“You’re awake,” he said, sounding like every first movie line in a scene like this.
“You’re a cliché,” I quipped before I could think better of it. But if he thought I was going to beg to be set free, he’d plucked the wrong girl from the street.
“Does that make you the punchline, seeing as you’re the one bound?”
“Free my hands and I’ll show you a punchline.”
A dark, yet seductive chuckle escaped that sexy mouth of his. Too bad I wanted nothing more than to knock his teeth out, every perfect one of them.
“You don’t disappoint. You are every bit of the fireball they say you are.”
My frown was not for affect. I was truly at a loss for his meaning. “Who is they? I think you have the wrong person.” My social circle was way too small for a “they,” at least the way he’d spoken it.
“I thought you hated cliches. You aren’t going to tell me you aren’t who I think you are, etc., etc.”
“But what if I’m not and you fucked yourself by nabbing the wrong girl?”
His head cocked to the side as mine was turned all the way to the right to see him. “You’re a smart woman. If I have the wrong person, as you say, what are my options?”
Anyone who has watched the number of streaming movies and series as I had, knew that I’d seen his face. There was no way he was letting me go alive.
“What do you want from me?” I asked with an edge of exasperation that bordered on hysteria. Keep it together, I told myself while I waited for his answer.
I could have manically laughed, and I did when he gave his answer. “Your cooperation.”
“Seriously,” I blurted. Then I yanked all of my limbs in response. “Like I really have a choice,” I bit out bitterly.
“That’s for your protection,” he had the nerve to say.
“Protection!” I yelled, passing the point of peaceful negotiation, if that’s what this was.
“If you were free when you woke up, what would you have done? Banged on the door and bruised those pretty little hands of yours? We can’t have you damaging the merchandise.”
This should have been the point I let loose a string of curses that would make even him blush. Instead, I clamped my mouth shut. I didn’t want to acknowledge what he’d just inferred. I was merchandise. This couldn’t be happening. People were not products to be sold.
When I felt the burn of tears in the back of my eyes, I whipped my head around to face the other direction. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of my grief.
“Nothing to say?”
“Fuck—you,” I said slowly, so there was no mistaking me as I hadn’t spoken loudly.
“Interesting choice of words, considering what I just imparted.”
I didn’t answer, but thought back to how I’d told Mr. Fisk that I wasn’t a whore. Had he orchestrated this to prove me wrong? There was no way. He couldn’t have anticipated my reaction. Surely there were plenty of women that would have taken him up on his offer.
There was a soft click, leaving me back in darkness, and I assumed my captor left me to my thoughts, which I had plenty. But it was about that time my bladder made me aware of more urgent needs. I had to pee and couldn’t get out of the bed to do it. Worse, my pride kept a tight fist on my tongue. I would not call to the bastard and beg to be allowed to use the restroom. He could go fuck himself.
Even my determination couldn’t overcome the pulsing call of nature after a while. I was just about to call out when the door opened.
The glow of the hall light haloed him. But the man was no angel. He was the devil himself.
“Do you need anything?” he asked while barely muzzling a smirk.
“I need you to let me go, but I won’t hold my breath on that.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I barked, and then questioned my sanity as I continued to antagonize my captor.
“You’re good then?”
I unclasped my hand enough to raise my middle finger. “No, I’m not good. I’m tied to a bed by a psychopath who thinks that I’ll ever believe he’s my savior, while I barely keep from peeing on myself.”
One of his brows arched. “Has anyone ever told you you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar?” I narrowed my eyes and kept my mouth shut. “Lesson one. Be sweet and you’ll earn more privileges.”
Who did this man think I was? Or was he grooming me for being sold, which he implied earlier?
I glared at him. “What? Do you expect me to call you sir, too?”
There went that dark chuckle of his. “Sir, no. But you can call me King.”
The gall of the man and the stupidity of me. He was right. I shouldn’t let out my snarky side when I had no options. I swallowed my pride and asked, “Can I pee?” He gave me that look parents give when you haven’t asked nicely enough. So, I added, “Please.”