The worst part was how some of the guards liked to torture him by eating all kinds of delicious-smelling food in front of him, laughing when Luke stared at it with hungry eyes. Sometimes, if the guards were drunk or bored, or both, they used him as a punching bag, but even that was preferable to the sight and smell of food he couldn’t eat.
Their employer hadn’t made an appearance. From what Luke had overheard, he wasn’t even in the house. Now Luke felt silly for expecting a visit from the main bad guy. It wasn’t a cheesy Hollywood movie where the villain always came to gloat and share his evil plans with the victim. In all likelihood, Luke and his well-being were completely insignificant in the grand scheme of things to the person behind all of this. This kidnapping clearly was nothing personal, and the bad guy didn’t have to explain anything to him. The thought smarted. He’d never felt so powerless in his life.
One evening, Luke lay curled up in bed, shivering from cold and holding his stomach, when he heard the sound of the locks turning. He tensed. They had already fed him that morning. Were the guards bored again? His ribs still hurt from the last time they had been bored.
Luke tried to stand, but it probably wasn’t a good idea considering how fatigued he was, so he settled for sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Even that drained him of what little energy he had left, and he had to breathe deeply to fight the sudden bout of dizziness that washed over him. He wasn’t going to faint, dammit. Not now.
The door opened and closed, but his vision was still swimming and he could only make out the blurry tall figure that had entered the room.
Finally, his vision sharpened, the world came into focus, and Luke found himself gasping as he met the cold blue eyes of Roman Demidov.
Fuck.
In the past week, he had thought of Demidov a few times, wondering if he had anything to do with the kidnapping, but he had dismissed the idea. Roman was a condescending dick, and his eyes totally creeped Luke out, but it didn’t mean the guy was a criminal. He had told himself “filthy-rich Russian tycoons” didn’t equal “Russian mafia.” Well, clearly he’d been wrong in this case.
For a long moment, there was only silence as they looked at each other.
Luke fidgeted, feeling more than a little self-conscious. He probably looked pathetic. His curls were no longer tamed by gel, his fringe falling over his eyes. Luke was wearing the same blue dress shirt from a week ago, but now it was crumpled, dirty, and stained with blood. At least he had been allowed a shower yesterday (only because the thug that brought him food had complained to Vlad that he stunk).
All in all, if Roman Demidov had been unimpressed with him a week ago, when Luke had looked his best, he was unlikely to take him seriously now that he looked like a beaten-up, half-starved kid.
“What do you want with me?” Luke said calmly—or at least he tried to, but his voice was weak, the words shaping up oddly in his mouth.
Roman’s inscrutable expression didn’t change. He continued looking at him in silence, his gaze sharp. It was a hundred times more unnerving than any words.
Luke fought the urge to squirm. “Look, whatever issue you have with my father, I know nothing of it. Just let me go, okay?”
The man stepped closer and grabbed his chin in an iron-like grip, so hard it hurt. “What are you playing at?”
Luke blinked up at him, confused. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly, trying not to wince from pain or show his fear.
Roman’s lips thinned. “Who do you take me for?” he said. “Why did Whitford send me his only son? Unarmed, no bodyguards, no precautions at all? Kidnapping you was laughably easy.”
Luke couldn’t help but laugh, though his lips were still swollen from the last beating he’d received and it hurt a little. “Sorry? You sound disappointed.”
The man stared down at him, as if Luke were some strange creature that didn’t make any sense. “You can’t possibly be such a clueless child,” he said in disgust, letting go of him and straightening up.
Luke studied him curiously, the beginnings of a plan forming in his mind. If the guy was unable to see past his boyish looks, he could use that. Maybe his youthful appearance would finally be good for something. He could play it up, pretend to be totally harmless and clueless—pretend to be the vulnerable teenager he certainly wasn’t. Luke was an optimist at heart. He was a firm believer that completely evil people didn’t exist. Even the most heartless, hardened criminals would think twice before mistreating a vulnerable kid. Wouldn’t they?