as he wheels in a steel cart and the door slowly closes. My eyes fall to the ground and I feel like a fucking coward.
“Now now, kitten, stop that.” I look up at my captor, at my dom, with sad eyes.
“I just want to go home.” I say the words again and I'm sure I sound pathetic.
“You are home,” he says absolutely. It crushes something inside me and I have to work hard not to cry. I stand there while he wheels the cart over to the sofa and sets up covered dishes on the coffee table. I look between him and the locked door.
It could be so much worse. He was supposed to kill me. I close my eyes and steady my breathing as I consider how many other ways this could have gone. I just need to behave. He can’t keep me here forever.
“Come, kitten.” My feet move toward him before I’m even fully conscious of his command.
I start to sit on the sofa, but he holds his hand up and I freeze.
“On your knees,” he says.
I only hesitate a fraction of a second before gracefully sitting on my heels. I put my hands on my thighs where he placed them earlier. I can do this. I know I can. And I can win his trust and I can get the fuck out of here. I just need to role-play. I can do it. I know I can.
“Let’s play a game, kitten.” He starts talking and I give him my full attention, but I don’t want to play a game. I want to go home. I want to read my books, talk to my clients, and engage with my group of readers on social media. Every hour I’m away from them kills the interaction rates. It’s fucking horrible for business. I breathe in deeply. My books and my work are my life. And he’s murdering both of them right now.
“Between every bite we’ll ask each other a question.” He lifts a silver dome off of a plate and a delicious scent fills my lungs. I inhale deeply, loving the smell of peppers and sausage and eggs. I eye the dish. Omelets. My mouth waters. “Does that sound like fun to you?” he asks.
No, I think, but of course I answer, “Yes.”
“Does it really?” he asks, immediately countering my simple answer.
“Fun? No, it doesn’t. But it sounds like something to do,” I answer honestly out of instinct. I don’t have time to be nervous about it. He barks a laugh at my answer and lays a gentle hand on my hair.
“Thank you, kitten.” He leans down and plants a kiss in my hair and strokes me gently. It’s soothing, and I hate how comforting it is.
I look his body over as he moves to cut a piece of the omelet. I still don’t understand why a man like him would do this. I want to ask him. But I’m not going there. I think I’ll stick to, What’s the weather like outside, since I can’t fucking see it?
“I’ll go first, kitten,” he says as he stabs a piece of the egg and puts the fork in front of my mouth. I obediently open and wait for his question. “I know what happened with the Cassanos. But I want you to tell me what you saw.” I chew the food slowly as my blood chills. I don’t want to talk about it. I also don’t know if this is a test. Maybe he really does work for them. Maybe this is all a ploy of some sort. Anxiety creeps up on me. As if reading my mind, he reassures me.
“It’s not a trick. I’m just curious how it happened.” He sets the fork down as I swallow.
“Would it help if I tell you what I know?” he asks. I nod my head, still unable to speak. Everything that happened fucking destroyed me. I may have been a sweet, shy, book-loving nerd before, but at least I was strong and confident. Going through that shit robbed me of that. I don’t want to go back to that fucked up place.
“You saw three of their soldiers kill Judge Hawthort. He was killed by Michael Davis, and Joseph and Brandon Becker. And later you were able to identify them all as well as account for their missing kilos of dope,” he says.
I shake my head no and say, “He was alive. I’m fairly sure he was alive.” I didn’t testify that I saw