The Woman in the Trunk

Maybe I had a little of my father in me after all.

Maybe I had somehow let myself romanticize these men, had somehow been able to excuse their crime because they hadn't treated me badly after they'd taken me. No one had hurt me, abused me.

But there was one problem with that thought process.

They hadn't hurt or abused me yet.

Clearly, if given the order, they would.

That was how the mafia worked, wasn't it?

Family over everything.

Even their own moral compasses.

They would string me up and slit my throat if the boss demanded it.

It wouldn't matter how many things they bought me, how much food they brought me, how well they had treated me if the end was me in a shallow grave somewhere.

Frustrated, I dropped down on the edge of the bed, taking a few deep breaths, trying to consider any exit strategies.

It was about fifteen minutes later, and I was no further along with any ideas, when I heard Lorenzo make his way across the hallway, going into the gym. There was a short pause before I could hear his footsteps on the treadmill, the pace set to punishing. Like he was trying to outrun something.

As committed as I was to hating him, an annoying little voice wondered if what he was trying to do was run away from his desire for me.

But that was ridiculous.

Sure, he had wanted me.

There had been no mistaking that.

But that didn't make it personal.

Men like him probably thought of it as some sort of twisted power play. Make the poor, abducted woman want you, then take advantage of that.

It wasn't personal.

It wasn't about me.

It was about the situation.

He got off on dominance.

And maybe the push and pull, the fighting.

And that made him pretty fucked up, didn't it?

Then again, I was just as fucked up if I was wet just at the memory of that scene in the kitchen, damnit.

"Ugh," I growled, getting to my feet, going into the bathroom, running a shower. Cold. Because I was trying to shock some damn sense into my system.

I went to sleep pissed at myself, at Lorenzo, at the entire situation.

I tossed and turned to dirty dreams about us.

And woke up even more frustrated—mentally and physically—than I had been when I'd gone to bed.

There was a sharp rap at my door, making me shoot up in bed.

The outside lock slid, but the door didn't open.

I guess that was my wakeup call.

My presence was being requested.

A petty part of me wanted to stubbornly stay in my bed. Only better sense dragged me out, realizing that if I refused to follow directions, Lorenzo would come in. Things would get physical.

In a way I was trying to convince myself I no longer wanted. You know, with him being a bad guy and all.

On a sigh, I made my way to the door, into the hall, the living room.

In the kitchen, Lorenzo was unpacking breakfast, little round foil packages that smelled like eggs.

Breakfast sandwiches, I guessed.

My stomach churned, but I didn't reach for one.

"Eat," he demanded, waving a hand to the assortment of bagels.

When I didn't immediately fall into line and reach for a bagel, his gaze cut to me for a moment, making my chin raise, defiant. It was a pathetic stance to take, but it was all I had in the moment.

His hand grabbed a bagel, moving around the island. "It takes thirty days to starve yourself to death, hellcat. I don't think you have that kind of discipline. Eat the fucking sandwich," he demanded, slamming it down in front of me. "Or do you want me to shove it in your mouth?" he asked, innuendo clear in his voice, in the glint in his eye.

"Try it," I dared him, head dipping to the side a bit, a challenge. "I'll bite it off," I told him, watching as his lips twitched.

"Thought we covered this, Gigi," he said, head dipping a little to get more in my face. "You'll get it when you beg for it."

"That's never going to happen."

"Pretty sure you thought that last time too."

"Yes, well, that was before I realized what an evil bastard you are," I told him.

"Oh, you knew exactly what kind of evil bastard I was all along, babe. You just don't want to admit to yourself that you're turned on by that. But you'll come around," he said, giving me an infuriatingly smug smirk as he moved off into his bedroom.

I took the sandwich that Lorenzo had put in front of me, taking a few bites as I made myself a cup of coffee. My gaze went to the unmanned elevator. Hinting at freedom it wouldn't give me now that a guard was stationed full-time at the bottom.

At least he was out of this space. At least no one else was around to witness these interactions between Lorenzo and me.