Page 16 of Game of Revenge

“Much better,” he said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “obediente como deberías de ser,” he declared with a smirk of satisfaction on his face and victory flickering in his eyes.

Ugh, of course.

I was furious at myself for letting him kiss and touch me like that. I was ashamed for giving in so easily, letting this man think he could control me by violently forcing me to kiss him and now calling me “obedient as I should be.” I was at a loss for words.

I looked up and saw Dolores standing by the door, her hands on her lips. I looked around in the dark, but I couldn’t see where the road led. We were clearly not off a public street. This wasn’t going to be an easy escape in the middle of the night, even if I somehow managed to outrun Alejandro.

There was nowhere to go but where I ran from, in the house of this man who was looking at me like he had won something. I quickly ran past Alejandro and up the stairs. I was shaking, but I had to get away from him. Dolores took me by the arms gently when I reached the top of the stairs, guiding me to my room. I was in shock, and the walk was a blur, a wasted opportunity to continue to map the floor plan in my head.

When we got to the room, Dolores left me, with the door open, and returned with a glass of water that she put on one of the nightstands before leaving me alone. I quickly changed into the gym clothes that had been washed and neatly folded for me on the bed.

That kiss, and all the different currents it had sent through my weak and shameless body, was haunting me, and I felt guilty for it. Guilty that I took pleasure from my kidnapper. Guilty that I had a fiancé out there who was probably looking for me. Oh gosh, I hadn’t considered how George was fairing with all of this. Was he devastated? Was he trying to find me?

There was no denying that Alejandro was attractive. There was no denying that he was trying to manipulate me into submission—through physical attraction apparently.

And with the way my body had melted against his, he probably believed he had succeeded.

He was going to fail—miserably. If anyone was going to do any manipulation, it was me, as I had everything to lose if I didn’t play my cards right. He could physically harm me, force me—or worse, I could lose my life—and no kiss, however amazing and confusing it was, was going to change that.

Chapter 6

When Dolores entered the room the next day, I was already awake. I had barely been able to sleep for most of the night, the kiss flashing in my head every time I closed my eyes.

After taking me to my daily shower, Dolores took me back to the room, where some new clothes were waiting for me on the bed.

“Espero que estén de tu tamaño,” said Dolores with the brightest smile on her lips, proud of herself.

“Thank you, Dolores. I'm sure they will fit.”

I couldn’t help but get a little excited at the prospect of changing clothes more often. It made me feel like I was still a person. It made me feel like I still had some control over my life.

I started trying on the jeans and the shirts once Dolores left. Two pairs of jeans fit me perfectly. It was easier with the shirts. I settled for a yellow shirt with delicate hand-embroidered straps covering my shoulders. The shirt had a tight fit around my breasts and was a little wider as it got closer to my hips.

This was perfect as it meant I did not need to wear a bra, which was a relief, considering I only had the ripped one I was abducted with. Dolores had brought me some sandals in my size as well. I was starting to be in a much better mood after putting the clothes on. I was starting to feel like a person again, and I wanted to hold onto that sensation as long as I could.

Dolores was trying to make me feel safe and cared for, I realized, but still, I was not any closer to understanding why I was in captivity, all the way in Mexico, with no return date in sight. It was also frustrating because, for however nice Dolores was, I couldn’t get her to share any more information with me. Dolores clearly loved Alejandro very much, and for some reason, she wanted to convince me that Alejandro was a good man, despite appearances.

Dolores knocked and entered the room again an hour later.

“It’s time for breakfast,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“I am not eating with that man again.”

Dolores pleaded, but I would not have it.

“Okay,” accepted Dolores. “You eat in the kitchen, then?”

“With pleasure,” I replied, relieved that I would still get to go out of the room even if I refused to eat with Alejandro.

Dolores took me to the kitchen. It was an enormous space, with dark-oak and glass-window cabinetry, complemented by an enormous kitchen island. On the right side, by the window, was a six-person, round table. I took a seat as instructed, but when Dolores proceeded to make chilaquiles, I got up to help her.

Dolores refused my assistance at first, but eventually accepted my help—just like Martha, my nana, had when I was fifteen.

She was the house manager, as I called her, responsible for a good part of my education and making sure the house ran without any issues. Together, Dolores and I set the table.

As I was getting ready to sit down, I noticed Alejandro leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, observing my every move. His dark-black hair was not combed as usual. Rather, it looked like he had let the wind play with it, or perhaps he had run frustrated fingers through it. He was wearing a light pair of khaki pants and a black polo shirt. Dolores seemed as surprised as I was to see him.

“Hola, señor,” greeted Dolores.