The smirk faded from his expression. “I can’t trust you.” My jaw dropped. “You have two options.” He moved forward into the room, and I flinched when he reached the bed. He bent and I curled my hand together as if ready for a fight.
When he stood up, he had a metal object in his hand. “I can slide this bedpan underneath you, or if you want to use the restroom, you’ll have to remove your clothes.”
“Wouldn’t you like that?” I sneered.
“I don’t have a preference. This is all on you. If I wanted you naked, I could have removed your clothes while you were unconscious. Besides, you aren’t the first or last woman I’ll see naked.” He was likely right about that. “Your choice.”
Both options were humiliating. But only one made more sense survival-wise for many reasons. “I’ll get naked.”
Maybe, just maybe, he’ll see I wasn’t the for-sale type when he saw that my body wasn’t what the expensive clothes made me appear to be.
“Are you sure?’ he asked. Eyes like black coal peered at me in the dimness of the room.
I nodded. “Next is a leap of faith. I will remove your bounds. You need to be a good girl or things will get ugly for the both of us.”
There was no way I could attack until all my binding was removed. By then, he would no longer be off balance. He was bigger than me by far. He looked close to six feet, if not more, and I was a mere five feet five.
I didn’t move as he cut the zip ties from my feet. Then he unlocked the cuffs from my wrists. Still, I didn’t move.
He stepped back and put his arms behind his back to clasp his hands, or so I assumed.
No words were exchanged as I slowly moved to sit up. It felt like thousands of fire ants crawled under my skin as circulation fully reached the tips of my fingers and toes. I held in most of a groan, but some came out.
Not even a twitch from my captor’s lips to show any reaction to my pain. I hurled silent curses his way as I finally got to my feet. The next step took more fortitude than I thought I had. I reached up and around my back to the zipper.
It wasn’t an easy reach. My fingers fumbled and shook, but I refused to ask for his help. When I finally released the zipper, I might have held there, but my bladder felt ready to release. I let the dress fall to the floor in a puddle of fabric, leaving me in only a bra and panties.
There I stood in all my glory. Rounded hips, rounded belly, and breasts that weren’t as perky as they had been when I was a teenager. It was then I looked up and met his dead eyes. Once again, he showed no reaction. Definitely a psychopath, or was the correct term sociopath?
His apathy only pissed me off, and without delay, I removed the rest. Cool air drifted over my skin like a breeze as he moved fast. He bent down like a man praying. I had no idea what he was doing until it was done. With a click, a fabric lined cuff was secured around my left ankle.
With fluid movement, he stood and held a hand straight ahead, opposite the bed. “The bathroom is there.”
Pride be damned. I ran as best I could, hoping he wasn’t playing a cruel joke and my tether would keep me from that door. But it didn’t, and it opened. On the other side was an ordinary bathroom with a sink, toilet, and tub. As I went to close the door, the chain attached to my ankle stopped that. At this point, modesty was irrelevant. I sat on the toilet seat and sighed as my bladder emptied.
Relief couldn’t completely describe the feeling when I was done. I looked over and through the cracked door with no sign of my captor. Out of habit, I washed my hands before running for the other door. The one King had come through both times. My feet slapped against the floor softly, but my grip was hard on the knob. However unlikely it was, I had to try. As predicted, it didn’t turn. Then I broke. I beat at the door and only hurled curses, not begging to be set free.
After a few minutes with no response, I turned, leaving my back against the door and slid to the floor with quiet sobs.
A cursory glance around the room revealed that he’d taken everything. My clothes and even the bedsheets were gone. I had nothing in which to cover myself or to wrap myself in for comfort.
The man was a monster, and I cursed myself again for falling for his charms. Then I cursed Mr. Fisk for being an asshole, which led me to being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Then I cursed again, knowing I would miss my interview with the elusive Mr. Connor King, my second job option.