Page 112 of Blue Moon

“Guess that explains why nobody came when we yelled,” she said, slumping to the floor. “This is my worst nightmare. I mean, I’ve been here for more than three weeks, and my boss is gonna fire me for sure.”

Michelle rolled her eyes again. She’d detach her freaking retinas if she kept doing that. “Who cares about being fired? I’m more worried about not dying.”

“Well, if we ever get out of here, I care about not being evicted. We don’t all have savings.”

“You think I have savings? I’m a nursing assistant. We get paid peanuts.”

“Can we just stop fighting?” I asked. “I have five thousand people waiting to hear me sing tonight, so I’m in trouble too.” At least, I was assuming it was tonight. How long had I been unconscious? “Do either of you know what day it is?”

“Saturday,” Michelle said.

“How about the time? Is there a clock anywhere?”

“Through there,” Kacie said, motioning with her head toward the next room. “Plus Mark sometimes mentions the day, and then we count the number of nights.”

“What’s he like? Mark?”

If Ryder were here, he’d be telling me to ferret out every piece of information I could. Knowledge is power. In San Gallicano, it had been the smallest of clues that led Blackwood to the villain’s lair on a neighbouring island. Half a year ago, I would have been hyperventilating at this predicament, but my time in the Caribbean had made me more resilient. Men had tried to kill me—twice—and I’d survived. Was Mark Antony a cold-blooded murderer? I didn’t think so. Ryder had told me there were two possibilities—either he was cruel and toying with me, or he was unwell and genuinely thought he was Mark Antony. All the clues so far pointed toward the second option.

But I knew what he’d expect from me. What a husband expected from a wife. In this twisted game, Kacie and Michelle were meant to serve me, and I was expected to serve him. That was the thought that scared me more than anything, and I wasn’t even physically capable of having sex. How would he react when he found out? Would he be angry?

I feared I knew the answer.

But I also knew something else. Ryder would come for me. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, he’d come for me, and I just needed to hold out until he got here.

“Mark’s batshit crazy,” Michelle told me. “The man thinks he’s an Egyptian general.”

“Roman.”

“Huh?”

“Mark Antony was a Roman general.”

“Whatever. You’re as bad as him.”

“Excuse me?”

“She wasn’t the one who kidnapped us and left us in the middle of a forest,” Kacie pointed out.

“But if she wasn’t here, neither would we be.”

“Don’t blame the victim.”

I was about to point out that maybe some of the blame fell on the lack of mental healthcare availability when I saw Rocky backing away with his tail between his legs.

“Can we please stop fighting? You’re scaring my dog.”

I fell to my knees beside him, and yeuch, that vomit really stank. Why was Rocky even here? To use as some kind of sick bargaining chip? And more to the point, how had he gotten here? Why hadn’t he barked in that funny way of his when a man came to abduct me?

“Sorry,” Kacie muttered, but Michelle just glared. Fine, I didn’t much like her either. I hadn’t freaking asked to be kidnapped.

“He needs water. Is there any water?”

“There’s a faucet in the bathroom.”

“What about food?”

“There’s a kitchen area off the living room.”

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