He reminds me of the man who was kept prisoner by my father... there's something about him... but he can't be that man because that man died. He was beaten to death by my father's firsthand man, his body disposed of in the river. They didn't want me to notice. But they allowed the details of the man's execution to be overheard. And I never saw who that man was. All I can remember is the sound of his screams. My dreams are plagued with guilt for not letting him go when I could have. But if I'd been found out, they'd have killed me.Who is this man who holds me captive? What plagues him at night causing him to writhe and scream in his sleep? What brought him here to where he is today? I know my own role in all of this.
What's his?
But I shouldn't concern myself with that. My biggest fear right now is what he'll do to me.
The shower turns off after only a few minutes. As with everything about this man, he's decided and efficient.
Was the name he gave me yesterday really his? When he gets out of the shower, it's the first thing I ask him.
"Is your name really Maksym?" I ask. "Or was that a lie too?"
I'm so intent on hearing his answer, that I don't really pay attention to the fact that he's standing in front of me wearing nothing but a towel slung about his trim, powerful waist, until he answers me.
"That is my name, but of course I expect you call me sir."
"Naturally," I respond on impulse.
He reaches for a small pile of clothes someone left on the table for him, and without hesitation lets the towel drop while he dresses himself. I look away, embarrassed, my heart beating rapidly in my chest at the sight of him naked. What this man could do to my body... it ought to scare the life out of me. And maybe it does.
He speaks to me over his shoulder.
"This is the only warning you get from me about the way you speak to me," he says. “I will not tolerate disrespect. If you speak rudely to me again, I'll have you gagged until I need you to speak to me again." His eyes meet mine. "And you will be punished."
My mouth has been getting me in trouble for years. I almost groan out loud. It's gotten me in trouble oh so many times that I wonder if I'll ever learn to curb it. I close my mouth. It seems a lot safer that way.
After dressing himself in clean jeans and a black t-shirt, he walks to me holding something pale lavender in his hand. I wonder how he'll dress me while I'm still cuffed, but my question is soon answered when he opens what's in his hands, a little dress. The buttons fasten on the shoulders. With his help, I step into the dress, and he adjusts my clothing expertly, as if he's dressed and undressed women before. He likely has.
I can't stop the constant questions that infiltrate my thoughts and mind, my internal dialogue, the nervous chatter he can't hear.
How many women has he abducted? What will he do to me? What will happen to me when he's gotten what he wants? What does he want from my father? Has someone he cares about been killed?
Where are we? What did he do with my bag and phone?
After dressing me, he has me lean on him while he slips on a pair of simple, nude-colored flats. I am not immune to his masculine scent and the feel of his strapping body beneath my hands. After being stripped and spanked, at his mercy I feel a little shy and awkward. Like it matters? My damp hair curls about my face in wild ringlets. I must look like an awkward teen next to him.
In silence, he leads me out of this room, this prison of mine, and into the next, where he slept the night before. The large shelves filled with books immediately indicate we're in a library of sorts. I'm not paying attention to the books, though, but to the elevator and doorways—a means of escape.
With firm, deliberate steps, he takes me to the elevator and pushes a button, accessing the panel with a swipe of his thumb. So there will be no elevator usage without fingerprint identification. Noted.
I don't know what this man plans to do with me, but I'm not going down without a fight. I'm going to find a means to escape. I'll let my father think I've been killed by them, taken, whatever. I'll escape this life of imprisonment, bloodshed, and violence, and find a way to start all over.
But first, the escape.
The elevator door swings open, and I blink in surprise. It's not empty. A slim, black-haired, beautiful woman stands inside. She doesn't look at all surprised to see us, but Maksym tightens beside me. He doesn't like that she's here.