When she didn’t respond I traced a thumb down her cheek causing her to jut her chin up. I’d seen her do that hundreds of times. Usually before she might throw a solid right hook. It seemed in the years we’d been apart she’d learned constraint.
“As I said before, you can do what you want, but you can’t make me like it.”
I tipped my thumb down to her bottom lip and watched something else bloom through the anger in her eyes. Then she stepped back and it was a battle won, at least on this field.
“You can go settle in and I’ll see you at dinner.” I passed her toward my office and closed the door behind me. I’d won that battle of wills by my body didn’t know it. Blood coursed into parts of me I’d ignored for far too long.
I sat behind my desk, willing my body and my brain to agreement. Memory and fantasy swirled together and I couldn’t separate the two. The sadistic part of me wished she recognized me, knew who I was. But it would come too soon and, I needed more time.
When I finally pushed the thoughts of her laid over various flat surfaces from my mind, I turned to matters still needing dealt with. Which included the destruction of the entire Mondego family—her family—for what they did to me.
Cinder block and steel bars threatened to close around me until I took a deep breath. A cleansing breath and shoved them out of my head. The priest taught me to master my thoughts, my body, and my mind. I wasn’t going to fail him now that I’d finally reached my end game.
I opened an old leather journal, the only thing on the huge onyx expanse of my desk, and flipped to the last weathered page. I stared down at the numbered list written in a neat scrawl I practiced for years, and crossed off the first name.
1,.Mercedes
More important peoplefollowed her and she’d be the key to ripping apart their lives one by one.
I checked the clock and then stared down at the line through Mercedes’ name. It might be premature, she hasn’t put up much of a fight yet, but I had no doubt it would come. And I’d been prepared for this game board for years.
Somewhere in the house a clock chimed. I pushed off my desk to standing and went to find my prisoner of war.
She stood close to where I’d left her except now her hair was pulled up in a messy knot and she’d removed her blouse to reveal a tan tank top underneath, almost matching her dark olive skin tone.
I gestured toward the dining room where dinner lay neatly on the far end of the table. I pulled a chair out for her but she passed it by and sat herself before the other place setting.
Instead of arguing I sat in the chair I pulled out as if I’d done it on purpose. I pulled the lid off the plate and set it aside. The scent of pasta, herbs, and oil wafted in a wave of steam across my face. I started eating, not sparing her a glance, until the chime of her own cover being set aside alerted me she wasn’t about to go on a hunger strike. She tucked in energetically and I wondered when she last ate.
No. Caring wasn’t part of this arrangement. I focused on my own and meal and poured a glass of red wine. It was what I missed most in prison. When I got out I made it a point to stock up every single one of my houses.
She cleared her throat and asked, “can I have some of that?”
I gave her a questioning look and she pointed at the wine. I poured a few inches and waited while she tasted it.
“So, you’re not a complete savage then.”
She started eating again, and I watched the look of satisfaction spread across her features with every sip.
“Do you like the food as well?”
“It’s fine.”
“But…”
“But…any food eaten in captivity tastes like cardboard.”
I sat back, needing distance, as my anger flashed through me heating my bones and igniting my nerves. “No, I find food in captivity tastes better than on the outside. There are so few things to look forward to when locked away.”
She realized her error, her eyes going wide.
I took the wine bottle, and my glass, and stood up. “I’ll leave you to your meal.”
I headed toward the door and stopped, turning back. “Oh, we have an engagement tomorrow night. I’ll send your outfit before it’s time to get ready. And before you ask, yes you have to wear it. Or go naked.”
I made sure she could see the anger in my face, the hard set of my jaw as I stared her down. “See…you do have choices here.”
Three
