He gives me a manic smile. “It’s a brilliant fucking plan. You were simply too weak to see it through.”
“It’s not weakness, Rokiades,” I tell him confidently. “It’s intelligence.”
He frowns. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I was not about to force the girl to marry me,” I tell him. “I was grooming her.”
He jerks his chin out, considering my words. But his expression gives himself away again. He’s getting nowhere with Renata.
I smile despite myself. That catches the old fucker’s attention. Nothing riles up a proud man worse than laughter at his expense. “Something funny?”
“She’s not the type of woman you can force into submission,” I point out. “She needs to be… convinced. You don’t have what it takes.”
His expression turns dark with rage, but he manages to tamp it down.
“I’m a proud man,” he says after a moment. “But that doesn’t make me stupid. I’m aware that I’m not the kind of man who can woo a beautiful young woman. You, on the other hand… you’re young. Younger than me, at least.”
“And smart. And incredibly handsome. And a killer poker player,” I add, “since we’re listing attributes.”
He glares at me. Not a fan of gallows humor, I guess. “You did your work well,” he says. “The girl has fallen into your trap. Classic case of Stockholm Syndrome.”
I tense slightly, wondering how else Renata has given herself away. Apparently, in her most vulnerable moments, the name on her lips is mine. I might have been thrilled with that fact if it weren’t for the danger it poses for her.
“But something you just said… It makes a lot of sense,” he nods. “I don’t have the time to groom her like you did. I have neither the patience nor the inclination, either. But I do have a deadline. I have a wedding to prepare for. And you’re right—she’s not the kind of woman who can be forced. She needs to be… convinced.”
He snaps out the last word like a death sentence. And that nasty gleam in his eyes says he’s found a new approach to try out on her.
Fuck. I don’t like the sound of that.
Rokiades turns and struts out of the small, dark warehouse, leaving me tethered to the wooden poles. I strain against them, but the cuffs are too strong. They’re checked and tightened every few hours, too, so that any progress I make loosening them is rendered moot.
I’m stuck.
And somewhere out there, a sickening old man is laying his hands on Renata.
* * *
About half an hour later, the door opens again. Rokiades enters.
Except this time, he’s not alone.
I recognize Renata’s silhouette even from a distance. She’s lost weight since I last saw her. Was that only a few weeks ago? It seems like so much longer.
I feel the physical pain melt away and rage takes over. I have to curb the anger for now, though. It’s the only thing that can blow this whole debacle wide open.
Rokiades is smiling as he forces Renata forward. She’s dressed in a tight black minidress that’s paired with inappropriately tall heels, high enough that she looks like she might totter over at any moment. Her face is slathered with makeup and her eyes look huge and sunken against her hollow cheeks.
The beauty is still there, though it’s hidden behind the doll that Rokiades has shaped her into for himself.
Motherfucker.
Renata’s eyes are wide with shock and horror as she takes me in. They scour over my body, landing on every bruise, scrape, and cut like they’re a personal affront. She winces, too, as if she feels the pain I feel.
She takes a step forward as though to close the gap between us, but Rokiades snags her arm and pulls her to a stop next to him. “That’s close enough, glikia mu,” he croons, his tone reeking of insincerity. “I thought I’d give you an early wedding present.”
I notice there are ligature marks on her wrists and around her ankles. It seems like the fucker keeps her tied up. My anger burns another notch hotter.
“Kian…” Renata murmurs, ignoring Rokiades.