Page 12 of Game of Revenge
“Insolent brat,” he growled as he walked out.
I quickly got up in a futile attempt to try to leave behind him, but he was already out, locking the door.
I screamed in anger and started crying. I was livid. Who did this man think he was? He kidnapped me, insulted me, and somehow expected me to do, what, behave? This brute had no idea who I was, but if he wanted me to be a nice little wallflower that wouldn’t talk to keep him happy, he had another thing coming.
Chapter 5
Dolores brought me both lunch and dinner for a couple days, but I couldn’t eat. On the third day, when she came to escort me to the bathroom to have a shower, she insisted that I wear the dress instead of the gym clothes, but I refused. After I was taken back to my room, I spent the day in bed, half asleep.
The next day, after I barely touched my breakfast, Dolores told me that I was expected to go to lunch, but I not so respectfully declined. Fear was causing me to be depressed, my earlier resolve to escape looking quite dire. This house, from what I could tell during my short bathroom breaks, was much better guarded than the previous location.
With all the men that stood guard around the house, it felt like I was in the middle of a wolf pack, with Alejandro at the head. They clearly had a rotation, my every move under the gaze of at least three men. As time went by, nothing changed, no mistake, no avenue for escape.
If it wasn’t for Dolores telling me the day and time, I would have had no notion of it, and it was affecting me tremendously. I was surprised when she came in with a small digital clock in her hand. The small amount of freedom and control that came in that moment was priceless, providing comfort and a semblance of normalcy to this situation.
It was about seven p.m. on a Thursday, well over two weeks since I had been home, when Alejandro came into my room without knocking. He was dressed in all black, his hair wet, and his curls pushed back. I was still lying in bed and pulled the sheets higher to my neck as he made his way to my side.
“We are going to have dinner together tonight,” he announced.
“I don’t want to.”
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
“I’m not hungry,” I tried to explain, staring at him.
“Yes, you are, and you look like death.”
I turned my head to avoid his gaze.
“I expect to see you for dinner in ten minutes,” he ordered before he walked out, leaving a trail of masculine fragrance notes behind him, teasing my nostrils and piquing my interest despite my best judgment.
There was no way I was going to join this man for dinner—or anything, for that matter. Dolores walked in behind him and sat on the corner of the bed.
“Por favor, señorita, go to dinner. You need to eat.”
I didn’t answer. While I saw concern in Dolores’s dark eyes, I was here in this house against my will. I didn’t have to dine with my captor on top of it.
“He’s a good man, señorita. Just, eh…bad tempered right now.”
“A good man?! Que secuestra?” How could she call a kidnapper a good man?
“Ay, no sabia que hablabas español!” she said with a smile, pleased that I answered her in her native tongue.
“Si, vivia en Mexico por un tiempo antes,” I answered, explaining to Dolores that I had lived in Mexico.
My first language was one of the few things from my life in Mexico that Richard wasn't able to get rid of.
“Ay, que bueno.” She paused, seemingly thinking about what to say next.
“Yo se que las cosas son raras,” she proceeded to explain. “But it's…esta complicado todo.”
Dolores stopped, seemingly toeing the line between making me feel more comfortable and telling me too much.
“What?” I pressed. “What is so complicated? He just wants money.”
“No, señorita.”
“What do you mean?”