“I know you’re awake,” X says, his voice hard with irritation. “There’s no point pretending.”
Grimacing, I push myself upright. I’m still on the sofa where he left me. Thankfully, he’s removed the bucket I threw up into, and he’s cut the zip ties on my wrists. Something about that fact sends fear rushing down my spine. If he’s decided to untie me, he must know there’s no way for me to escape.
I look blearily around the room, taking in my surroundings. I’m in what looks like a cabin. This room is an open-plan lounge-slash-kitchen; I’m sitting on a stained pink sofa. In front of me is a small kitchen nook with an oven, a fridge-freezer, and a dining room table covered in a red-checked cloth. There are layers of thick foam stuck to the walls, which I guess must act as sound insulation.
I turn my head. There aren’t any windows, but I note the corridor running off to the right, lined with doors. I know one of them leads to a bathroom, but I’m not sure about the others. There must be an exit somewhere.
There’s a clatter, and I look back at X. He’s standing in the kitchen in a pink apron, pulling a roast chicken out of the oven.
He doesn’t look anything like I expected. I’d been picturing him as some terrifying, muscle-bound behemoth. A movie villain. Instead, he just looks like a regular middle-aged man. His pale brown hair is thinning, and his eyes are small and watery under a pair of wire-frame glasses. He’s not tall or short. Not attractive or ugly. His accent sounds like a mix of English and American. He’s just… average. It seems ridiculous that someone so average could do something so terrible.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he drones. “I cooked dinner for us both.” He sets down the tray of chicken with an angry clatter, slamming the oven door shut with his thigh. “It’s going to be lovely.”
I need to buy myself time. The last time I woke up, he was pretty gentle with me in the beginning. I shudder as I remember him stroking my back as I threw up. His hands felt horrible—sweaty and soft, the pads too fleshy. But I prefer gross to dangerous.
“X,” I say softly. He doesn’t respond, lifting the lid off a saucepan and checking inside. “X.”
“What?” He snaps.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for being rude. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He turns on me, his pale eyes flashing. “Areyou? Or are you just saying that so I’ll let you go?”
I hunch up. “I’m sorry. I think it was the drugs. My head wasn’t clear, I didn’t realise what was happening.”
He grunts, turning back to the stove.
I lick my lips. “I was… disorientated. But I do remember you.”
He snorts. “Yeah? Where did we meet?”
“I don’t remember the venue. I just remember—” I fight the violent urge to gag, “a, ah, handsome man with kind eyes, picking up my handbag.”
He doesn’t say anything, stabbing a carving fork into the chicken.
I try a different tack. “When I woke up here, I thought you wanted to hurt me. I’m used to men trying to take advantage of me.”
He twitches with interest, but doesn’t look up, pulling the meat off the bone.
“But… ” I swallow thickly. “But I can see now, you’re not like the other guys. You want to take care of me.”
“And what about that man?” He asks, loading a plate with chicken. “The bodyguard?”
“Who?”
“I saw you kissing him. It was all over the magazines. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. I thought maybe he was going undercover as your date. Maybe the studio was making you take those pictures. I know that happens in the industry all the time. But now—” His lips press together. “I don’t know if I believe that anymore.”
He must be talking about Matt. I swallow, my mind running so fast I can barely catch my thoughts.What does this man want to hear?
“He made me,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “He’s… so much bigger than me.”
It’s the right thing to say. His shoulders relax. He drops the knife with a clang into the sink and rushes over to me, dropping to his knees at my side. “Iknewit. Oh, sweetheart,” he croons. I close my eyes, letting real tears slip down my cheeks, and he makes a soft noise. “Oh, it’s okay, darling. You’re safe, now. He can’t touch you anymore. I promise. I’ll keep you safe.” He wipes tears off my skin. “You perfect, perfect girl. Of course he forced you. I’m so sorry for ever thinking otherwise. God, I’m such anidiot.”He slaps himself in the forehead.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For believing me.”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to kill him.”
I shake my head. “No. Don’t hurt him. C-could you call the police? I’ve been too scared to do it myself. I want to report him.”
