Page 44 of Arseni
How did I…
What?
I blink at him, sweat prickling the back of my neck.Lip Ring told me I was wanted upstairs—three out of four words total he’s spoken—but I’m not sure this man is the owner of this home.He looks too polite to be a killer.
“Please.”The man with the mole gestures to the chair next to him.“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I had Rosemary make a little of everything.”
My forehead wrinkles as I take in the spread.
This is for me?
And there’s a Rosemary here?
Does she know I’ve been kidnapped?Could she help me?
“Please, sit,” the man prods, a cheerfulness in his voice that eases pressure in my lungs.It’s silly, but after days of being disregarded, I can’t help but appreciate the pleasantness.
I sit where he instructed and take a plate he passes to me.He smiles, all lips, before taking a sip of his coffee.
“I apologize for not introducing myself sooner.I’m Nikita, Arseni’s friend.”
Arseni’s friend.Arseni, who’s barely said a word to me for three days.Who barely looks at me during his infrequent trips to the basement, feeding me just enough to keep the stomach pain at bay.I’m sure Arseni has said many good things.
“Nice to meet you,” I say while eyeing the scones.I cautiously grab one, the scent so heavenly, I bring the bread to my nose.
I take the first bite slowly, the fresh-baked pastry crumbling between my teeth before softening to a doughy ball of sugar.I close my eyes and exhale, iced glaze sticking to my fingers.I take care to go slow, concentrating on every chew, but eventually, it hits how ridiculous it is to worry about how I appear to the people who are starving me.
I shove pastry into my mouth, one hurried bite after another until it’s devoured.Eggs are next, the steaming yellow protein clouds collecting in a pile with every spoonful I topple onto my plate.
“Hungry?”Nikita asks with a laugh.
Alaugh.
I freeze like I’ve been caught doing something naughty, sweet crumbs sticking to my lips.The serving spoon clinks against the dish as I return it then wipe crumbs off my mouth with the back of my hand.
“You’re a bit of a character, aren’t you?”He pushes his coffee away to lay his elbows on the table.
I squint at him while nibbling on cantaloupe.
“When the kid first told me about you, I expected a leopard-print wearing soccer mom with fake tits and bloated lips, but you aremuchsneakier.You look plain.”
Plain.I don’t respond to that.On anyone else’s lips, it would be an insult, but his voice is so light, it sounds like a compliment.
Why am I up here?
Is this…?
As my stomach turns, I rest the cantaloupe on the plate and pull a napkin onto my lap.My movements are smooth, unhurried, and though I avoid his eyes, I wonder if he can see the sudden onslaught of fear that consumes me as viciously as I devoured the scone.
This is my owner.
Of coursehe’d want to introduce himself.I’m not up here to have breakfast with a kind mystery man.I’m here so my master can get a better look at me.
Duh.Fucking duh.
I cover my mouth as the digesting scone lurches up my throat.It’s subtle, I think.I swallow it back down and keep my face turned away.
The disgusting part of this is that I should be relieved to be passed off from Arseni.This man is closer to my age.He’s handsome.Clean cut dark blond hair, polite demeanor.He’s like Austin, except with a lot more money and blood on his hands.
