Page 9 of Sinful Embers

The person doesn’t answer, doesn’t even hesitate. They push the trolley close enough for me to reach it but maintain a safe distance. As I glance at the tray, I see covered dishes, bottles of water, and a steaming mug of coffee. It’s almost... inviting.

“Put the trolley back here when you’re done eating.” The voice startles me, distorted by a modulator. The figure points to a small cross marked on the floor. “And don’t try to be clever about it, or you won’t like the consequences.”

A spark of defiance flares in me. “What could possibly be worse than this?” I snap.

Before the words fully leave my lips, a jolt zaps through my ankle. Pain shoots up my leg, leaving me gasping. I clutch the chain attached to the shackle, the metal biting into my skin. My eyes dart to the figure, and I spot the device in their hand.

“That.” The message is clear, and it makes my stomach churn. I’m not just chained; I’m a dog on a leash, complete with a shock collar.

The masked person tilts their head, almost amused. They say nothing more, retreating as quickly as they arrived. The heavy door closes behind them with a metallic groan. The sound of a bolt sliding into place reminds me that I’m caged, leaving me alone with the trolley and my trembling body.

The smell of the food is too tempting to ignore. My stomach aches with hunger, but questions churn in my mind. Who are they? Why feed me like this? The dishes are covered, the setup meticulous, as if this were a luxury dining experience instead of a dungeon.

I shuffle closer to the trolley, the chain dragging noisily behind me. My hands hover over the tray as I hesitate.What if it’s drugged?But then again, the water wasn’t drugged earlier. If they wanted to incapacitate me, they’d have done it already.

As my stomach growls again, but this time almost painfully, I hear Radomir’s voice whisper in the back of my mind:If you’re pregnant...

I freeze. The thought makes my eyes widen. I stop my first instinct to touch my stomach—I’m being watched, and I would rather my captors not realize I might be with child. I don’t knowif I am, but I can’t afford to risk harm—not to my baby or myself. My defenses crumble under the weight of hunger and fear, and I lift the first lid.

Eggs, bacon, toast, and a perfectly cooked hash brown. Everything is plated with care, like it came from a five-star restaurant. A chill runs down my spine. They’ve done their homework as these are all my favorite breakfast foods. My stomach growls again, and I give in.

I move the trolley closer to the table where one chair is pushed beneath it. Pulling it out, I’m surprised to see the seat is padded and offers decent back support. “Huh!” I snort softly, glancing at the hard, cold metal chairs lining the wall beside the door. “A good breakfast and comfortable chair.” My brow furrows as I move the plate of breakfast coffee… “Is that fresh apple juice?” Another of my favorites.

I stop trying to second guess everything as the hunger now almost consumes me and I transfer everything from the trolley to the table. The first bite is heavenly. The food melts in my mouth, and I savor every piece, desperate for the comfort it brings.

But with every bite, my unease grows. Whoever my captor is, they want me alive and well—at least for now. That thought is far from comforting but at least it may give me some time to figure out how to get the fuck out of here.

As I eat, my gaze drifts to the books on the table beside me. The card rests on top, mocking me with its message:Maybe these books will help you remember.

I reach for the books, my hand trembling slightly. “How the fuck are my song books supposed to jog my memory?” I wonder out loud. “I’ve been through each one dozens of times over the past ten years. I’m sure if they were going to…”

My words fade, and my brow furrows deeper. The leather binding feels familiar, but the gold writing on the book –Songbook 1is familiar. I look for the small gold L at the bottom right-hand corner but it’s nothing but a few gold blobs—the lettering erased over time with wear.

But I’m sure my songbook 1 still had my L on it. My heart pounds, and every nerve in my body goes on high alert as a voice in the back of my mind screams:Stop! Put the book down and back away!

My hand shakes, and my throat suddenly feels dry, but I swallow then force myself to open it, my breath catches.

These aren’t my books.

VV – Book 1—I go cold, and my eyes shoot to the other two books—these are my mother’s songbooks.

“No,” I whisper, my pulse quickening. “No, no, no.”

Panic grips me. How did they get these? My father told me that my mother’s books were packed away in a storage locker waiting for me to get my memories back before I could have them. This isn’t just someone playing a game. They’ve dug deep into my life, into my past.

My mind reels as I remember Nikolas—my father? Confusion sends sharp pinpricks of pain shooting through my skull.

No. Mark is my father. Mark Dalton. I’m Leigh Dalton.

No, Lulu-Petal – you’re not.I can hear Nikolas’s voice echo in my head.

“Yes I am!” I fling the book across the room, scrapping the chair back to push myself to my feet. “I’m Leigh Dalton.”

The room starts to spin, and I grip the back of the chair squeezing my eyes shut to steady myself, forcing air into my lungs in a slow steady rhythm to calm me.A cool, clear head is what I need not panic and dread.

Feeling calmer I open my eyes and go pick up the book. Bringing it back to the table I place it beside me, sit and finish my breakfast while ignoring the books. Instead I concentrate onbeing pregnant and wondering when is the earliest I’d know if I was.

I pick up the coffee, savoring the taste and another thought hits me—Fuck! Should I be drinking coffee?I’m sure I heard or read somewhere that there is food and things you shouldn’t drink if you’re pregnant. I put the mug down and say out loud. “Not smart, Leigh. You gave up coffee, remember?”

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