Page 43 of Brutal Surrender

“Who do you want to kill?” I ask.

My question startles him. “Drink your tea.”

Deciding to get it over with, I throw back the rest. My face falls when he refills my cup.

“You didn’t answer the question,” I say.

“It’s none of your business.”

In his line of business, there could be many people Vincent wants to kill, but what he said suggests the potential motivation is personal. All the intel Brady and I have gathered on Vincent is that he’s cold-blooded. He has no attachments. But he said took my loved ones. What loved ones? He seems to hate his father. The uncle who raised him is still alive. His mother died when he was just a little kid.

“Drink.”

“I’d like to eat something first,” I say. Maybe he’ll forget about the tea later.

He takes the covers off to reveal a colorful plate of sushi: salmon nigiri, tuna nigiri, a hand-rolled lobster roll, and makis adorned with roe and caviar. A bowl of miso soup and a plate of seaweed salad serve as appetizers.

And for dessert, zabaglione with mango, pineapple and kiwi. I’ve never had a tropical version before. Is it a coincidence that I’m having zabaglione after I mentioned it to Helen?

The set of flimsy wooden chopsticks don’t go at all with the fancy plateware, but I suspect that’s on purpose. I pour out some soy sauce into a tiny dish and mix in some wasabi.

My mouth salivates, and I start with a California roll. It’s not the fanciest item, but it was my favorite as a kid, so it’s almost like comfort food.

Mio Dio. How can a California roll be so divine? The crab is amazing, the avocado the perfect ripeness, the rice glossy and plump. I have to force myself to eat it slowly so I can savor it fully. I want another roll, but that’s the cheapest item on the dish.

Picking up a piece of salmon nigiri, I dip it in the soy-wasabi mixture and take a bite.

Such buttery heavenliness!

I finish the nigiri. “I think the best sushi in these parts might come from Jamaica.”

Vincent, who has been watching me eat this whole time, doesn’t seem surprised. “The sushi is from Hanami Garden in New York. The owner, from Osaka, owns several Michelin-starred restaurants.”

He had the sushi flown in from NYC?! That can’t be. Why would he do such a thing? Unless he happened to want sushi.

“Is that your favorite sushi restaurant?” I ask. It feels strange to be asking such a benign question to the man who tortured and assaulted me, but my curiosity has been raised.

“I don’t have a favorite. I prefer my fish cooked.”

Wait. Does that mean this sushi was acquired specifically for me?

“This is the best sushi I’ve ever had. You should try some,” I urge.

“I don’t eat sushi.”

His tone indicates I should put an end to the conversation.

“So, is this like a last meal for me?” I ask. “Am I getting sold to your pimp tomorrow?”

“Is that what you would prefer?”

I can’t decide. I think my chances of survival are better with someone other than Vincent, but…if I get to stay in this suite and eat like this…and find out what happened to Brady…maybe even get a second chance at Vincent…

I lift my chin. “If I tell you what I prefer, you’ll do the opposite.”

“So lie.”

“Well, now that you told me to lie, you might do the opposite of the opposite.”

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