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I went to the bathroom to wash my hands. The air was still warm and faintly damp, thick with soap and steam. Then I noticed the green dress hung on the hook behind the door, torn and dark across the front. Beside it hung something else. A darker green bra. Lace. Gold thread.

Hands.

I was here to wash my hands.

I turned the tap to cold and held them under the water longer than necessary. The sink was small. The mirror was still fogged at the edges, and in the clear patch at its centre, a man stared back at me, and I did not like what I saw.

I wondered what would happen if I fed her by hand. Whether she would lick the food from my fingers or bite me.

I chased the thought away.

Chapter 11

Zuri

The food smelled so good it hurt. Char and pepper and caramelised sugar curled through the room and wrapped around my throat. My mouth watered so hard my molars ached. I hoped to God it was beef. No one did beef better than the Texans, or that was what Imani and Brielle had convinced me of over many a family cookout, with their dads arguing over the grill and the paper plates sagging under the sauce.

I felt a little guilty for calling him crazy. He’d remained calm at all times. He didn't have those crazed eyes I had glimpsed before he freed us.

He had told me, in the car, who was after us. The kind of people who bought women and owned the men meant to protect them. And I remembered Adrián. The way he had switched in a heartbeat, and the weight of him, and the cologne that now turned my stomach. The way he had tried to rape me.

I swallowed and bit back the tears. I hoped I had ruined his pretty face so he could never dupe another young woman. I hoped it scarred. I hoped every mirror he ever passed would remind him of my nails.

I sniffed the air.

The scent of the food was driving me crazy.

The tap was still running. What was he doing in there? I did not have the energy to turn and look. Then it hit me. The dress. The bra. Hanging on the hook, in plain sight, like a flag.

Oh God.

The tap stopped. I heard his footsteps, slow and unhurried, and my pulse jumped. I straightened my back and stared at my feet.

Someone had stacked the rope in neat circles from my ankles to my calves, like bracelets, like something chosen. It was almost pretty. That somehow made it worse.

Was I weird?

The ropes did not dig or rub against my skin. The strands were smooth, warm from his hands, nothing like the coarse twine Uncle used to tie the sacks of unga in his shop. I should have been terrified. Instead I was noting, clinically, that my fingers had not gone numb. Pre-dental brain. It never switched off.

I glanced up when I realised I still had no food in my mouth.

He stood by the nightstand. His brow furrowed. He looked confused, as if I were a problem he had not planned for. He let too much slip. Then his forehead smoothed, and the indifference slid back into place like a shutter. I was getting good at this. A few hours in his company and I was already reading the cracks.

My eyes lowered to his empty hand, which flexed. Once. As if it had reached for something and been told no.

“Food,” I said, keeping my tone curt enough for him not to notice me noticing him.

One grunt and he moved.

My head dipped to hide my smile.

He dragged the chair across the carpet, set it facing me and sat. The legs scraped. His long legs spread to make room for the rest of him, and my feet came to rest in the space between them, my bound ankles, my scraped soles, a hand’s breadth from his knees. The heat of him radiated through the cloth of his trousers. He noticed too. His jaw ticked, and he forced his eyes to the side before he reached for the food.

I rested my hands in my lap and watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. If I had possessed the energy, I would have laughed. I was the one tied up and he was the one who was uncomfortable.

The lid of the container opened with a damp creak. Steam rolled out, thick with cracked pepper and burnt sugar. My stomach clenched so hard it almost bent me double.

His hand finally lifted. Big, careful, stained at the thumb with sauce. My mouth watered at the sight of the succulent beef pulling away from the bone, glossy and dark and burnished at the edges. I did not wait for him to offer it twice.