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When I don't answer, his eyes snap up. “Answer me,” he demands angrily.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh, I'm allowed to speak now?”
His nostrils flare, and I can practically see steam coming from his ears.
Yeah, it's probably not a good idea to poke the bear, but I’ve never been able to control my mouth.
He just stares at me incredulously, his big barrel chest heaving up and down like a bull getting ready to charge.
I roll my eyes and answer, “It's a negligee.”
“A negli-what?” His brow furrows.
“A negligee. It’s a garment woman sleep in,” I enunciate each word slowly as if he’s slow on the uptake.
His eyes rake over me once again before his frown deepens, and he mumbles something to himself. “Come on,” he finally barks at me.
I huff at the way he yanks me to my feet. “Where are you taking me?”
He shoots a glare at me. “I thought I told you not to speak.”
“But then you gave me permission to speak,” I point out.
He grinds his molars together.
“I'm revoking it. Go back to not speaking.”
“Okay, just so we're clear,” I can't help adding.
He shoots me a warning glare, and I hold up a hand. “Okay, okay. I'm done.”
He mumbles something under his breath again, and while I can’t make out what he’s saying, it sounds like Italian. As a Sicilian, I only know a bit of Italian.
I have a feeling I don't want to know what he’s saying anyway.
I'm surprised when he leads me over to the entrance to the tunnels below our house. They're supposed to be our escape route in case people ever breach our security, but I see that this man—whoever he is—got in through the very tunnels that are supposed to keep us safe.
Ironic, isn’t it?
I'm seething with anger as he pulls me along beside him with a tight grip on my upper arm. I'm sure I'll have bruises there from how tightly he's gripping me.
I'm not stupid enough to try to fight him, though. Hell, I think I've always been expecting this day. My father is greedy. He’s always looking for more power and expanding his reach. He’s always kept security tight around me in fear of someone taking me to get back at him. I always knew there was a very real possibility someone could kidnap me and hold me for ransom one day.
I guess that's why I'm not freaking out more than I am. I don't know who this man is or why he's taking me, but I am one hundred percent sure it has something to do with my father.
Maybe I don't have good sense because instead of being scared, I'm pissed more than anything else. Why should I be taken for something my father has done?
Maybe this is just about money, though. If the guy is taking me for ransom, that's probably the best-case scenario because my father will promptly pay it, and then I'll be returned and all will be good as new. Even so, it's an annoyance either way.
I trip as the man pulls me along beside him. His steps are so long. They make up three of my tiny ones. I'm struggling to keep up with him.
“Can you slow down, please?” I ask him.
He glares at me, those blue flames burning me as he scowls.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot I'm not supposed to be talking, but not all of us have steps the size of giraffes.”
He stops for a moment and looks heavenward as if he's praying for strength before he exhales a deep breath and then tugs me along again. He doesn't slow up at all.
