Page 10 of Captive Souls

Instead of the dress and heels, I’d worn black jeans, low-heeled boots and a cashmere sweater. A little underdressed for the fancy restaurant but not in an offensive manner. Just enough to make a statement.

I’d expected Stone to take it as an insult, a mark against me—it’s what I’d wanted, after all. But he’d merely smiled, leaning in to kiss the side of my cheek, too close to my mouth.

I was frozen still until he pulled back.

“You’d look stunning in the dress I sent, but this is fine too.” I tried not to grimace when he looked me up and down as he pulled the chair out for me.

My teeth gnashed together as I fought against the slimy feeling of his presence and the thin spike of fear shooting up my spine.

I’d done as much research as I could do on Stone De Luca. I was a kindergarten teacher with friends who were teachers, receptionists, graphic designers, stay at home moms. None of them were ‘in the know.’ I didn’t have connections anywhere. All I had was a laptop and an internet connection.

Searching Stone’s name didn’t tell me who exactly he was, but the news stories about him and the businesses he ownedgave me the sense that he was a dangerous man. Nothing outright saying he was a mobster, except for one journalist who had gone so far as to write a scathing piece on his control of the ports.

That journalist had gone missing two weeks after the story went to print.

I might’ve been a little too interested in true crime and somewhat of a sensationalist, but I knew that Stone had something to do with the disappearance.

And if I didn’t tread carefully, that could be me. Every instinct I had screamed that at me. I refused to succumb to my mother’s fate.

“I’m not a doll you can dress up and prop up in chairs,” I informed him after he sat across from me.

Tread carefully, my inner voice reminded me.

Stone chuckled again, leaning over to pour wine from a decanter into my glass. “Ah, you are no doll. Even though you are as perfect as one,” he said, the liquid sloshing as red as blood.

I kept my hands fisted in my lap.

“No one has given me quite as much trouble as you have in order to get them sitting across from me.” He set the decanter down.

“I’m sure.” I forced my breathing to steady. “I’ll say it plainly, so we don’t have miscommunication here, and so I don’t waste your time. I know it’s valuable to you.” I had to stroke his ego, I reminded myself. “I’m not doing this to play hard to get or to make myself seem more interesting. I’m not. Interesting. I’m a kindergarten teacher who likes a boring, quiet life. This…” I waved my hand around at the restaurant, “world is not for me. And you, although very handsome and successful, are not for me either. I’m sure you can find a thousand women better suited andwillingto sit across from you.”

Stone leaned forward to grasp his wine glass, swirling the liquid around pretentiously, leaning forward to inhale, making a big song and dance before taking a demure sip.

“The wine is sublime,” he declared as if I hadn’t even spoken. “There are only fifty bottles in the world left.” He glanced at the decanter. “Forty-nine, now.” He nodded his head. “Try it.”

“I’m afraid it would be wasted on me.” I tried to sound polite, not moving my hands.

Engaged in a silent standoff, he stared at me then the wine glass, still smiling but now with an edge. He was trying to intimidate me into drinking. And if I were younger and hadn’t been through what I’d been through, it would’ve worked.

I didn’t like making people uncomfortable. I’d been a people pleaser all my life, starting because that was the only way to survive. But I no longer pleased people—especially men—if it resulted in harming myself. Even a little.

Once it had become clear that I wasn’t going to obey his silent command, Stone blinked, another slow smile moving across his face.

“There are definitely a thousand women who I could have sitting across from me, wearing a dress, heels, drinking wine.” He took a sip of his wine. “And they’d be more than willing. They’d be boring. All the same. I don’t want them, Piper.” He put down his wine, placing both hands on the table, leaning forward. “I want you.”

There it was, plainly put. Said almost like a grumpy toddler might say it, or worse, a petulant child king. As ifwantequaledhaving.

My body tensed as what I’d been fearing had come to fruition. There was no gentle, polite way out of this. Maybe I could relent, eat dinner, have sex—gross—with him and show him that I was nothing special, I was easily had. He’d lose interest.

Maybe.

But then I would’ve sacrificed a very important piece of myself.

No way.

I pushed back my chair, standing.

“I apologize for wasting your time, for giving you the wrong idea.” The false apology melted on my tongue. I had nothing to be sorry for since I most certainly didn’t give him the wrong idea, and he was the one wasting my time. “But you can’t have me, Mr. De Luca. I’m not something to be had, and I am, respectfully, not interested. I wish you well, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me again.”

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