Page 55 of The Puppetmaster

“Get up!” he snaps at me venomously. “I want you to look me in the eyes when you tell me where the hell you heard that name!”

I flinch under his loud voice, but do as I am told. He doesn’t make a move to untie me from the chair, so I do it myself, always glancing up at him in fear this could be a breach despite the order he gave me.

I take the plate with the ridiculously dry toast with me when I rise up to my feet. I’m not going to eat a punishment breakfast when I don’t deserve the punishment. I’d rather eat nothing at all.

I place the plate on the counter and pointedly pull up the thong, too, all the while keeping my eyes locked on his. He raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t say a word.

“I saw it on a letter that your driver was holding when he brought me here,” I explain, standing as tall as possible while he stays seated on the high chair, the half-eaten breakfast still in front of him. My stomach growls with hunger at the sight of it, but I ignore it and hope to God he didn’t hear it.

“By accident?” he pries.

“What do you mean by accident?” I retort. “It’s not like he waved it around in my face or anything, it just... happened.”

“Because you were nosy,” he assumes. “You were peeking at things that don’t concern you.”

I huff. “Well, according to you, nothing that has to do with you concerns me, apparently.”

His face hardens and he pins me down with an angry stare.

“You knew what you were getting into, puppet,” he reminds me. “We’re not dating. This is not about a boyfriend and girlfriend getting to know each other.”

“Yes, Iknowthat!” I insist, sounding like a stubborn little girl.

I do know that. I just... refuse to accept it.

“Still... I don’t think it’s fair that you know so much about me and I get to know nothing about you, not even your name...”

“You don’t need to know anything about me,” he says. His voice has changed, sounding more somber than furious now. “In fact, the less you know, the better.”

That makes me prick up my ears.

“Because you’re such a bad guy?”

He averts his eyes, shaking his head.

“I don’t go by Michael these days,” he says without looking at me. “If you need to know a name, call me Raad. But never do it to my face. You know what you’re supposed to say then.”

I nod, relief kissing me in cautious pecks. I’m not sure what to make of this. Is he no longer angry at me for allegedly lying to him? Was my punishment enough?

Does he agree with me?

“These days?” I prompt, knowing that I might be stepping into dangerous territory. “You mean you changed your name?”

He shrugs. “It was easier to go by the name my father gave me when I was younger. But I really like the other one better.”

“The one you got from your mother,” I assume.

He tenses instantly, still refusing to look at me and reaching for his coffee mug instead. I watch him take a big swig from it, standing idly while fiddling with the leather strings that hang down from my wrists. I’ve gotten so used to them that I don’t even want to think of the day I will have to give them back. The day I’m no longer his puppet.

He nods. “That’s correct.”

“Is she...”

“She died when I was very young,” he answers my unfinished question. “I hardly remember her.”

“And your father?”

He gives me a stern look from the side, his eyebrows furrowed in question. “Why are you asking about him?”

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