I wasn’t allowed any friends.
I literally have no one who would be willing to help me. The Severino family made sure of that. Yet, I don’t feel helpless despite being exactly that.
I stand from the settee and walk around the small room. There’s nothing in this house that doesn’t serve a function. There’s no décor, no extras, barely basic amenities. This can’t possibly be his full-time house. There are no books, no mail, no way to pass the time other than the television. Dishes are minimal although he has brought more home to accommodate the two of us being here.
