The evil prick is leaning against the doorway in his fancy fecking suit, arms folded over his chest and staring at me indifferently. His gaze drops to my ankle, the skin around it is red and inflamed. Pulling a key out of his suit pocket, he walks over, and I instinctively scoot back.
“If you want this off, I’d suggest you hold still.”
He sits on the corner of the bed, unlocking the cuff without touching me, looking disapprovingly at my raw skin. “I’ll call Dr. Fujimoto to take care of this.”
“It’s just sore,” I say defensively, “I can handle it myself.”
“Apparently not. Were you trying to gnaw your foot off like a fox in a trap?”
“How apt,” I sneer, “and aye, something like that.”
“You brought this on yourself,” he says with that hateful, frigid tone.
“So, you wouldn’t be trying to escape a psychopath’s prison if you were trapped there?” He’s still sitting on the bed. I don’t like it. I don’t want him so close, with his scent of something sharp, like pine trees, and earthy like aged leather and whiskey. I can see the tip of the tattoo on his neck just under the collar of his dress shirt.
He leans closer, eyes blazing and that is worse.
“You’re not stupid, you know what happens to women in the Red Trade. Do you truly think this is the worst thing that could happen to you?”
“No.” My throat closes up and I shake my head. “I know it can be worse. But you’re torturing my family, aye? Torturing them instead of me. I canna understand what my people could have done to a rich bastard like you to make you hate us so.”
His horrible smile is back, the feral one he wore when he talked about wanting MacTavish blood. I scoot back, alarmed as he unbuttons his shirt, displaying his tanned skin. The snake tattoo seems to flicker its forked tongue at me as he pulls his shirt loose. This close, I can see that his colorful ink covers a multitude of scars; I know what a bullet wound looks like, and there are at least three scattered across his chest. There’s more scarring and he points to one on his ribs. There’s a skillfully drawn dagger over it that looks like it’s piercing his skin, right down to the drops of blood beneath the knife.
“Your brother stabbed me here. He was angling his blade between my ribs to get to my heart. I was unarmed, the cowardly son of bitch.”
“Which brother?” I whisper.
“Cameron.” His eyes are glittering with fury and I feel like I can see to the bottom of his blackened soul.
My chin goes up. “Whatever he did, I’m sure you deserved it.”
He laughs, and the sound is jarring. “Perhaps I’ll have you watch when I slit his throat.” Standing, he stretches, not bothering to button his shirt. “We’ll see if you’re ready to be obedient after a few days in solitude.”
“Wait!”
He turns with a frown.
“If you need yourrevenge,” I spit out the word, “If you’re so desperate for MacTavish blood, take mine and leave them alone. I dinna ken how long you’ve been like this, but…” I swallow hard. “End it now. With me. Then fecking moveon.”
“Oh, no, darling. You are my instrument of torture for your family, and I’m rather enjoying their suffering.”
He shuts the door and I scream in fury, limping over to pound on it. “Ya’ evil bastard! I hope Cameron stabs you again! I hope he guts you like a trout! You feckin’-” I hear him turn the key in the lock and his measured footsteps as he walks away.
***
Twenty steps.
Twenty steps from the French doors to the bathroom.
I don’t have anything to occupy myself, other than my thoughts. If I’m not pacing, I’m sitting in front of the locked doors leading to the terrace, watching the world go on without me. Ten days now since I was taken. Are my mother and father thinking I’m dead? Are my brothers mourning me already? Poor Cormac. I know he’ll take this failure to find me as his own.
Not only have they stripped the room of anything I could use as a weapon, they’ve also taken the books from the bookshelf and the TV off the wall. There’s nothing here but me and my thoughts.
The door opens and my meal is dropped carelessly on the table. I don’t bother to turn from the window to see who it is. I’ll eat because I have to stay strong.
“I was given this life because I am strong enough to bear it,” I whisper as the door shuts again.
“I’m a MacTavish.”
