Somehow I didn’t quite believe that. So far he’d infiltrated my life, kissed me, tried to manipulate me, kidnapped me, and threatened me. It was safer to believe he would fucking hurt me. "Why do you work for him?"
He grinned then, and a low chuckle emanated from his throat. "Work for him? As if he could afford me. I don't work for him. Never have, never will. He's a spoiled brat, that one."
"Then why are you here? Is he holding you against your will too? Listen, if we work together, we can probably get out."
He gave me a wry smile. "Sweetheart, I don't work for him, but he's not holding me against my will. I know that you're scared, but as long as I'm here, no one is going to hurt you in this house, okay? But you need to just stay here for the time being until he says you can go, okay?"
"He's never letting me out of here. I know how this ends. I die. Or worse, much worse, I could get sold off to someone. I could—"
He held up a hand. "Easy does it. Like I said, as long as I'm here, nothing bad is going to happen to you. Now, why don't you have a seat and eat your stew. I put some cornbread on the side there too."
"Cornbread? Isn't that an American thing?"
"Yeah, my Jasmine, she spent a lot of time in the States too. So we used to make a hodgepodge of food."
"Where is she? Downstairs being held against her will?"
His smile became sad, and he shook his head. "She died about six years ago."
Fuck.
I don't know why, but I felt a sudden wave of sadness for one of my apparent captors. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, me too. She would have been even more against what Drake is doing. And trust me, she would’ve given him hell."
"But let me guess, she wouldn't let me go either?"
"No, not when being here is probably the safest place you could be for the time being."
I eyed the stew. "Is it drugged?"
He sighed. "No, honey." But he nodded as if he understood and went over and took one of the spoons he had given me. "Here, see?" He took a bite and didn’t keel over so I tentatively picked up the spoon. "Good girl. Now, I want you to eat then try and get some rest."
He eyed the bed, then his gaze met mine and he winked. "I don't know what you're up to, girl, but whatever it is, give him hell."
I blinked wide-eyed at him. "What?"
He shrugged. "I think he needs someone who isn't just going to do what he says."
"But didn't you just tell me I have to stay here?"
"Yes, you do.” He shrugged. “However, you don't have to be docile about it."
"You're telling me I should try to piss him off?"
He chuckled. "I'm saying it would be entertaining for me if you did. You would still be in this house, but it might get out some of those frustrations."
“And if I escape?”
He grinned at me. "That's the spirit. But you won’t. And like I said, no one's going to hurt you. If he tries, you tell me. You holler for all your worth, and I will come running with a gun."
"Guns are illegal."
He laughed. "You think I don't know that?"
"Right. You know him, so obviously, you have a gun."
"Honey, no one is going to shoot you either. Now eat. Don't make my hard work go to waste. It's not drugged, okay? Eat. Then I'll come back and take your tray."
"Thanks," I mumbled. I was hungry, and I did need to keep up my strength. I hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch, thanks to Massimo.
"You're welcome. And for what it's worth, I'm working on getting you out of here sooner. He will just take some time to convince." And then he was gone, leaving me with soup and a spoon. A spoon I might be able to use.
To my horror though, I realized that the spoon he gave me only looked like silver, but it was plastic. Though the food smelled too good not to at least try.
I took a tentative bite, and my stomach grumbled. The stew was hot and thick, filled with oxtail and vegetables, and goddamn it was so good.
The cornbread was sweet on my tongue, and I groaned after taking a bite. The soup was just spicy enough that it made my nose run.
Before I knew it, I’d drained half the bowl. I laid waste to the cornbread too but couldn’t finish it because my stomach was suddenly full. I slowed down and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my spoon.
It was plastic, so it could be broken.
I looked at one of the drawers and placed half the spoon inside the drawer, held on to the other half with my hand, and then slammed the drawer shut. The spoon finally snapped, giving me two sharp ends.
Okay, at least I had a weapon.
I tucked the straight handle in my sleeve and then used the other end to finish the soup. After I used the bathroom, I washed my hands and felt like a new person.
I was going to have to do something with my hair at some point. My curls were out of control and in need of a serious conditioner. And I had no products here.
Not that he would give me any. And of course, he’d kidnapped a black woman without thinking about giving her a satin pillowcase to sleep on. I must look crazy.
I was checking out my hair in the mirror and caught a glance at the toilet paper roll. Now wait a damn minute. It occurred to me there might be a spring inside of it. Actual metal. Metal that I could straighten and make into a weapon. I ran over to it and placed the toilet paper roll on the back of the toilet and looked at the coil inside.
"Bingo."
Slowly I uncoiled it, twisting it into the kind of weapon that I could use to wrap around my knuckles and leave a pointy end that I could stab with.
"This is perfect."
I knew how to throw a punch at the very least. Maybe just enough to be dangerous, but with a weapon attached, this could be a gamechanger. I shoved my modified weapon under my other sleeve. He might be able to disarm me with one weapon, but not two.
When the bedroom door opened again, I shouted from the bathroom, "Just a second, Reginald. I'm coming out."
I made sure my clothes looked okay and he couldn't see the weapons I’d hid. When I stepped out into the bedroom, I frowned when I saw it was Drake. "Oh, it's you."
"Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart."
"You should have sent Reginald back. I like him."
"Yeah, everyone likes him."
"I've been well-fed, so I'm appreciative of that. I wanted to say thank you to him."
The corner of his lips quirked at that. "Let's get you changed for bed. There are some clothes in the bottom drawer if you want to change, and then I'll tie you to the bed."
Fear sliced through me. "The fuck you will."
He frowned. "I can already tell you're going to be trouble. You can change on your own, or I can do it for you. That’s certainly an entertaining prospect. I don't want to tie you to the bed, but I will if you don’t cooperate."
He was considering changing me? Hell no. "You're not tying me to that bed. Over my dead fucking body."
I squared up with him, and he held up his hands. "Why don't we have a conversation about it? You change your clothes in the loo. They're in the drawer. Come back out, and we'll talk."