It sounded like he was talking about Vasilije. Was this Luka’s father, and was I the situation?
“It was just a miscommunication between me and a girl. It’s nothing. I’ve handled it.”
I stared down at the dress shirt wrapped on my body, which had become damp from the ends of my hair dripping on it. This was handled? Rape and water torture were handled for Luka Markovic?
“It’s not necessary,” he said quickly, and his expression flooded with exasperation. “Okay, fine.”
He hung up, pocketed the phone, and I was struck by how much older he seemed. He was four, or maybe five years older than I was, physically. But mentally? I felt like we were far apart, and it was shocking. I wasn’t arrogant. I tried to stay humble, but the fact of the matter was I was smart. I was accustomed to being more mature than my peers, even the ones older than I was.
Not Luka. The age gap for once felt like a real gap. As if his world was vastly different from mine.
“First benchmark,” Luka said, his expression guarded. “I know you won’t like it, but understand it’s a means to an end. We build trust and then this whole thing can work.”
“What are you—” My throat closed up as he bent over and retrieved something from the other side of the loveseat. The thick, multicolored cord was in a large loop, waiting to be unfurled.
“There are two ways this can go,” he said, unraveling the rope. “They both end with you tied to the bed. One is easy. You lie down and let me do this. The other is unpleasant.”
The dark cast to his face told me he wasn’t joking in the slightest. My gaze went to the wooden headboard. There were cutouts by the posts where it would be easy for him to tether me down, and I tensed. The thought activated my flight-or-fight response, and I glanced to the door. I’d never get past him.
So I turned, sought his black eyes, and silently begged him not to, but it was a lost cause. Luka wasn’t going to be persuaded.
“You can do this,” he urged. “You’re so fucking perfect, I know you can.”
He wasn’t condescending, but sincere. His misplaced compliment knocked me sideways.
“It’ll only be for a little while,” he added.
I was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and my fatigue made me weak. Inside I issued a sob of self-pity and loathing, but on the outside I stayed numb. Oh, holy hell, I was actually considering it.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because I need to leave this room to get you new clothes.”
He waited. If I obeyed, he promised there’d be no consequences. I moved hesitantly to lie down on the bed, resting my towel-dried hair on the pillow.
Luka blinked, visibly surprised by what he was seeing. He’d expected a fight, but I felt broken. I gave up a little. And although I was going to allow it, my muscles solidified as he came cautiously closer. We each watched the other with unease.
Could he feel my trembling as I surrendered my first wrist to him? I pressed my lips together and forced back the tears that threatened in my eyes. His face went serious with concentration as he corded the rope around my wrist and tied the first knot.
“Is it too tight?” he asked.
I hurried to wipe a disobedient tear away with my free hand and struggled to keep it together. “It’s fine.”
He hesitated for a sliver of a second, but then the moment was gone. The rope was threaded through the cutout by the post, and secured. A giant, invisible weight sat on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Again, Luka waited. He could take my free wrist easily now since my other was bound, but it was obvious he thought it was my responsibility to offer it. I did, feeling even more broken inside. I was ashamed to submit to him.
The thick cord wasn’t rough, and he didn’t tie it too tightly, but being restrained was terrifying, and I stared up at him. He looked . . . fascinated. His gaze swept down along my body. As it slowly drifted back up again, his eyes were heated and he shifted on his feet. Was that excitement hiding in his expression?
“Are you scared?” he asked.
It was immediate from me. “Yes.”
“Don’t be. Nothing bad is going to happen to you like this.”
The naïve girl in me wanted to believe him, but I told myself I knew better. He’d turn on me any second and make me regret this foolish decision. I picked a point on the ceiling and focused on it, rather than him, so I could think about the situation. The goal was to build trust, he’d said. I would fake it enough until Luka allowed me to leave, or gave me an opportunity to escape.