“Four. We eat together, three meals a day. You don’t have to speak. You don’t even have to eat. But you will sit across from me at every meal, a constant reminder of why I attempt to be a better person.”
Something in the way he says it makes goosebumps erupt over my skin. Why am I his reminder? What the hell does that even mean?
“Five. When I ask you a question, you answer honestly, even if the truth hurts you or me.
“Six. My staff are invisible, they are here to serve us. No talking to them. If you want someone to talk to, you have me.”
I can’t help the hiss of disapproval that comes out of me at that idea.
It earns me a glare from him. “Seven. Obey me, and I will keep you safe. Break the rules, and I can’t promise protection—from me or anyone else.”
That rule, and the way he watches me as he says it, sends a shiver down my spine. What does he mean from him? What would he do to me if I didn’t obey him?
“Eight. You may ask for anything, but I will decide what you get.
“Nine. If you dare to run, I’ll find you. And next time, I will not show such restraint. You need to remember the monsters out there are worse than the beast within these walls.
“Ten. If you want to survive with me, learn to be a good girl and play nice.”
I sit up a little straighter, not sure how to respond to him. Fuck his rules, it’s not my choice to be here.
Before I can tell him as much, a server in a crisp clean uniform with slightly graying hair rolls a trolley into the room, stopping at Orlando’s side to present him with a meal under a gleaming silver cloche. “Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast, just the way you like it sir,” the kind-looking woman, probably in her mid to late fifties, says.
My stomach rumbles at the delicious smell of fresh bread and eggs wafting through the air. This is what I could smell when I woke up.
She turns toward me and approaches, her trolley squeaking slightly as it wheels along the polished floor. She’s a cheery kind of woman who looks happy to be going about her job as she smiles at me warmly. She places a silver tray down in front of me and uncovers the cloche. “Scrambled eggs, tomatoes, mushroom, and toast for you, my dear.” She beams at me, looking very pleased with herself.
And I can’t help but appreciate her vegetarian option. “Thank you,” I say back, offering her a small smile in return. I won’t be an asshole to these people; it’s not their fault I’m stuck here.
A low growl rumbles from Orlando’s chest, making the hair on my arms stand on end, and I flick my gaze back to him, indignant. I would hardly say a simple “thank you” to his staff for my meal constitutes a real conversation.
She moves on, unaffected by his hostility, taking a pitcher of milk from her tray, along with a jug of fresh coffee. Again, she serves him first, then she comes down to my end of the table and offers me coffee. I nod and motion for no milk when she goes to pour the milk. Just as quickly as she arrives, she leaves, pushing her trolley back out of the room.
I stare down at my food, inhaling deeply. It smells to die for, but am I actually about to die if I eat it? Is this what he does?Lures poor, unsuspecting girls into a false sense of security, then he poisons them and rips out their hearts. Or is he telling me the truth and there is a monster out there far worse than him.
“I didn’t poison your food, Ava.”
My eyes rise quickly to meet his. How did he know what I was thinking? “Stop calling me that. My name is Sloane.”
His eyes dance with amusement, I think happy he got a rise out of me. “Forgive me, Sloane, but we both know who you really are.” He scoops a mouthful of eggs and bacon into his mouth and chews, his eyes not leaving mine.
I glance back at my food, my stomach grumbling. Here goes nothing, Sloane, guess we’re about to find out if he wants me dead. But something tells me if he did, I already would be. He’s not the kind of guy to poison his victims. He probably slits their throat or shoots them right between the eyes. I swallow the lump in my throat, cutting into my toast with the butter knife he’s trusted me with. I pile up some fluffy eggs on top, before scooping the whole thing into my mouth. The creamy, buttery flavor hits my taste buds in a way that makes me moan out loud. I don’t even care if there is poison in this, I could die happily knowing this delicious meal was my last.
The two of us eat in silence, me focusing on my knife and fork in front of me as I eat each bite so I don’t have to remember where I am and who with. His stupid rules are swirling around my head. Even this asshole wants to control me. But he’s got another thing coming if he thinks I will just sit here and be his little yes girl. Fuck that shit.
I hear him place his knife and fork down on his plate, and I feel his eyes boring into me.
I cast a quick glance up, regretting it immediately when our eyes meet. Not able to finish my last mouthful, I place my utensils down and collect my coffee mug. I sip the hot black liquid, letting it slowly bring me back to life. A shiver runs overme when I see how bad my wrists look, all cut up from the rough rope. He has just about broken me. I look like the walking dead today, and I half feel like it as well. Anxiety swirls within me, and I wish I had my pills to help squish it down.
“What is it, Sloane?” he asks, his deep voice breaking the silence.
Not sure if I should ask for what I need or not, I chew the inside of my lip. He said I could ask, and I’m not sure how I’ll get through the day without them. Would he really be so cruel as to stop me from having medication I have been prescribed when he has clearly put so much thought into having everything else I needed prepared for me? “There is prescription medicine I take every day,” I start.
He nods as if he already knows. “The Lexapro Ricky prescribed you for your anxiety?”
“Yes,” I whisper, hating that he knows so much about me.
He sips his coffee. “I’ll see what I can do.”
