Page 14 of Petite Fleur

I even opened a fucking can of tuna and hid outside to make sure a cat wasn't hiding because I was a stranger.

But just to be safe, I opened all the canned meat in the house and left the front door open. If there is some super secret cat, it will at least be able to get out.

After all, I'm not a monster, I'm not going to let an animal suffer when I can avoid it.

When I'm confident that I no longer smell like hot trash, I head out into my kitchen in clean clothes, ready to cook dinner. I'm not sure if I have the energy for this, but I've eaten a little too much takeout the last few days.

It's giving me a headache, and I feel sluggish when I go to the gym. So, I prepare myself some creamy balsamic pasta with feta and ribeye steak, pour myself a glass of bourbon, and have a seat at the kitchen table.

In moments like this, I like being alone.

I like the fact that I can eat what I want when I want. I like that I didn't have someone waiting for me at home, nagging me about where I've been and pointing out how badly myself and my trunk smells.

But it doesn't stop me from wondering what the woman from the cafe is doing right now…

She'd hate everything I prepared, but for her? I'd make whatever she wanted.

Even if it involved micro greens and tofu.

I get exactly one bite into my meal, tasting the rich and flavorful bite of the rare steak I'd made before the fucking monitor goes off that Sam has woken up.

Fantastic.

You know what? Fuck it, he can wait.

I savor my dinner with a show, seeing Sam squirm and yell on the monitor in a useless attempt to break free from the restraints I'd put him in, all while slowly drinking my bourbon.

I think this is better than anything I could've found on TV.

When I finally arrive downstairs, Sam has been screaming his head off for over an hour. His voice has become hoarse and thick and I can already see the redness on his wrists from thrashing against the restraints.

It brings me a deep level of satisfaction to see this man struggle, it'll be even better to watch him bleed.

I give him a warm smile when I see him, the same one I gave him when he answered the door at his home. "You're awake, good." I say calmly.

No surprise, this asshole immediately starts yelling. "Where the fuck am I? You won't get away with this!" He yells.

Why do they always say that?

Of course I'll get away with it, I always do.

I laugh, crossing my arms across my chest. "You're at my house. It only seemed fair since you welcomed me in your home that I welcome you in mine. Don't you agree?" I ask.

A surge of frustration fills me when this asshole starts yelling, pleading angrily to be let go.

God, it's so fucking pathetic when they beg.

You'd think waking up strapped to a cold metal table in a soundproof basement would give some kind of hint that you're not getting out of this.

I do have to admit, I live for the look on their face when they finally break. When that hopeful begging stops and they realize that their fate is already sealed.

"We're going to have a little chat, Sam. If you lie to me, you're going to regret it. I would advise you to be smart about this." I say calmly.

This man, this asshole, attempts to spit on me. He fails miserably, but the move pisses me off. A lot of them do that, too.

"We will try this again in a few hours, but you're smelling up my basement, and that just won't do." I say, wrinkling up my nose in disgust.

If he's going to spit on me, he's not going to stink up the place while doing so.

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