Page 16 of Take Me

The lights come on to confront me with the full vision of my situation, and then the green metal door squeaks as it slides open.

Holding my breath, I stare stiffly at the wall as the clicking steps approach behind me. A shadow moves at the edges of my vision, and a tall figure crouches by my feet to free my ankles from the shackles.

Then I’m confronted with Mikhail’s deceptively polished face as he rolls me onto my back and shoves a key into each of the wrist manacles to free my arms too.

“Sit up,” he orders in a clipped, business-like manner, and I get the feeling that he’s neither here to toy with me or comfort me.

Gingerly folding my legs, I push up to sit, keeping the teddy firmly wrapped in my arms.

“How are you feeling?” Mikhail grabs my chin and turns my head from side to side as if inspecting an animal up for auction. “Any headache, fever, or”—he waves his free hand—“how do you say… nausea?”

I shake my head in his grip and train my eyes on the floor, where I see his shoes. Expensive ones, indeed. Brown, polished oxfords with decorative perforations.

“Good. Then we can get on with business.”

“I need to pee,” I say.

Grabbing me by the arm, he hauls me to my feet and points to the toilet. “Then pee.”

I stare back and forth between him and the toilet, but he makes no sign of leaving or even turning around. “Can I please have some privacy?”

“No.”

I gulp past the growing knot in my throat and sink onto the toilet, burrowing my head in my hands as I empty my bladder.

Once I’m back on the mattress, Mikhail shoves a bowl of porridge into my hands. “Eat.”

I lift the spoon and flatten my lips with disgust as thick, gray porridge drips from the steel.

“Kasha,” Mikhail explains. “Very healthy.”

“I’m not hungry,” I say, having lost all appetite at the sight of the sticky mush.

He sinks to his haunches in front of me and levels me with an unforgiving glare. “Eat your kasha, or I’ll have Dorin shove it down your throat.”

I lift the spoon and try not to wince as I take it into my mouth. The porridge isn’t as bad as it looks, but after eating half a bowl of the sticky stuff, it’s hard not to feel a little sick at each mouthful. But I continue anyway, not daring to disobey. After all, I have a feeling that worse things are to come.Pick your battles,I guess.

“What is this place?” I ask as I eat. I already think I know, but I need to hear it even though the idea of hearing the words out loud scares me shitless.

“An old, forgotten castle, tucked deep into the woods where no one can see. Only people who are explicitly invited find this place.”

“Someone must come here,” I say, needing a bit of hope. “Hikers or people interested in historical buildings.”

“Only if they’re dumb enough to trespass. Even so, the few people dumb enough to explore have quickly gone again when they realized the place is inhabited, or because there’s not much to see. Half the building was in ruins when I bought it. Quite unremarkable, really. Still is from the outside. But the dungeon”—he makes a chef’s kiss—“just what I was looking for and in surprising condition. All I had to do down here was add a few upgrades.” He rubs his scruff as he comes to think of something. “There was this couple who decided to explore further. I’m not sure how much they saw, but I wasn’t taking any chances.”

I gulp. “What happened to them?”

“Well, the man ended up in the incinerator, and the girl got her own private cell.” He smiles as if he did her a favor, setting her up in a luxurious hotel room.

I shove the spoon into the remaining porridge, unable to get any more down as my stomach twists. “And then what?”

“I sold her to an Italian mobster. Made quite a lot of money on that one.” He nods at the bowl in my hands. “Now eat up. I don’t have time for this.”

There are so many questions I want to ask, but I’m afraid the porridge will come right back up if I do. So I force the nagging worries away and finish the rest of the sticky mass.

Once I’m done, Mikhail sets the bowl on the floor and grabs my arm. “Let’s go. Dax is waiting.”

He leads me through the door and down a long wide corridor, around a corner, and into a room with a polished stone floor that feels smooth beneath my feet. But that’s the only reassuring quality about the room. Except for the old stone walls, which are the same as all the other parts of this place, this might be a doctor’s office. Cabinets line a wall along with a flat exam table, a large desk full of various equipment, documents, and a laptop stands to the side, and another exam table fills the center—or rather, a gynecologist’s chair. Full of leather straps.

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