Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Zoe.” He cups my cheek. “You need to understand that the only choices you have from now on are the ones I give you. I advise you to make those choices carefully. Don’t waste them, because you’ll have little enough. More importantly, don’t test me. I’m not a patient man.”
Gripping his wrist, I move his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
His lips curve into a lazy smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to swallow those words.”
“Never,” I say through clenched teeth.
“We’ll see.” He points at the hallway. “Get a move on.”
I hurry away from him as fast as I can, but he follows close on my heel down the short hallway and into the room I once shared with my three brothers. Opening the dresser drawer, I take out the box of old photos and hand them to him. Doing so guts me, because those rare moments of our lives captured on film aren’t meant for his hateful, emotionless eyes.
“Thank you,” he says, accepting the box.
“I’ve given you what you want. Let Bruce go.”
“What’s Bruce to you?” He says the name with disdain.
“A kind neighbor.” My look is accusing. “He’s only ever been watching out for me.”
“There’s nothing romantic between you?”
I cross my arms. “No, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Do I need to remind you of your place?”
I avert my eyes, resenting him for taking my power. “You got what you wanted. Please, go.”
“I’m not here for the photos.”
Sick with fear, I look back at him. “What more do you want? You said you’d let us go.”
“I never said that.”
I take several steps back until my body hits the wall. “Did you lie? Are you going to kill us?”
“No.”
“What then?” My whole body is shaking. Even the hem of my skirt is trembling.
“First things first. We’re going out for dinner.” His gaze drops to my gaping blouse again. “Make yourself presentable.”
I stare at him. “Dinner?”
“You know,” his tone is dry, “the meal you have between seven and nine.”
“I have to go see Bruce,” I exclaim. “He’s hurt.”
He opens the top drawer of my dresser and starts going through it. “He’ll survive.”
Dashing forward, I grab his arm. “Hey! What are you doing?”
He stops and looks at where I’m touching him.
I loosen my fingers and remove my hand. “That’s mine, and it’s private.”
He sweeps aside my underwear and socks and checks underneath my sweater. He does the same with every drawer, and then pulls away the curtain to check inside the closet.
Without another word, he walks from the room and goes through the broom closet in the hallway before searching the closet in my late parents’ room.
Satisfied that there’s nothing of interest, he pulls out his phone. “We’re leaving in five. This is one of those precious choices I’m allowing you, Zoe. You can either fix your clothes, or we go as you are.”
“If I go with you, will you let Bruce go?”
“You’re not in a position to bargain. You are coming with me, but don’t worry about your neighbor. My business isn’t with him.”
Lifting the phone to his ear, he asks for a table for two while making his way back to the lounge. My chest is tight and my breathing shallow. Who is this arrogant man? What does he want? Is Damian in trouble? Is Bruce all right?
My tears are useless, but they flow anyway. Slipping into the bathroom, I lock the door. The window is too small to climb through. There’s no backdoor. I’m trapped in my apartment with a dangerous man, a foreigner with cruel eyes and unknown intentions, but Bruce is even worse off.
I stare at my face in the mirror. I’m a mess. My mascara is smeared under my eyes. The neat bun of this morning is partly undone, my hair wild. I open the tap and rinse my face, washing away the mascara. The pins drop to the floor as I undo my hair with shaky fingers. I don’t bother to pick them up. My brush is on the table in the lounge, and I’m not going there because he is there. Using my fingers, I comb through my hair to tame the tangles. Both my spare blouses are in the wash. I get a safety pin from the box with my needles and thread and pin the edges of the blouse together as best as I can. It takes longer than what it should because of how much I’m shaking. By the time I’m done, a knock falls on the door.
“Open the door, Zoe.”
For a fleeting moment, I consider not complying, but I can imagine how that will go. It won’t take much to kick down the door, and Bruce will suffer again because of my resistance. With my heart in my throat, I turn the key, but I don’t push down the handle. My brain refuses to obey the command. It takes me a moment to search for the courage, but before I find it, Maxime opens the door.