I refuse to take it. It could have drugs in it.
He reads me loud and clear. “Relax, it’s only water. I can’t have you dehydrated.”
“I don’t believe you. You already knocked me out once.” My throat is dry, and my voice is still groggy.
“Sorry about that,” he replies, but his face looks incapable of empathy of any kind.
“My body hurts. How long have I been here like this?”
“A few hours,” the man says. He has a greying beard and is calm, in total control. I’m not going to be able to talk my way out of this or make friends with my captor.
“My parents will look for me,” I venture, even though they have no idea I’m missing.
“Oh, we’re counting on that,” he sneers as he lifts the paper cup of water to my lips. Drugs or not, I take a drink because I’m thirsty.
“What do you mean?”
The man leaves without another word.
I’m left alone in the cellar. How long have I been here? More importantly, when I will be allowed to move? I try to stay calm. There’s no point in screaming, I’m sure I’m deep enough in the basement that nobody will hear me and all it will accomplish is waste my energy and piss off my captors. I notice the dusty bottles of wine and I can tell this collection is worth a king’s . . .
Ransom. Is that what they’re doing with me?
That makes no sense. My parents aren’t worth lots of money. We get by, but that’s it. They save and work very hard. If these guys want money, they have the wrong girl.
A door behind me opens and I hear the heel of a man’s dress shoe ring against the tile, but I don’t strain my neck to turn. I remain still, waiting for him to reveal himself. My heart beats faster with every minute that passes, not knowing what’s going to happen.
I hate being out of control. I’ve planned out my life and there is little room for things that don’t belong, like being held captive, and I have to assume Dante is part of it as he made no attempt to rescue me.
Then he appears in front of me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Coffee and you kidnap me?”
I want to kick him in the nuts, but my legs are still tied, and I’ll only hurt myself.
“Untie me,” I demand, staring into simmering hazel eyes that don’t flinch.
I refuse to look away under his discerning scrutiny, so I zero my eyes in on his. Even though I’m still tired and my body feels like a sack of potatoes, I refuse to look away first. I’ve watched lots of American shows about killers and I know to try to make friends with them, find a way to humanize myself so I’ll have better chance of survival.
“Sorry, can’t do that yet. Do you know who your father is?”
“Of course, I do. He lives in Greve, he’s the town butcher, why do you ask?”
“That’s not your father.”
I let out a grim chuckle. “You’re a stranger and you think you know who my dad is, and it’s not my dad? It doesn’t seem like you did your homework.”
“Oh, that we did. All we need is a DNA test to prove it. The person you call your dad isn’t your father.”
He is completely and utterly sincere. In a flash, it leads me to doubt everything I’ve always known to be true, and I’m confused. Who could possibly be my parents, if not the parents I’ve known my entire life?
“Did you never wonder why you might be an only child?” He pulls a chair from an antique desk in the corner that’s sitting on what I assume is an antique rug, judging by the stitching and colors in it. They don’t make rugs like that anymore.
“No. But my wrists are growing numb and my legs hurt.”
“Sorry about that.” He pulls the chair close to me and turns it backwards so he can straddle it as he leans in, taking a closer look at me.
If he means to intimidate me, he has the wrong girl. However, his presence is felt when he moves. It’s been hours since I was taken, but his suit is fresh and perfect.