part0028

T he next four days seemed to fly by. And even though Hart had promised more answers in the morning, I hadn’t seen him in days. I wondered if he had left unexpectedly on another one of his business trips, but no matter who I asked, I always heard the same answer. ‘He’s busy.’ I wasn’t entirely upset about this, though; it meant at least for the time being, I was safe from him. No more interrogations, no more punishments, or rules. Well…there were still rules. He just wasn’t there to enforce them.

Nonetheless, I made the most of my time, exploring the grounds, and searching for a way out. By my count, there were eighteen guards on the outer perimeter, at least twelve inside—three or four to each floor, but they moved around constantly. They never stopped roaming, one moment I thought I had an accurate count, and then another one would show up and throw it off. It made confirming numbers difficult, but after I started giving them names based on their appearance, it was easier to identify them.

And then there was Reuben, who could be found every day in the kitchen at lunch time, eating a Reuben sandwich. The whole kitchen would smell like sauerkraut well into the evening.

On the outer perimeter, there were the twins—two identical brothers, not much older than eighteen. I suspected they were new to the team because they often left their post and had to be yelled at to return to it immediately.

If I ever found my chance, I noted that their post, the far west corner of the property, might be the easiest obstacle to sneak past. Inside the house, I noticed several locked doors, and nearly every door had an electronic keypad next to it. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if the house lost power? How did they even get power out in the middle of nowhere?

To my surprise, my door’s keypad still remained green and only locked at night when I returned to my room for the evening. Fearful that it would still be locked in the morning, I found it hard to sleep most nights. I suppose I should be thankful, but I wasn’t. It only gave me a false sense of hope, making hell seem more like the Bahamas, when no matter how luxurious the amenities, I was still being held prisoner.

Today had been another bright and sunny day, as I walked around outside. To the guards, I probably looked like I was just picking the wildflowers that bordered the outer edge of the property, but I was really trying to see what the terrain was like past the manicured lawn.

After a while, I stumbled upon a path that was rocky and uneven, but often traveled. Following the line of sight, I could make out the shape of a large, square, metal storage tank, just behind the thick brush. From the sky, I imagine it was completely concealed, the wide span of the canopy camouflaging it. A shiver ran down my back as I realized that was where I probably spent those five, agonizing days.

Nodding to the guard, I gathered a few more flowers and walked back to the house. It was only a little after lunch, and I was running out of places to explore. Except for the basement, but from my understanding, I needed an escort to go down there. Even then, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go down there again.

Already knowing my way around, I went back to my room, catching one of the cleaning ladies, Rosa, in the hallway. “Do you know where I could find a vase?” I asked her.

She smiled and replied in Spanish, but I knew almost none of it. Understanding that there was a clear language barrier, she held up her finger and said, “Un momento, por favor .” I understood that. She disappeared into a closet at the end of the hall and returned with a small white, crystal glass vase.

“Gracias ,” I said, smiling.

I rearranged the flowers on the top of my dresser and filled the vase with water when my attention was pulled away by the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. It was him . I could never forget the sound of his footsteps.

He was back. I looked up to find him in the doorway a second later. He didn’t knock or ask to come in, he just walked right through. I took a step back hesitantly, not even realizing that I was putting distance between us. Immediately when he noticed me moving away, he stopped advancing.

Thank you. I thought silently to myself. He had to know his effect on me, the fear he had instilled after everything he had put me through.

He looked over at the flowers I had just set out and said, “They’re pretty…even if most of them are weeds.” It was an attempt to say something nice, but it didn’t come out that way.

He gave me one of the familiar, sideways stares, warning me to watch myself when he said, “Dinner is at seven tonight; I expect you there and dressed accordingly.” He was straight to the point.

He had turned to leave when I spoke up, making him stop and turn back toward me. “Whatever gave you the impression, anything here was optional?” he asked, a little bitterness in his voice.

I listened until I knew he was walking down the stairwell. I desperately needed to find Charlotte. She would know what to do. When the coast was clear, and I was sure I wouldn’t run into Hart again, I rounded the corner and headed toward the pool, remembering how much Charlotte liked to spend her days out there. Walking down the grand corridor that lead to the walled-in courtyard, I cut through the cluster of manicured trees until I reached the massive inlaid pool. Just as I suspected, Charlotte was spread out on one of the plush chairs, her back bare and her chest pressed into the beach towel, hiding her bare breasts from the guards that stood nearby.

I nudged Charlotte’s shoulder, hoping I wasn’t waking her. “Charlotte, I could really use some help. Can we go somewhere else?” I asked, impatiently, my eyes darting over to the guards who were in earshot of our conversation.

Rolling onto her side, exposing one of her breasts and not in the least concerned about it, she looked up at me with groggy eyes. And then she saw my worried face, and she grew concerned. “Umm. Yeah,” she said, looking around us, waiting as if something was going to leap out of the shadows and explain why I couldn’t talk openly where we were.

I walked over to the farthest end of the pool, away from the guards and prying eyes. When I looked back, Charlotte had stopped to pick up her bikini top and slip it over her arms, tying it while she walked over to me. She didn’t seem to care that anyone saw her perfectly round breasts.

With one last glance toward the guards, I sat down, dipping my feet into the deep end. The walls of the pool were lined with intricate mosaic tiles and the water was deliciously warm, a sweet escape from the sun’s heat.

I flicked my feet in the water, savoring the cool gentle caress of the waves before saying, “Hart wants me to go to dinner with him—that monster of a man.” I growled the words as I said them, as if they left a distasteful hindrance on my tongue.

But as I said the words, her concerned look turned into a puzzled one. “So, what’s the problem?” She asked, not quite following. “And you should be more careful with how you talk about him,” she said, her eyes darted over to the guards, but they weren’t paying much attention to us. “If the guards hear you, they won’t hesitate to mention it to the Captain or Mr. Hart himself. Most of them think Hart is a God. And right now, I’d say you’re not exactly in good favor with them.” She hesitated, “All I’m saying is that you should be more cautious. And less judgmental—you don’t know what he’s been through. What he has to do to keep everyone here safe.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, she was defending him. He saved her from a horrible situation, and now he was her knight in shining armor. There was a psychology term for this, I think, remembering back to my days of college psychology.

Stockholm Syndrome . When the captive forms an unbreakable bond with the captor. I shook my head—that wouldn’t be me.

Nothing he did could sway her opinion, that part was clear. “I don’t care what his goons think, I said a little louder than I intended, catching the attention of one of the guards. “And it’s a problem because one, I don’t know what time it is,” I snapped, “and two, I haven’t the slightest idea what to wear, and three, I don’t want to go,” I said angrily. “I’m just one big puppet here.” I continued in a tone that matched Hart’s perfectly, “Do this… Do th at… Follow the rules, and if you don’t, well then, I know just what to do with you,” I raised my voice, mocking Hart. I was attracting unwanted attention. Several heads from the other side of the pool had turned, watching me lose my cool.

Charlotte grabbed my arm and pulled me up and around the corner, behind the cover of a potted palm tree so that we wouldn’t be overheard easily.

“Hey!” She barked back at me. “I get that you’re stressed out, and this is all very new to you, but you need to take a step back. I’m here to help you.” She stopped, her voice becoming a little gentler. “I’m a friend, not a foe, so don’t treat me like one.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes again, but she was right. “I’m sorry. It’s just that he puts me on edge, and I still don’t fully understand what the hell is going on. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” I said, apologizing.

Charlotte was my closest ally here, even if we didn’t see Hart in the same capacity. He was her angel. I just couldn’t get on board with that.

She gave me a small smile and said, “I get it; I really do. I’ll help you in a little bit, and I’ll make sure you arrive on time. Meanwhile, your closet is unlocked. The first few dresses in there are more casual than the others. I’m assuming that is what Mr. Hart is expecting you to wear.” She looked down at my rolled-up jeans, caked with mud stains from my earlier adventures. “And no more jeans.” She shook her head. “Wear a dress,” she said firmly, disapproval heavy on her voice. “I’ll be up there shortly.”

After some time, Charlotte finally came upstairs. I had already showered, blown my hair dry, and selected a dress from the closet. It was simple, a black cocktail dress. Nothing fancy, and nothing that would draw too much attention—at least not away from the marks on my neck .

I took my time getting ready. I was in no rush to spend the evening with him. One meal had been enough, and there had been someone else there to offset his glaring, overbearing tendencies. But this time would be different—it was just the two of us.

A quick knock took my attention away. Charlotte stepped through the already cracked door. When she saw me, she rushed toward me, staring at the fading bruises on my body and neck. Good, it was working. Grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the bathroom again, she said, “Come here, we have to cover those up.”

“But he did it. He wants to see me, so he’ll get all of me—bruises and all.” She might have covered up, layer after layer of makeup to hide what Hart had done, but not me. I would be respectful, I would play his game, but I wouldn’t pretend he was an innocent. He did this to me, and I was going to make him look at his handiwork. Showing off my bruises with pride was the only way I knew how to get back at him. And just maybe, he might see the extent of the damage he caused.

“Does he make you do this? Dinner—that is,” I asked, pacing the room as the sun started to set off in the distance. I continued pacing, waiting for her response. I was seriously debating not going at all; that would certainly show him that he didn’t own me. That I wasn’t just going to answer every beck and call, but I was reminded of what would happen when I didn’t follow his rules.

Charlotte shook her head, “Not normally. He might sit down with me from time to time, but it’s not often that he cares for company when he eats. It usually is just a coincidence if we do come together for a meal.”

Charlotte smiled, “I bought one off the maids shortly after I got here.” She held out a watch in her hands and placed her finger up to her lips. “I keep it hidden in my room, but don’t say anything to anyone,” she said.

I was dreading every step in his general direction. Sitting at a table with him , having to converse small talk over a table with a man I despised was not exactly something I had in mind. But then again, none of this was what I had imagined I’d be doing.

Just outside the doorway, I stopped and turned around. I didn’t want to do this and debated walking away just then. He had to realize that I wasn’t willing to forgive or forget what he had done to me just because he apologized and claimed he was trying to protect me.

I nearly rolled my eyes, biting down hard on my lip to stop myself. Sighing, this was going to be a long night. “I wasn’t going to come,” I said truthfully.

Laid out before us were two place settings, on the opposite ends of the table. Good . At least he had the decency to give me the much-needed buffer zone. When I looked up, he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. It was subtle, but I noticed that his attention was drawn to my shoulder, the bruise, a mustardy, yellow color now, and to the still red circles on my neck. He shifted slightly. When I caught his glance, he pulled his eyes back to me and scanned my body once over .

I did the same to him. He was wearing a black suit and a plain white linen shirt, no tie. The first few buttons of his shirt were undone. He looked relaxed, at ease, and completely one hundred percent in control of this awkward dinner arrangement. His hair was more tamed than usual. Maybe today had been better than the rest, and he didn’t need to run his hand through his hair in agitation as much as he usually did.

I needed space, space between us, and he wasn’t giving me that. He grazed my arm with his hand as he reached around and pulled out a chair for me to sit. Nervously, I did. He smiled slightly and returned back to his place across from the table.

He knew the effect he had over me. He knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t the physical torture I was being forced to endure but a new kind, filled with mental games and psychological tactics. Torture really, yet I had to pretend to actually tolerate him enough to sit down for dinner.

As soon as he took his place, one of the kitchen aids brought out a bottle of wine and poured a small portion into my glass. Without saying a word, he motioned, waiting for me to try it. I knew the etiquette, he wanted me to approve the wine.

I remember the first time we had met, and the drink that changed my life, and I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He could have easily added whatever concoction of drugs he wanted, but there was only a small amount in the glass, and I had watched the server open the bottle. I struggled to convince myself that Hart was telling me the truth, that it was the man beside me that night who drugged me and not him. I had no way of knowing if he had been lying or not, but I had to take that risk.

The second the tip of my tongue touched the wine, my taste buds exploded. It was smooth and just tangy enough to leave my taste buds popping afterward; the tingle left a delightful spark on my palate.

I gave the server my approval, and he smiled, filled the rest of my glass, and then poured one for Hart. When I turned my attention back to him, he was watching me again, his eyes evaluating everything, that animalistic vibe radiating from his body again.

He smirked, “I’m just wondering if I need to take away the butter knife too.” There was no chuckle; he was serious. Did he think I was going to jump across the table and attack him with a butter knife? Well, to be honest, it had crossed my mind. But there was no way I could gain the element of surprise with him sitting across from me, even if I had a blunt piece of polished silver in my hand.

“Are you worried?” I asked, looking down at the knife next to my plate. I wasn’t going to do anything, but it was about time I make him squirm in his seat. I had been playing his game for too long. Now it was my turn.

What did that mean? I wasn’t going to disagree with him; I’m not sure I had it in me either, but how did he know what a killer looked like? Was he one? The question I had been asking myself for days now resurfaced again.

I’ll just check that box right next to cartel kingpin, kidnapper, cocaine salesman, control freak, and the ‘I have sexy hair’ box. It didn’t change anything. I knew he was dangerous and part of me had suspected that he was capable of killing or had already. That didn’t change the way I saw him. He was still a monster.

The server returned with our first dish, setting it gently down in front of us—a leafy green mix with candied walnuts, dried cranberries tossed in a light, tangy dressing. I had never been much of a fan of salads, but the first bite was enough to change my mind, possibly for the rest of my life.

The long and uncomfortable silence was enough to make me wish I was back in my room, at least there I could be more at ease. Now, all I heard was the beating of my own heart and the occasional clinking sounds the forks would make as they grazed the outer edge of the plate. We finished our salads without so much as a peep, and they were quickly replaced with the main course. Lamb chops, garlic mashed potatoes, wilted spinach all topped in a savory red wine sauce.

It honestly looked like something that had come right out of a five-star restaurant. The meat was cooked to a perfect temperature, so tender that it could be cut with a fork, it just fell right off the bone, and it explained why I hadn’t been given a steak knife.

I took the first bite and was in heaven. It was by far the best meal I’d had in weeks. But the more and more I ate, the more I wondered, why tonight? Why have me sit down for dinner, and not say a word? What was his end game?

Finally, after a few minutes of dissecting everything and letting my mind get the best of me, I set my fork and knife down and asked, “Why am I here?”

Twisting my napkin under the table, I cringed. Crap.

I took a deep breath and collected as many of my thoughts as I could. He had been analyzing me since the day I arrived, and unknowingly, I had been doing the same to him. “You always need to be in control—that much is clear. You’re meticulous, organized, no doubt a very strategic mind judging by the many chess boards you have throughout the house. But you manipulate people, guiding and steering people in the path you want them to take. You wouldn’t have asked—ordered,” I corrected myself, “me to be here tonight if you didn’t have an ulterior motive,” I paused. I stared him down. “Should I be worried about what happens next?” I asked. “Because if, so, I might reconsider the butter knife scenario.”

He smiled, laughing lightly, all while listening intently. The devilish look in his eyes was a warning. I think he would have liked to see how the latter scenario turned out. Finally, he said, “You could try, but I don’t imagine you’d succeed,” he said, testing me.

“That depends; how sure of yourself are you?” he pushed. “If you’re going to make a stab at someone, aim here,” he said, tapping his fingers against his chest. “You’ll want an angle, to avoid the chest plate.” He continued, picking up his own knife and giving me the visual demonstration. “Thrust hard, because you’ll only get one shot.”

“Say, for argument's sake, you do manage to succeed. What then? You’ll have to make a run for it. But where to? I’m sure you’ve come to the realization now; you’re completely surrounded by water.”

Hart watched me, deciphering me so easily. “Oh?” he said, entertained, “You’ve figured that part out? Please, indulge me.” He grinned wickedly. “Is that what you managed to unravel on all of your little scouting escapades?”

“There is, several in fact,” he confirmed. “Don’t get your hopes up though. Both require expertise you do not have…,” he paused, “…but then there is the alternative. Aren’t you the least bit curious?” he asked, toying with me once more. “In the chance that you don’t succeed, what do you think will happen?”

No matter what, I couldn’t be so easily played. In that moment, several things were swarming around in my head but more than anything, I was angry. Not with him—okay, he was starting a fire, but I had given him all the fuel he needed. I was mad at myself.

“Go on then; make that run,” he stared at me from across the grand table, our eyes locked on each other. “You know deep down, I will find you. You’d better hope it’s before Savoy does. It might take a few minutes or hours, but I will find you in the end. And the only way off this island, is if I take you.” His voice was calm and collected, and then he reminded himself of something. “Oh, and thank you for drawing my attention to the twins, by the way.” He wiped his face, folded up his napkin, and set it on the plate. “I have already taken the appropriate action needed to reinforce the weak spots in the perimeter, in case you’re wondering.”

There it was again, he’d out-maneuvered me, and it only took a few hours. I was back to square one…well, maybe not entirely. I still had freedom to roam the grounds, just not a way out yet.

“I will get away from you,” I said, biting back. Mark my words.

“I see you haven’t lost that mouth of yours.” He looked smug. “A toast,” he raised his glass and waited for me to do the same. Hesitantly, I raised mine, equally curious to know what he was planning, and remembering the last time he had raised a toast to me. With challenging eyes, and a tormenting smirk, he said, “To smart-mouths and dwindling free wills.”

I returned the toast, but as he took a sip, I held my glass steady, “And a promise,” I added, making him pause. “I will never stop fighting.” My stare, catching his own from across the tension filled room, was all but enough to make his broody, intense glaze falter.

We were interrupted with dessert, as it was placed before us. A small, round chocolate cake, covered in a thick gooey, ganache and raspberries for garnish. I loved chocolate, and I was sure it tasted amazing, but our banter had pushed my cravings to the back of my mind, squashing any real appetite I had left.

“I know you’ve told me this before,” I said, “but to reiterate, seeing as you have no intention of letting me leave, and if I am forced to stay here…” I paused, watching one of his eyebrows arch in inquisitiveness, “then I have a few demands.”

“No, not at all,” I said. “You’ve taken me from my home, you’ve bound me in chains, tortured me, and controlled every aspect of my life since arriving. You tell me you’re sorry, but nothing has changed, leaving me as your prisoner, and even then, prisoners are allowed to make requests. So, here are mine: I want a clock in my room. I want reassurances that I can continue to roam the grounds, and I want something to read—books, magazines, anything to occupy my time.”

“I assure you, your time will be well occupied,” he gave no facial cues as to what he meant by that, but I could only imagine the worst. “And your ability to roam the grounds is a privilege, not a right.”

He smirked, looked at me intensely, but he was impossible to read—did he think I was crazy? “I’ll take them into consideration,” he said, “But I have to admit, this is another first. I’ve never been given a list of demands.” He seemed amused.

Neither one of us had touched the dessert. Hart realizing that, pushed his chair back, buttoning his jacket as he stood. With motive, he strode toward me, a hunger in his eyes that hadn’t been satisfied over dinner. He stopped behind me, grabbing each side of the chair, the electricity in the air sparking. There it was again, this power he had over me. A power that with simple proximity, could make my pulse race, my breathing quickened. Was it fear? Adrenaline? Or something else?

He pulled my chair out from the table, and extended a hand, waiting patiently for me to take it. Looking into his eyes, I hoped to discover the real motive behind his intentions, checking to see if his eyes were the same mesmerizing green as when I had first met him or the terrifying black that echoed depths of anger and destruction. As I looked into his eyes, all I could see was an eagerness, but for what, I wasn’t sure.

Hesitantly, I stood on my own, refusing to take his outstretched hand. Please don’t lead me back downstairs, I thought. I took a step back from him, keeping a foot between us at all times. I’m not sure where it came from, but a shiver ran down my spine as he walked me out of the dining room.

Hart studied the panic under my façade and saw it as clear as day, turning away from me when I caught him watching, studying as usual. A moment later, he turned back to look at me, his face suddenly torn—the hungry primal thirst miraculously pushed aside to reveal a level sense of control. “I’m escorting you back to your room.”

“I only mean to see you back safely, I assure you.” He held his hand out to me once more. “You see a monster; I know you do. Ready to pounce the moment the curtain draws black across the sky.” He stared into my eyes, as if they were revealing my every thought. “But I can assure you, I am so much more. Even monsters have limits.