And was dragged back, an iron bar around her waist and a scream welling from her diaphragm.
“I told you,” he said when she ran out of breath, a warm exhale touching her ear.“Every time, beautiful.”
Jesus Christ, where did he come from?Even if he’d been waiting in the bedroom, how in thehellhad he caught her?
She’d barely taken six steps.Liv thrashed, screamed, kicked, tried to elbow him, tried to bite.He kept sayingcalm down,and didn’t react even when her elbow found something she hoped was tender and his breath huffed out.
“I told you,” he repeated.“It’s all right.See?Not gonna hurt you, calm down.”
She went limp again, staring at that traitorous door and the hall beyond, a window across the hall letting in a sword of pale sunlight.Heavy, threadbare red velvet curtains flanked that tantalizing escape hatch, and the parquet between it and her was absolutely spotless.“Let go, goddamn you,let me go,” she raved, but it made no difference.
He just waited until she sagged in defeat, still staring at the hallway.
“Better.”He even soundedsoothing, for God’s sake.“Now, you can try that again, as many times as you want.It’s only natural.We understand.”
Understand, hell.She willed the hallway to move closer, willed the earth to open up and swallow this entire fucking place, willed her brain to think of a way out of this.
“Potential’s waking up,” he muttered.“Okay.Good.You want some breakfast?”
What the fuck?Her stomach cramped.“Let me go,” she said again, hopelessly.
“Not gonna happen, beautiful.”But his arms loosened.“You can try it again, or you can have something to eat and I’ll answer your questions.Or both.I’ve got time.”He set her on her toes, and she pitched forward again.He let go, and she made it a grand total of two steps before he caught her once more.
This time he carried her into the bedroom, and she began fighting again until he stopped near a small, wooden table—too heavy to lift, too solidly constructed to take apart and smash the windows, she’d already tried—with two also-heavy wooden chairs.There was a family-sized container of Trading Jay’s honey Greek yogurt and a carton of blueberries, along with a bottle of mineral water, arranged neatly on a white linen placemat.
What the fuck?The world came to a screeching halt.It had to be a coincidence.
“This is what you like, right?”He even sounded a little wistful.Eager to please, maybe.“You want some coffee?We didn’t know if you’re coffee or tea, or one of those decaf people.”
I’d rather have withdrawal headaches than ask you for anything.She stared at the familiar, cheery yellow yogurt container.Had they beenwatchingher?Dear God.She wasn’t interesting enough to be stalked, not that it mattered.Stalking was about power.Control.At least, all the literature said so, and she’d heard all the stories.
Every single awful, murderous one.“Oh Jesus,” she whispered.“I don’t even know you.I don’t know any of you.Just let me go.”
“If you sit down and eat, we can talk.I’ll tell you everything you want to know, all right?”
It was an attempt to get her to collude in her own imprisonment, but there were nutrients in the yogurt and she needed all of them if she was going to avoid brainwashing.Sleep deprivation, infantilization, and lack of protein—the holy trinity of indoctrination, let alone Stockholm syndrome.
Liv didn’t intend to play along.“What did you put in the water?”
“The water?Uh, it’s municipal.Nothing but chlorine and fluoride.Why?”
“Bullshit.”
“There’s nothing in the water, beautiful.Nothing in the food either.”
From what she could see, the yogurt container was unopened.It might even be safe.There was silverware—a fork, two spoons, andsilverwas definitely the word.They looked heavy, too, and absolutely antique.No knife, but she could use the fork, right?If she could steal it, or a spoon?—
“Put me down.”
Much to her surprise, he immediately did.When she staggered, he also steadied her.She flinched away; his hand fell to his side as she put the table between them.He had his back to the bedroom door, and getting past him would be a chore and a half unless she could somehow stick the heavy silver fork in a vital area.
“You can try,” he said again, almost gently.“I don’t bleed easy,lirai.”
“My name’s not Larry.”Her throat was dry; the blueberries looked wonderfully tempting.Her stomach growled.
“Lirai.It’s a… look, this’ll go better if you eat.You’ll pass out if you don’t, you can’t fight without fuel.”
It didn’t help that he was probably right.Liv eyed the yogurt.“I thought you wanted me compliant.”
