they're not Lorenzo's either."
"Yeah. You're all just a bunch of mindless soldiers, right?" I asked as we stepped out into Lorenzo's apartment, the man himself throwing back a whiskey in the kitchen. "No thoughts of your own. Just do what you're told. How pathetic is that?" I asked, looking over at Lorenzo, chin lifting.
"Put her in her room. I'm not in the mood tonight."
"The truth is so inconvenient, huh?" I asked as he made his way across the living room.
He stopped in the opening of the hallway, leaning down, eyes hard. "Watch the mouth, hellcat, or I will bring out the duct tape again."
With that, he went off into his room, slamming the door.
I was led to my room, and it didn't escape me that there was now a lock on the outside.
"Turn around," Emilio demanded when I stepped into the threshold. "I will undo the cuffs."
"So you can lock me in my room," I hissed, feeling the cuffs release, my shoulders crying out when I could finally swing my arms forward as I turned to face Emilio.
"Hey, not my fault you fucked up your escape attempt, babe," he said, shrugging, waiting for me to take a step inside, then reaching for the door. "Now you gotta deal with tightened security. I'm on duty tonight, so if you need anything, just call."
At this point, I'd rather starve to death than have to ask these guys for anything.
Really, what had I been smoking to have thought they were all kind of charming before my escape attempt? How was I able to distance the men themselves from the acts they had done? Some of them to me?
Maybe I had a little of my father in me after all.
Maybe I had somehow let myself romanticize these men, had somehow been able to excuse their crime because they hadn't treated me badly after they'd taken me. No one had hurt me, abused me.
But there was one problem with that thought process.
They hadn't hurt or abused me yet.
Clearly, if given the order, they would.
That was how the mafia worked, wasn't it?
Family over everything.
Even their own moral compasses.
They would string me up and slit my throat if the boss demanded it.
It wouldn't matter how many things they bought me, how much food they brought me, how well they had treated me if the end was me in a shallow grave somewhere.
Frustrated, I dropped down on the edge of the bed, taking a few deep breaths, trying to consider any exit strategies.
It was about fifteen minutes later, and I was no further along with any ideas, when I heard Lorenzo make his way across the hallway, going into the gym. There was a short pause before I could hear his footsteps on the treadmill, the pace set to punishing. Like he was trying to outrun something.
As committed as I was to hating him, an annoying little voice wondered if what he was trying to do was run away from his desire for me.
But that was ridiculous.
Sure, he had wanted me.
There had been no mistaking that.
But that didn't make it personal.
Men like him probably thought of it as some sort of twisted power play. Make the poor, abducted woman want you, then take advantage of that.
It wasn't personal.
It wasn't about me.
It was about the situation.
He got off on dominance.
And maybe the push and pull, the fighting.
And that made him pretty fucked up, didn't it?
Then again, I was just as fucked up if I was wet just at the memory of that scene in the kitchen, damnit.
"Ugh," I growled, getting to my feet, going into the bathroom, running a shower. Cold. Because I was trying to shock some damn sense into my system.
I went to sleep pissed at myself, at Lorenzo, at the entire situation.
I tossed and turned to dirty dreams about us.
And woke up even more frustrated—mentally and physically—than I had been when I'd gone to bed.
There was a sharp rap at my door, making me shoot up in bed.
The outside lock slid, but the door didn't open.
I guess that was my wakeup call.
My presence was being requested.
A petty part of me wanted to stubbornly stay in my bed. Only better sense dragged me out, realizing that if I refused to follow directions, Lorenzo would come in. Things would get physical.
In a way I was trying to convince myself I no longer wanted. You know, with him being a bad guy and all.
On a sigh, I made my way to the door, into the hall, the living room.
In