Buttons and Shame (Buttons 4)

Cane stared at me most of the time over dinner. We sat at the large dining table in front of the window that faced the gardens in the backyard. It was too large for just two people. It was even too big for ten people. “It’s good.” He ate much slower than I expected him to. Tristan and his men devoured their food like starving wolves. I had to sit there and watch them feast on delicacies while they threw scraps on the floor and made me eat them like a dog. “Thank you for making it.”

He didn’t give me much of a choice. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I need a woman to cook for me. My brother has a butler. Now I understand why.”

“What did you do for meals before?”

He shrugged. “Since I was in the city, I just walked into town and picked something up.”

“Then why did you move out here?”

“An investment. Change of scenery. My brother has a place in the fields, and it’s nice.”

He’d mentioned his brother twice now. “Are you close with him?”

He shrugged. “I’d die for him, but we fight a lot.”

Interesting response. “Do you see him often?”

“We work together, so I see him more than I’d like to.”

I wondered if his brother knew I existed. “With the business you’re doing with Tristan?”

He nodded. “He also runs a winery in western Tuscany. That’s how he launders a lot of our money.”

“Oh…” I took another bite of my food. “Does he know about me?”

“Yeah…wasn’t happy about it.”

“Because he’s against trafficking?”

“He is, but that wasn’t why he was pissed. He’s angry Tristan won’t be paying us up front. He’ll get over it.”

I hoped there would be people out there appalled at my treatment, but no one seemed to care. “I see…” I took another bite even though I was full. All I could think about was what would happen once dinner was over. My heart rate wouldn’t slow down, and sweat formed on the back of my neck and my palms.

He took a bite of the bread, his eyes trained on me the entire time. Instead of drinking wine, he had a glass of scotch. I’d never seen him drink anything else besides that and water. “I want to know more about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How old are you?”

I had a birthday not too long ago. I didn’t know exactly when it occurred because I was locked up in a bedroom with no grasp of time. “Twenty-three.”

“What were you doing when you were captured?”

I remembered that day vividly. “Lizzie and I just graduated college, and we planned a trip to Greece to celebrate. We were only there for a day when we got in the back of a taxi and sacks were pulled over our heads.” I thought about my family, who were probably still searching for me.

“What were you studying?”

“Liberal arts. I want to be a fourth-grade teacher.” I noticed the tense I used and realized my ambitions would never happen now. I would die at the hands of my captor. One day, he would hit me a little too hard and cave my skull in. My body would be dumped into the ocean, and no one would ever find me.

Cane drank his scotch and licked his lips. “Teaching a bunch of brats for shit pay doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

“They aren’t brats. And I don’t care about the pay.”

“Everyone cares about the pay.”

“Not true.” As long as I had a place to live and food on the table, I’d be happy. It didn’t take much to make a home besides love, friends, and family.

Cane didn’t press the argument. “You were a virgin until you turned twenty-three?”

That was a sore subject. “I don’t want to talk about it…” Cane may own me, but he couldn’t get me to talk if I didn’t want to.

He kept his fingers around his glass. “Why not?”

I nearly rolled my eyes. “I think that’s obvious.”

“Don’t people say it’s better to talk about things? Get them off our chests?”

“You aren’t my shrink.”

“I’m the best you’re going to get.” He uncapped the decanter and poured some scotch into my glass even though I never asked for any. “Come on, talk to me.”

“Why do you want to talk to me? You said you want to fuck me. So fuck me and that’s it.” I didn’t know why I was being so hostile when Cane was pleasant to me most of the time.

“And I intend to—sooner rather than later. But a nice conversation wouldn’t hurt.”

I pushed my food around with my fork.

“Still not gonna talk, huh?”

“Why don’t you tell me something really personal about yourself?” I demanded. “Maybe I’m loaned out to you for the month, but that certainly doesn’t mean you own me.”

“My life isn’t that interesting,” he said. “And the only reason why I ask is because you seemed pretty experienced. Best blow job I’ve ever gotten.”