Page 72 of Breaking Rosalind
ROSALIND
Maybe my timing is off, but it feels like an entire day has passed since Cesare walked out, leaving me in the dark. My body is crying out for food, my head is pounding, and my throat spasms with the need for liquid.
These symptoms will pass. They always did during captivity training.
There’s absolutely no escape with my fingers held taut within metal splints. I’m stuck here until I can convince Cesare I would be a more interesting hostage if left unbound.
Nobody is coming to my rescue. Gunther will continue telling everyone I’ve been promoted overseas. He doesn’t want me spreading the word that the firm is covering up the fact that it deems us expendable.
Britt might know my exact location, but she’ll never get past all the guards. Even if she did, there are biometric security measures, and the impossible task of sneaking me out undetected.
No matter how much time passes, or how much I try to keep my mind distracted, my thoughts drift to Miranda. Is she safe? Is she traumatized? Is she alone?
Britt was supposed to go to the train station to pick up a bag from the lockers and escort Miranda to an apartment out of state. I need to find out if Cesare had them followed.
Hunger gnaws my stomach once more, making me sigh. Cesare will arrive when he thinks I’m at my most desperate and he’ll expect me to exchange information for sustenance.
He’ll be disappointed.
I close my eyes and let my thoughts float into the ether to clear my mind. Just as I’m drifting into a deep state of meditation, the locking mechanism whirs to life, and the heavy metal door creaks open.
My pulse races in anticipation. I keep my eyes closed as heavy footsteps approach, but nothing can stop my senses from filling with the sweet aroma of hot chocolate.
Saliva floods my mouth, anticipating something to soothe my dry throat. I swallow over and over, refusing to succumb to temptation.
“Sorry to have kept you, love,” Cesare says, his voice light. “It’s been a busy day, and the night was a war zone. I brought you something to eat.”
Annoyance prickles my skin. The bastard sounds like he’s talking to a pet. I crack open an eye to find him looming over me, holding a tray containing a bowl of fruit, yogurt, a steaming cup of hot chocolate, and a bottle of water.
The flickering lightbulb illuminates the ends of his disheveled hair, which falls loose in cascades of dark waves. My jaw tightens. Such extreme masculine beauty is wasted on the wicked.
“Fuck your food,” I rasp, my voice cracked. “What did you do to Miranda?”
His nostrils flare. “Why are you so antagonizing?”
“Because men who interfere with underage girls don’t deserve any respect.”
“Even if you’re completely at their mercy?” he asks, his lip curling.
I look him full in the face. “Let’s be real here. You’re going to torture me for information, use my body to satisfy every sick fantasy, and eventually let me die. Am I right?”
“Depends on if you’re worth keeping alive,” he replies.
“You might have trapped my body, but I won’t give you what you want.”
He flashes his teeth. “And what do you think that is?”
“Information, entertainment, a sense of twisted fulfillment,” I reply, my voice dripping with venom. “Whatever I do, the result will be the same. I may as well die without giving you the satisfaction.”
“You want to know what I did with little Miranda?” he asks, his voice menacing and low.
Goosebumps prickle across my skin, and every fine hair on my body stands on end. I tighten my stomach, hold my features in a grim mask, and resolve not to show this sick fuck and ounce of my pain.
“Answer me,” he growls.
I give him a stiff nod.
“Then I’ll lay down some ground rules. You get to speak to her for five minutes. If she asks where you are, tell her I’ve taken you to the Grimaldi Hotel in New York. You will not send any coded messages to her or your friend.”