I wouldn't try to use the elevator again.
It would be stupid and pointless, anyway. If I had access to a computer, I could hack into the building's security system and override the thumbprint recognition, no problem. But without technology, I was powerless. Andrés had made it painfully clear that I wasn't cut out to be a field agent. Months of training in hand-to-hand combat hadn't helped me at all when it came to facing him.
He hadn't needed to collar me and chain me to his bed to keep me from trying to access the elevator. Even though I was alone in the bedroom, I wouldn't have tried to escape that way in his absence. The security system probably logged failed attempts to press the call button. He’d know if I touched it without him here to witness my transgression. I didn't want to risk another punishment for nothing.
My stomach rumbled, rousing me from my dejected state.
Survive, my body reminded me.
I had to keep going, keep fit. I'd never get out of here if I let myself waste away into weakness. I needed to keep my calorie count up and stay hydrated in case an opportunity to escape did present itself.
I sat up in bed and hissed when my weight settled on my bruises. Even the soft mattress was almost too hard to bear.
Grimacing, I glanced around the room. As I'd hoped, the food cart was waiting for me, the fancy platter covered to keep my meal warm.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been alone, but when I removed the cover, the bacon beneath was still warm, at least. I glanced out the windows and noted that the sun was up pretty high. Was that like, ten AM?
I wasn't sure. I wasn't exactly a nature girl, and surviving in the wild with the sun as my only clock wasn't a skill I'd ever had to acquire.
Even the nearly obsolete grandfather clock in the sitting room would have been preferable, but the bedroom door was closed again. Hell, I'd settle for a freaking sundial at this point.
Sighing, I bit into a particularly crispy piece of bacon. I nearly moaned at the rich, salty flavor.
Andrés might be a sadistic madman, but he was a sadistic madman with a great chef.
I tore my way through five strips of bacon before moving on to the most delicious spicy sausage I'd ever tasted. The breakfast was protein-heavy, and I wondered if Andrés had remembered what I'd said about being a meat lover.
Or maybe he was just trying to keep me slow and sle
epy with all this heavy, salty food, because by the time I'd devoured everything and downed a jug of water, I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes.
I was so tired, my brain weirdly fuzzy and slow. My thoughts were still firing, but not in as many directions as usual. My emotions—which should have been spinning in response to my dire predicament—were oddly subdued.
Idly, I wondered if Andrés had decided to drug the food, but I didn't believe he'd do that. No, he much preferred physically demonstrating my helplessness. As he'd said, he didn't need to use drugs to keep me compliant.
I wasn't sure how long I lay there, stray thoughts gliding across my mind from time to time as I settled into a state on the edge of sleep.
The click of the bedroom door opening roused me, and I sat bolt upright. I let out a little yelp at the sudden weight on my bottom, and I scrambled to cover my body with the sheet when I saw Lauren standing at the threshold.
"I just had breakfast," I said when I saw the cart she was pushing into the room. "I'm not hungry."
"I'm not here to bring you food," she said, her voice a hollow monotone. She was looking right at me, but her deep green eyes didn't spark with any emotion whatsoever. I might as well have been a statue she was talking to rather than another woman. She wasn't here to help me, even if she was a victim. She worked for my captor, regardless of whether or not she'd been brutalized and broken.
"Then what's that?" I asked warily, eyeing the items on the cart. There was a small silver pot and a stack of cloth strips, as well as what looked like cleansing wipes. I had no idea what I was looking at.
"Wax," she replied.
"Wax?" I repeated, still not following. Why would she have wax?
Something sparked in her eyes for the briefest moment. My stomach twisted when I registered it as pity.
"For your pussy," she replied bluntly.
I pulled the sheet all the way up to my chin and squeezed my thighs together, ignoring the flare of pain as I shifted my weight.
"No," I refused, sharp and immediate.
"I'm really good at it," she said, something like kindness softening her tone. "It will barely hurt. I do it all the time."