Wild Ride(13)
She awoke when fingers of light stroked across her eyelids. She blinked and sat up, glancing around the cell. She smelled the unmistakable aroma of bacon and her stomach grumbled. She was hungry, and she had to pee. When would Killer return and let her out?
She stood up and walked to the door. She wrapped her hands around the bars and peered out, ready to call his name. But the door moved a little. Startled, she pulled on the bars and the door swung toward her.
It wasn’t locked?
She stepped out of the cell and glanced down the dingy hall. She walked past the door they’d entered last evening and headed for the stairway at the end of the hall. She walked up the narrow steps and opened the door at the top. The bright sunlit room she entered was a sharp contrast to the dimly lit basement. She blinked, getting used to the brightness, and saw she was in a luxurious living area with comfy chairs and a couch, and a big window overlooking the ocean beyond. The sunlight glittering on the waves washing onto the white sandy beach.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Killer’s voice startled her and she turned to see him standing in a doorway holding two plates. Her nostrils flared, drawing in the delightful aroma of the bacon strips lying beside fluffy scrambled eggs. He walked toward a table, set for two, and set the plates down. There was orange juice and a pot of coffee on the table.
“I thought I’d have to come and drag you out of that cell. I was surprised you chose to spend the night there.” He sat down at the table and poured coffee into the two cups.
“I didn’t choose. I was—” She bit back the rest of her sentence. “At least, I thought I was locked in.”
“But you weren’t.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me think I was locked in.”
“I didn’t make you think or do anything.”
“But you knew I would assume…”
“Do you want to go through life making assumptions that keep you locked in a little box?”
She frowned. “It’s hard to question everything,” she said defensively.
“And equally difficult to question nothing.” He tilted his head. “You need to make your own way in life. Make decisions based on what you want. Stop blaming others or circumstances for your unhappiness. It’s only you who truly has control of your own life.”
Anger sliced through her. Who was this man to judge her? She raised her hand and swung it to slap him across the face, but he grabbed her wrist and twisted it around, using her own momentum to send her sprawling onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her arms pinned to her side.
“Now you will sit down and eat your breakfast.”
“Because you command it?” she demanded through gritted teeth.
“No, because you’re hungry.” He smiled and she almost thought she saw humor glitter in the amber depths of his eyes. “And because you like bacon.”
She pursed her lips.
“Or will you allow your anger and pride to control you, stopping you from enjoying what you so clearly want?”
She gazed at the plate of food waiting for her on the table, but she had a feeling he was referring to more than breakfast.
He released her and she stood up, then frowned.
“Bathroom?”
He pointed to a short hallway off to the left and she skittered away, then returned a few minutes later and sat in the chair. She ate silently. The eggs, so fluffy and light, melted in her mouth. The bacon, infused with a maple glaze, delighted her tongue.
“This is the only time I will make you a meal. From now on, that’s your duty.”
“My duty? What am I? Your slave?”
He smiled. “Exactly.”
She frowned. “But I thought you said I have control of my own life. That I need to make my own decisions.”
“That’s right. And you decided to get on a stranger’s bike and put yourself at his mercy. And you can decide to walk out the door right now and try to make your way back to the resort. Or get lost wandering through the thick brush. Did you know there are snakes on the island?”
Her skin crawled at the thought of a long, scaly snake slithering across her foot. Maybe coiling around her leg.
“So really I have no choice. I either stay here and follow your commands, or I risk death pursuing my freedom.”
“There are many more choices than that. You may choose to stay here but defy me.” He leaned forward and stroked her temple with the backs of his fingers, and his voice softened. “Or you might choose to submit to me and enjoy being my slave.”
His words sent a shiver through her. Not just because of his tone, and the images those words elicited of her kneeling before him, bowing her head, but of the heady delight that skittered through her at those images.