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He points at my chair. “Sit down. Now.”
I sink down into my seat and my heart hammers in my chest as I look over what may be my last meal.
CHAPTERSIX
TAMARA
I rub my wrists as he takes his seat and spears a slice of prime rib from the silver tray.
“What are you going to do—?”
“You’re being rude,” he says coldly, gesturing at the dinner. “Eat.”
I bark a disbelieving laugh. “I’m being rude?” I say. “Kidnapping me wasrude.And insane. I have the right to—”
He sets his fork down and looks at me, and the words dry up in my mouth. I’ve never seen anything like the expression on his face. I can’t believe how fast he went from gently stroking my face to…feral, I guess, is the only way I could describe it.
I fall silent and stare down at my plate.
“Eat,”he repeats, in a tone that says that if he has to ask me one more time, I will be very, very sorry.
I know that look. My stepfather used to give me that look.
It was a wise person who said, “Choose your battles.” There’s no point in refusing this meal. The food looks delicious, and I realize that I’m so hungry I’m lightheaded.
I reach out, grab the silver tongs and lay a slice of prime rib on the plate in front of me. There’s a carving knife and fork there, and I wish I had the courage to grab them and stab him.
Instead, I take a little food from each platter and eat until I’m full.
He keeps eating for a little while longer, and I sit there in silence, waiting to learn my fate.
Finally, he sets his knife and fork down and takes a sip of red wine from the glass next to his plate. I didn’t get any wine. I am afraid that means he doesn’t want to let me dull my senses; he wants me to feel everything he’s going to do to me.
“I’m in a generous mood. Since this is your first day here with me, I will give you a gift. You may ask me five questions. But don’t get used to this, Tamara. I’m not a nice man.”
Games. He loves to play games. I file that information away in my head, along with how many steps I took, in case it’s useful somehow.
Mentally keeping count, I start with the most important one. Important to me, that is. It means nothing to him. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No. And you just wasted a question.”
Scorn glitters in his eyes, and I’m furious with him. My fear is a casual joke to him. This is mylife.
“You asked me that last night. Of course, there’s the possibility that I’m lying to you. Now, I can tell you that I will never lie, and you’ll find that out over time, but if I were a liar, asking me again would not make me change my answer.” He looks disappointed, and ridiculously, I feel ashamed of myself for disappointing him. “Now, if you ever were to try to harm Elizabeth, or myself, I might have to kill you.” He flicks a glance at the carving knife, as if to tell me that he knew what I was thinking.
“Are you going to cut my tongue out like you did hers?” I demand bitterly.
He gives me an odd look. “I didn’t cut her tongue out.”
“Oh, I suppose she just came like that.” I snorted.
“Are you calling me a liar?” he inquires politely. I recognize the threat lacing his words, but I don’t care, because he’s going to hurt me anyway, so I might as well get a few last shots in.
“If the shoe fits.” I’m being insane, taunting a sadistic killer, but a surge of miserable pride wells up inside me at my bravery. I mentally pat myself on the back. Atta girl, Tamara.
“That’s going to cost you, sweetheart. And she did it to herself.” He takes a sip of ice water.
I stare at him in shock. What the hell? For some reason, I think he’s telling the truth. I can’t imagine how agonizing it would be to cut your own tongue out.
