Page 23 of Scorch

The starkness of her honesty surprises me, though it shouldn’t. One of the things I love best about her is her refusal to placate anyone or talk bullshit.

“Yeah,” I tell her while I check the locks on the doors and windows and make sure all surveillance equipment is on standby. “You’re right. Allow me to rephrase. If I don’t want him to murder me, I’ll do what Mikhail fucking tells me.”

With a frown, she gives a slight shrug as if to say yeah, that’s your choice, too.

“Before you go, can you tell me as much as you can?” she asks. “Even though I don’t like what you did to me, you seem kind of honest. Blunt. So before you meet with your brothers, what else can you tell me?”

I decide to go straight for the jugular. “Your mother’s granted permission to dissolve the potential union between you and Timur Yudin, effective immediately. When she relayed this message to him, she was treated with a litany of profanity and a threat to both her life and yours.”

She frowns. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t.”

“I have video evidence to prove it.”

A shadow crosses her face as if she doesn’t want to admit to the truth. She trusted the guy, and now her world has been ripped out from under her. I get it.

“Alright then. Let’s see it,” she says.

I can tell by the tone of her voice and the flash of her eyes that she’s trying to prove me wrong, that she wants to challenge me.

I nod and pull out my phone. We have a vault of videographic evidence we keep for my family, but I can access it to show her what I need to. I scroll through the files while she shifts uncomfortably in the bed.

I look up from my phone when I can't find it right away. God, she must be starving. What’s wrong with me?

“Hold on. Are you hungry?”

She nods, still holding my gaze quietly.

“Yeah.”

I’ve already gotten food ready for her but haven’t brought it out yet. I know exactly what she likes to eat, but it depends on which version of Lydia is here with me. Is it Lydia, the good girl, trying to please whoever it is she’s with? Or is it Lydia, the one who’s comfortable in her own skin and owns it?

Sometimes Lydia will eat an egg white omelet and vegetables, or eat a protein bar, or maybe skip breakfast altogether when she’s trying to diet her body into brutal submission. Comfortable Lydia, on the other hand, will eat buttered toast, some fruit, or maybe a grilled muffin with a bowl of fruit salad or chocolate-frosted donuts.

To be safe, then, I’ve had all of those options brought here. I don’t want to unnerve her by revealing how well I know her, though, so I’ve had an assortment of food prepared.

This room we’re in is small. Normally, we’d eat breakfast in the eat-in kitchen. I love my kitchen with its huge, plate glass windows that overlook the front walkway and garden. I love watching the change of seasons from the kitchen table, whether we’re heralding the coming winter with holly leaves and red berries, burnt orange leaves on my front yard maple in autumn, or early sunrise on a summer morning.

I’ve imagined what it would be like having her here with me at that table. I’d sit with her, just listening to her talk about whatever it was she wanted to. I carved the heavy kitchen table with my own two hands, and I have to admit I had her in mind when I designed it. I once heard her say she loved cherrywood and never got it out of my mind.

Right now, though, she needs to be kept in here. It’s only for a while.

“Let me get you something to eat first.” I stand and walk to the door, all the time thinking I need to watch her more closely. She has the run of the room, and Lydia is feisty as hell. If she could find a way out…

But I’ll only be a minute. I quickly grab an assortment. When I return, she’s sitting up in bed, the blanket clutched to her chest. .

“Here,” I tell her. “Take a look and tell me what you want.”

Eying me warily, she looks at the food on the tray. Mistrusting.

“You should untie me so I can feed myself.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.” There’s no telling what she’ll do when I do that. “I will once you’ve shown you’re trustworthy.”

She gawks at me, her jaw unhinged. “You think I’m untrustworthy? Are you out of your mind? You’re the one who kidnapped me.”

I grit my teeth and slide the food onto the bedside table.

“What would you like to eat?”

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