Page 12 of Kristoff

Giving her the orgasm hadn’t been my original plan, but it seems to have done the trick. She’s more pliable, more thoughtful.

“I’ll have Tricia bring up a tray of food for you. She won’t hurt you, but if you do anything that suggests disobedience, she will tell me.” It’s true, she will, if I ask her. Even after all the years under my father’s control, Tricia will still try to protect those she thinks are innocent. But she’s been conditioned never to directly lie. If asked, she will tell the truth.

“I’m not hungry,” Magdalena says from the bed, her face is buried in her lap again. Her dark hair shrouds her features. She’s going to have a rough afternoon, but it can’t be helped.

“Don’t be stupid. I can hear your stomach growling from here, and food will keep your strength up. You’ll need it.” I head to the door and unbolt it.

“I won’t eat it,” she mumbles.

“If you don’t eat, I’ll force it down. You won’t win these little tugs of wars, Magdalena. I will make you even if I have to sit on you and shove the food down your throat with my fingers, you will eat.” Potential buyers will want her healthy - not a bag of bones, I tell myself.

I take her silence as agreement and leave her alone in the room, locking the door from the outside. No one can go in or out without my key.

Once I get Tricia working on more food for our newest captive, I search out the bad guy. It’s time we have a talk about touching other people’s things.

6

It’sevening before I hear the lock on the door turn again. Earlier, a young woman, Tricia, brought me a tray of food. Fresh fruit, toast, an omelet, and coffee. I tried to speak to her, to get some information, maybe help, but she only shook her head and kept her lips sealed.

I scramble from the bed and brace myself. If it’s not her, it could either be Kristoff or one of his men. I won’t be caught off guard a second time.

Kristoff steps inside and stops short when he sees me, fists up, legs spread, ready to battle. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Obviously, I’m not as intimidating as I feel.

“You’re dressed. Why?” he asks while bolting the door.

I drop my hands to my sides and stand upright, tugging on the t-shirt I wear. His pants were all too big on me. So is the dark blue t-shirt, but at least it covers me.

“I was cold,” I lie. I could have just snuggled up under the covers. The linens looked so soft, so comfortable, I was afraid I would fall asleep too deeply to hear if the deadbolt turned again.

“Lie again, and I’ll hang a weight from your tongue.” His words are chilled.

“I wanted to get dressed,” I say and hug myself around the middle.

“And you think your wants are meaningful here?”

I wish I could see past the darkness in his stare. He can’t be so black and white, either angry or pleased. There has to be a middle ground there somewhere.

“I think you left me in a room full of clothes, and I had none. So, I fixed the problem.” I manage to keep most of the sarcasm out of my tone.

“You weren’t told to get dressed. You only do what you are told to do, and don’t do what you are told not to. This is the first rule you will learn.” He pockets the key and leans his hip against the door. “Remove the shirt.”

“I won’t be trained like some fucking animal. I will not let you sell me.” I say the words, feel the heat in them as they leave my tongue, but my insides aren’t so confident. There’s no one here to stop them, to help me.

He doesn’t bother to respond. He walks to me and rips the shirt neckline hem down the middle. In one quick motion, he spins me around and yanks the shirt down my arms, the fabric burning my skin as it’s pulled free.

“You don’tletanything around here. Here, you do as your told. I’m getting really tired of telling you that. You need to accept your place, accept what’s happening or it’s going to be so much worse for you.” He grips my hair, yanking my head back and bringing his face close to mine. “Don’t make this worse on yourself.”

His words remind me of a parent pleading with their child to just behave, because they don’t want to punish them. But that can’t be true for Kristoff, this is what he does. His whole life is making women do things they don’t want to do and punishing them when they don’t.

“Fuck. You,” I say through clenched teeth. I think being left alone for too long has given me a new bravado. I want out, and I’m not going to be a pussy about it. I will not let this man scare me, I won’t let him train me and sell me like I’m nothing. Because I am something.

“You haven’t earned a fucking yet.” His lips curl slowly like he’s found a new way to piss me off.

Gathering as much saliva as I can, I spit it in his face. It lands across his eyes and nose, dripping down his cheek. I gasp at the sight, knowing it was too far, too much. He’ll have to retaliate.

With his free hand, he wipes my spit from his face and smears it across my chest. Struggling only hurts me, his grip too tight at my scalp, but at least I try. I have to escape. I can’t give in.

“Fine. You want a fucking.” He drags me to the bed and shoves me down over the side. His hand smashes my face into the mattress; his knee jams between my thighs, wedging them apart.

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