Page 11 of Captivated with Them

I shrugged. “Yeah, so, maybe I am. So what? Wouldn’t most people prefer not to be down here?”

“So you can be free and race off to try to help your friends? You’re an idiot for thinking that.”

“I’m not thinking that. I’m thinking I clearly picked the wrong side, and now I’ve had a change of heart. I’d rather be doing your job than this.” I tried to lift my bound hands.

“Are you saying you’re a turncoat?”

“Look, I was having some fun, and it all got out of hand, that’s all. Frankie Capello knows me from before this whole mess. He can make use of me.”

“And what about your friends?”

“What about them? My motto is that you always have to look after number one, am I right?”

“Suppose.” The big man looked like he didn’t know what the right answer should be, as though he was worried I’d take his words and throw them back at him. He was right to be cautious.

I sighed, pretending to be bored of the conversation. “Release one hand, so I can do what I need to do. I’m not going anywhere, am I? I assume there’s a great big lock on the other side of that door, and I can hardly open it from the inside.”

“Fine.” He grunted. “Just the one hand.”

“Yeah, just the one.”

He clearly hadn’t figured out that when I had one hand released, it would be pretty simple for me to undo the other one. It would give me more freedom in here, but since the room was barely more than a large closet, there wasn’t a whole heap I could do with it.

He came closer.

My mind whirred. Could I headbutt him in the nose? I doubted it would be enough to do anything more than seriously piss him off, and since I’d still have one hand bound, I wouldn’t be able to take the moment and make a break for freedom. Plus, I had no doubt he would be armed and would most likely shoot me in the back if I tried to run.

It was tempting, if only to see the pain in his eyes and the blood run down his stupid face, but if I tried to attack, I’d be throwing away my hand at trying to convince the Capellos that I’d be better off working for them than being held down here. Every day that went past was another day Rue was being exploited by these sons of bitches, but I had to hold my nerve.

He leaned around me, and I tensed, gritting my teeth to restrain my instinct to fight the enemy. He picked at a loose end, like someone trying to find the end on a roll of tape, and then there was the riiip of the tape being loosened, and he unwound it from one of my hands.

I pulled my hand away from the pipe and twisted my wrist, flexed my fingers, and rolled my shoulder, grateful for the extra movement.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” he growled.

“I just want to eat and take a piss,” I commented. “Is that too much to ask?”

He grunted again and stepped back. Then, with his foot, he shoved the bottle of water and the plastic plate closer toward me.

“You can use the bottle to piss in after you drink the water,” he said. “Think of it like recycling. You’re saving the goddamned planet.” He chuckled at his own humor, but I barely cracked a smile.

He turned away from me and took the couple of strides that brought him back to the door, which had been standing open this whole time. He had to duck his head to step out into the main part of the cellar.

I looked down at the contents of the bowl and barked out laughter. The plastic tub contained slices of pizza. I had the feeling pizza was going to make up most of my meals from now on, and by the time I got out of here—assuming I did so without being surrounded by a body bag—I was probably never going to want to eat pizza again.

The door to my prison slammed shut, blocking out the light.

I was left to eat my meal in the dark.

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