“It’s a magazine. I take pictures for it.” I have no idea if she even knows what a magazine is.
“I saw your camera when you first arrived.” She weaves her fingers together and looks down at them. “It broke when Papa Rich—”
“Can you stop calling him that?” I snap. “You aren’t a child. It makes you come across as…” I take a deep calming breath. “You do realize you are a grown woman, right?”
Her eyes narrow, and I see her breathing change. She stiffens her spine, and the rosy hue in her cheeks pale. She stands. “I’ll go cook you something for breakfast. Pap—my father has already left for work down the hill, so it’s just us today.”
She goes to the door, and I try to stop her. “Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so mean. It’s just that—”
She opens the door and leaves without saying another word.
I look around the room and consider all options again and again. I could try to break a crate and use the splintered wood as a weapon. But against who? As frustrating as Ember is, I’m not going to harm the woman. I really feel deep down that she is just as much a captive as me. I haven’t seen Richard since the first meeting, and I can already tell the man is smart. I highly doubt he will come close enough for me to use any form of violence in my favor. Not only isn’t the chain long enough to allow me to climb on a crate to see through the window, I’d never fit through the rectangular opening if I were to break the glass. I already screamed for help, and that got me nowhere.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
There is a high possibility a search party would be called to look for me. Unless somehow the crazy man is actually able to convince authorities I fell to my death like he claims he can. But without being able to see out the window, I won’t know when to shout and make as much ruckus as I can. I’m not foolish enough to be at it all hours of the day. Pushing the patience of an unstable man isn’t wise, and I would rather not be killed for testing the limits too far.
Ember.
She’s my only chance of getting out of here—I know this, and I keep telling myself this and yet, I’m failing at actually listening. And I just successfully pissed her off. She wants to trust me. She wants to like me. I can see she wants to prove herself to her fucked up Papa Rich and be the perfect wife in this sick world they live in. She desperately wants me to be the Prince Charming she reads about in her books in that haunted shack of a schoolhouse.
Fucking with a woman’s mind is not how I roll. It never has been. I have always said it like it is, to the point where I can be considered an asshole. But I have always preferred to be a straight forward asshole rather than a slimy, lying prick. I don’t do pick-up lines. I don’t tell a woman what she wants to hear just to get in her pants. I don’t bang chicks for the mere sport of it.
But here I am.
I have no choice but to fuck with this poor woman’s mind if I ever want to escape. I have to play this demented chess game. Except in this game, I’m nothing but a weak pawn.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My hands shake and my head pounds. I need coffee. Actually, I need a shot of whiskey, a few uppers to help me face my day, but I’ll settle for coffee to try to take this edge off.
I look at the door and figure that Ember will be returning soon with breakfast. I need to do a better job and can’t scare her away anymore. I need her on my side.
Getting up and walking to the bathroom to clean up, I mentally prepare for what will no doubt be the hardest thing I will ever do in my life. I know I am highly intelligent—an attribute that has always benefitted me in my life. I’m also a fighter—another quality that has served me well. Yes, I’m chained in a cellar in an old mining ghost town, soon to be presumed dead. But I’m not going to throw in the towel. Not yet.
Richard will regret the day he chose me to marry his daughter. I’ll make damn fucking sure of it.
8
Ember
Concentrating on not dropping the tray of food, I somehow open the door and enter with Pine Cone close at my heels. She’s not used to ever being without me, nor all my attention not being focused on her. I keep my eyes on the scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast, not really wanting to look directly at Christopher. He makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t know if I am scared of him, like him, hate him, or feel bad for him. All I know is my knees want to buckle as I enter the room.