A shudder rolled through me at the book’s mistreatment, but by the many dog-eared pages, it was much loved.
“Tolstoy?” I asked as I read the author’s name. In my hands was one of Tolstoy’s greatest novels, and one I could admit I’d never read—War and Peace.
I looked up at him but he was back in his shadow, talking to Marco, though his eyes never left me.
I flipped open the pages, happy to have something to read again, since my unfinished book was somewhere in my bag that they’d done who knows what with. I greatly missed reading and was desperate for anything to help get my head out of my present situation.
It wasn’t until I was halfway through the first page that I realized it was all in Italian. I blinked when I got stuck on a word. While I did read Italian, I still got tripped up from time to time. What surprised me more was that the book had come from the backpack he’d brought in. There was definitely more to Domenico than I’d believed.
From the corner of my eye I watched the slug clean up his mess. His gaze flashed to me before quickly returning back to his task.
I was the one in the cage, but somehow I almost felt like I was in a higher position than he was. Perhaps it was the price my body carried versus his lowly position on the totem pole. After all, if he was simply an associate, he held no real value to the organization.
Cannon fodder, frontline thug that could have potential, but at that moment I held more value than he did.
I returned to my reading but not before I glanced toward the alcove. I caught Domenico’s eyes as he cleaned the blood from his hands. His brow was scrunched up as he stared at me, at the book he’d given me.
I held it up. “Grazie. Non l’ho mai letto.” I thanked him for a book I hadn’t read.
Marco’s eyes widened, and he snapped back to Domenico, whispering hushed words.
They argued, but the few words I caught were neither English nor Italian. None of the men around seemed to understand, returning to whatever they were doing before all the commotion.
I had revealed critical information, even if it was something as simple as knowing another language. But I’d ruffled feathers.
It was becoming more obvious—I wasn’t like the other girls they held.
I was watching Domenico pluck another petal from the rose, trying to remember how many that made. Seven? Ten? I could easily remember at least six and the rose still looked full, but that may have been due to its opening up. The rose was dying but it retained its shape, the head beginning to droop.
While I was transfixed by the odd ritual, Roman stepped into view.
“Your dinner is served,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you,” I replied, returning his smile, taking the plate and setting it down before relieving his hands of not one but two drinks.
“A little something extra,” he whispered, giving me a wink before walking away.
Immediately I downed over half the bottle of water. I’d been constantly parched since about day three. Whatever food and drink I was allotted was always just enough to keep me from starving or dehydrating, but only just.
The sandwiches ranged from the terrible bologna and mayo to ham, cheese, and mustard and other deli concoctions. Which was why I was pleasantly surprised by the tart strawberry jelly and thick, creamy peanut butter.
A small moan left me, and I dug in for another taste.
With each bite, I stared into the darkness, at Domenico. The soft glow of his phone illuminated his face, and when he looked up, I nearly choked on my bite of sandwich. It wasn’t a menacing look nor did it inspire horror like it would with a flashlight, but it illuminated his eyes, and the hitch that moved through me was far from fear.
His eyes tore at me, ripped me apart from the inside out as if he knew me, as if he could see my soul. It was intoxicating. There was no way I should have been the least bit attracted to him, but I was. His confidence and ruthlessness matched up perfectly with his chiseled facade.
Every time he’d touched me there was a spark, and he was touching me more and more.
What if he touched me more? Everywhere?
The way he pulled me from my shock, the warmth of his lips against mine as he forced me to drink. His hand on my neck and the roughness of his touch. It was possibly the most intimate thing to ever happen to me, and I didn’t want it to end.
A wave of heat rolled through me with that thought, so I turned my attention back to finishing off my sandwich and gulping down the rest of my bottle of water. Roman had also given me a Powerade and a small bag of crackers, which I eagerly dug into. It was the largest meal I’d had in over a week.
I took my time, savoring each small, crunchy bite, the sting of the salt as it melted on my tongue, and the way a stack of two or three would crack and crumble in my mouth.
When there was no more, I let the tart, fruity taste of the Powerade slide over my tongue.
My skin tingled, the familiarity sparking somewhere in my mind, which was becoming muddy. Silver eyes stared at me, unblinking. Watching, waiting to strike.
A shiver moved down my spine, sending heat through my fire-laden limbs. There was something else swirling in their depths that made my body sing. A heat that lit me up.
My mind focused on that. On my captor’s long, slender fingers. My own danced across my skin as I wondered how they would feel, pulling from the few memories I had.
If it was anything like his gaze, I shuddered at the hard, appreciative, and power-filled feeling.
In the back of my mind I wondered if something was wrong with me. My thoughts weren’t right, nor was this tingling and desperate desire that crept through my veins with each beat of my heart.
My nipples tightened and my mouth parted, each breath heightening the sensation across my skin.
His eyes flashed away, and his jaw clenched. Sound filtered in, but I had a hard time focusing on the whispered words.
“Split her open…see what she looks like from the inside.”
I couldn’t pinpoint where they came from, only the soft clarity of them. There was a dark chuckle.
“Tap that shit until she’s airtight.”
Airtight? Will whoever she is blow up like a balloon and float away?
If I hold my breath, will that happen to me?
I couldn’t seem to focus on anything. Half a sentence, the cool air across my skin, Domenico’s eyes.
Domenico’s fire-filled eyes that showed the beast within.
I wanted him.
The beast.
Did I?
Why?
I wetted my lips, wishing I had something to drink. What happened to that bottle Roman gave me?
I scanned around my cage, lightly touching the blanket beside me, its normally coarse fabric setting off every nerve. A shudder rolled through me, and I rocked, a moan slipping between my lips, my clit pressing against something hard.
What was I looking for?
Oh, the bottle.
It sat on its side on the dirty floor, empty and making my thirst grow. My eyes were heavy when I looked up. Domenico still stared and my fingers flitted across my chest, imagining they were his hands.
It was a thought that should have disgusted me. Domenico was a godlike figure, and his assertive nature, combined with the way he watched me, was oddly appealing.
I was so thirsty. Where did my drink go?
I pulled my sweater over my head, my breath speeding up, and I bit down on my lower lip.
Domenico stared at me, and I watched anger and lust and other emotions cross his face.