He regards me with those flat, frank eyes. “It’ll be easier for both of us if you calm down.”
The driver looks at me in the rearview mirror. He’s clutching the wheel hard. His friend has one hand on the gun in his holster. I take it all in, jumping to the obvious conclusions.
“Over here.” The clicking of Maxime’s fingers draws my gaze. He’s pointing at his face. “Eyes on me. That’s better.”
To my utter shame, my lip starts to wobble. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No.” Maxime squeezes my hand and places it in my lap. “Why would I feed you if I was going to kill you? I already told you, I don’t want to hurt you.”
But he will if I don’t do what he wants. If he doesn’t want to tell me what he wants, it must be bad. This isn’t a random kidnapping. Maxime targeted me for a reason. It has something to do with Damian. Maxime knows who I am. He knows where I live. He knows I live alone. He waited for me, knowing at what time I’d be arriving home from work.
Oh, my God. “Have you been stalking me?”
His smile is as flat as his eyes, like soda that’s lost its bubbles. “The old lady in your building was only too happy to tell me everything I wanted to know.”
“Mrs. Smit?” I gasp.
“It’s amazing what a cup of tea and a slice of cake can buy.”
“That’s disgusting. You used that poor old lady.”
“At least I’m not a stalker.”
“Great.” I stare through the window. “That makes me feel so much better.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”
I turn my head back to him. “Really? You’re lecturing me on my attitude?”
Focused on his phone again, he says, “I’ll lecture you whenever I deem it necessary.”
“Bruce would’ve called the police by now. They’ll be looking for your men.” I glance at the two guards again, but their eyes are trained on the road.
“Not for the theft of a cellphone. Your police have enough murders to keep them busy.”
“You stole his cellphone?” I cry out.
He lifts a shoulder. “Motive for the forced entry and assault.”
“You bastard.”
The lines around his eyes tighten. “This is the last time I’m going to warn you about your language.”
“Bruce is innocent. He’s not rich like you. He can’t afford another phone. How can you be so cruel?”
He chuckles. “You haven’t seen cruelty yet, little flower.”
“This is Brixton, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed,” he replies in a dry tone.
Meaning, the man who is carrying me off is worse than the neighborhood I’ve been trying to escape my whole life. I can’t help but laugh in a hysterical fit at the irony.
“Something funny?” he asks.
“My life.”
“You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.”
I snort.
He takes a packet of tissues from the side of the door and drops it in my lap. “Any allergies or food dislikes I need to know about?”
I’m not going to wipe my eyes on his tissues. I use the back of my hand instead. “Couldn’t find that out, huh? Why, your power does have limits.”
Gripping my jaw, he doesn’t squeeze hard enough to hurt, but with enough force to let me feel the underlying threat. “If you went for your regular health checks, I would’ve known.”
I jerk free. “Yeah, well, doctor visits cost money.”
“We’ll correct that shortly.”
“Correct what?” My pulse jumps again. “Why?”
“Just focus on what’s important now. I asked you a question.”
“I’m not answering your questions any longer. By now Bruce is safe. You can’t manipulate me by hurting him anymore.” I lift my chin. “When you let me out of this car, I’ll run. I’ll scream. You can’t just take me.”
Cruel calculation flashes in his eyes as he leans closer, pressing me against the door. “Do you know what an easy target a man in jail is?” He brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “You see, Zoe, a man behind bars is nothing but a sitting duck. One word from me and your brother is dead.”
Tears blur my vision. I slap away his hand. “I don’t believe you.”
He gets out of my face, giving me space to breathe. “Zane works for me. That, my pretty flower, you better believe.”
The punch hits me straight in the gut, because what I do know is that Damian loves his cellmate like a brother. I feel sick. I want to spit in Maxime’s face.
“I’ll only ask you one more time,” he says. “Do you have allergies or is there any food you hate?”
I clench my hands in my lap. “I’m not a fussy eater, and I don’t have allergies.”
“Medication?”
I frown. “What?”
His harsh features are emphasized by the shadows playing over his face as we pass under the bridge. “Are you on any medication?”
I fumble with my sleeves, a nervous habit. “Why are you asking?”
“Alcohol is prohibited with some medications.”
“No, nothing.”
Glancing at my restless fingers, he folds his hand over mine. “In that case, I hope you’ll let me order for you.”
Normally, I’d take offense to anyone making my decisions, especially deciding what I should eat, but this situation is so far removed from normal it feels unreal. What feels too real is where he’s touching me. I’m like a kid with a vicious dog, tensing up, waiting for the moment it’s going to bite, but then he pulls his hand away. My chest expands with a breath.
After dropping the threat on Damian’s life like a hand grenade in my lap, Maxime continues to work on his phone quietly.
I have to warn Damian.
I look at the passing landscape while scheming, noting the landmarks as we drive north. Since we were kids, Damian and I had a secret code language. Our code words for trouble at home were apple pie.
I’ll get word to Damian. I’ll warn him Zane isn’t his friend.
My turbulent thoughts are cut short when we stop at Seven Seas in Sandton. Only the wealthy and famous eat here. My monthly salary won’t even cover a starter. I’ve seen pictures, but the private mansion converted into a restaurant is much more imposing in real life. The modern double story building is encased almost entirely in glass and situated on a vast, green lawn.
The blond guy opens my door. Ignoring his proffered hand, I get out. Maxime comes around to take my arm and steer me to the entrance. I can’t help but stare at the lights in the double story foyer when we enter. A modern chandelier reaches all the way from the top level to the ground floor in a cascade of golden bulbs.
A hostess bustles over. “Max.” She kisses his cheeks before taking his jacket. “Welcome back.”
I suppress the urge to push the toe of my shoe into the carpet to hide the scruff where the color has worn off.
Her gaze flickers over me. “No bag for the lady?”
From her red Balenciaga number, it’s obvious my antique lace blouse and mermaid skirt don’t fit here, but I made them, and I love them.