Anger floods me, along with determination so powerful that it sharpens every sense.
How dare he?
I dry my face on a towel that smells slightly citrusy.
I’m inhisroom?
His bed?
I will make him pay for this.
Teeth gritted, I glance around.There’s another window, high up.I stand on my tiptoes to check it.Unsurprisingly I notice the same, familiar blinking light next to it.
With my shoulders pulled back, resolved to find a way out of this, I leave the bathroom.
There’s no visible phone.No intercom.
Knowing there has to be something here, I slide out each one of his dresser drawers, rummaging through his belongings, looking for a knife or maybe a gun.
There’s nothing.
And dear God, the man doesn’t own a single pair of underwear.
Blowing out a breath but undeterred, I walk into his massive closet.
Not that I’m surprised, but every hanger is the same, and they’re spaced the exact same distance apart.Each of his tailored suit coats face the same direction.His shirts are stacked in perfect, sharp-edged, color-coordinated columns—white, black, a couple that are blue.
My kidnapper’s leather belts are hung in a straight row, with the buckles aligned.Ties rolled or folded, not draped.A watch case sits on a shelf, each slot filled, each face dark and severe—tools, not jewelry.
Even his shoes are lined heel-to-toe, and they’re polished so well I can see the blur of my reflection in the leather.
It hits me then—he isn’t just tidy.He’s a man with a compulsive need for order.For control.My captor is someone who can’t stand evidence of mess, of softness, or even humanity.
And there’s nothing personal here that will give me a clue as to who he is.There’s not a single branded hoodie.There’s no sentimental junk shoved to the back.Instead, there’s cold precision.
A shiver runs through me, and I tell myself—lie to myself—that I’ve been in worse positions.I have sat across from men who wanted me dead and smiled while I calculated how quickly Santo could draw.I have walked into rooms where the air itself felt hostile and emerged untouched.
No matter what, I am my father’s daughter, and I am not helpless.
He and his men will be looking for me.And they’ll turn the world upside down to find me.
I won’t be held captive by this monster for very long.
Shamelessly I continue to root through his clothes until I find a pair of gray sweatpants that has a drawstring.They’re ridiculously big for me, but they’re better than being half naked.
And I shrug into a maroon-colored sweatshirt.
Texas?
So I’m still in my home state?
Feeling less vulnerable, I return to the bedroom.
That’s when I hear it.
A muted sound on the other side of the door.
I grab hold of one of the lamps, yanking the plug from the outlet.Then I tiptoe to stand behind the door.
