Otherwise, he looks at me with pity in his eyes. He winces when my bones creak. He swears when he sees new bruises. He tries to take care of me, but it’s not what I want.
Mason is a good man; I should have dated him before. He would have made a good boyfriend. Maybe if we were together when I was taken he would have tried harder to find me?
Now, I’ll never know.
Now, we can never be.
Time passes, and our routine stays the same.
I sleep.
I eat.
He asks questions and pushes.
I don’t know how much time passes, except eventually I don’t feel like sleeping so much. My bruises and pains are still there, and I haven’t gained much if any weight, so I doubt much time has passed. But some did.
Enzo.
His name floats back into my head again.
Why?
That becomes my new focus. Not on avoiding Mason, but on thinking about Enzo.
Not the good. Not the adrenaline at stealing Enzo’s watch when we first met.
Not when he took me on my first yacht ride, the last one I will ever enjoy.
Not when we played our two lies and one truth game, and I won.
Not when he gave me my first kiss.
The only thing I think about when it comes to Enzo is why?
Why me?
Why didn’t he kill me, when he was ordered to?
Why did he have me kidnapped and sold, instead?
Why did Jarod let me go when I was his favorite plaything?
I need answers, to so many questions.
But it is all really one question. Why?
I don’t know how to find Enzo. I don’t even know his last name or if he still lives in Miami. I don’t know if he’s even alive anymore. He worked in a ruthless business. He could be dead.
No.
I feel it.
He’s alive.
He’s why I’m still alive.
He’s why I’m here.