Page 8 of The Killer Who Kept Me

His tone told me he didn’t believe me, but he had no proof so he’d hoped I’d slip up. That wouldn’t happen.

When I’d arrived home, I’d gone straight to the study and handed him the envelope. Thinking I’d done exactly as I was instructed, I went to leave only to be stopped and told I was late. All I knew was that I’d needed to be at the gallery by a certain time, not back home, so I was confused.

I’d tried to come up with a story that Ramsey would no doubt believe, but he’d been in a mood and had sequestered me to the basement for a time yet to be determined.

“Why didn’t you call, like, Uber or something?” Shyla inquired, her head tilted to the side.

“I should have. I thought it would be faster to walk than to wait for a car.”

“But you were wrong.” Ramsey pursed his lips. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it,” he spat.

I took a deep breath. “I was wrong.”

“Yes, you were.” He lifted a tumbler to his mouth and swallowed the amber liquid down. “You know, Em, whenever I think you’re finally going to be useful, you show just how useless you truly are. Honestly, I don’t know why I keep you around.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. He wasn’t asking me a question, so if I did say something and should’ve stayed quiet, itwouldn’t end well. If I was silent and he expected a response, I was also fucked.

“Darling, we have company coming in an hour. We should wrap this up.” Shyla stood, a little wobbly, but composed herself quickly. “I’m going to get dressed; don’t dawdle.”

She walked past me, faltering a beat and pushing me to the side. She didn’t say excuse me or sorry—I wasn’t sure she knew those kinds of words.

Ramsey sighed. “Go to your room. Don’t come out while I have people here.” He waved me away, and I was all too happy to comply.

My room was at the far end of the house, the floor above where the staff slept. It wasn’t a very big room, but I had a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and a small bathroom. There was a window that showed the backyard, and that was about it.

I pushed my nightstand and kneeled. After Ramsey and Shyla began withholding food and locking me up, I’d hoard it any chance I got. I stored it under a loose piece of wood beneath the nightstand.

There was enough room for me to hold a good number of nonperishables. Every so often, Ramsey did surprise room inspections. But those consisted of going through drawers, looking under the bed, that sort of thing. No one had ever tried pulling up flooring.

I grabbed a bottle of water, a bag of beef jerky, and one of the small boxes of rice cereal. That would be enough.

I didn’t have a television, but my phone had apps, so I pulled up a movie, took my snacks to the bathroom, and hunkered down in the tub. The bathroom had a lock, but my bedroom didn’t, so if anyone surprised me I’d hear them with plenty of time.

I could hear some voices here and there below me, but I concentrated on my show and snacks and tried to get whisked away to another place.

There were a few loud booms of laughter downstairs that threatened to pull me out, but I slid lower in the tub, ate my jerky, and watched the action flick.

After it was over, I took my garbage, wrapped it in toilet paper, and tucked it in the bottom of my trash bin beneath the other garbage there. Then I showered, dressed in sweats, and slid under the covers.

I often wondered at what moment Ramsey had decided he hated me. I honestly couldn’t think of a time he didn’t. Ever since I was a little kid he had a sort of disdain for me. Always whispered to Shyla how he didn’t like me, thought I was useless…I mean I was five when he said that the first time.Five. What child of that age really proves their worth in the world?

I didn’t know how I’d come to live with Ramsey and Shyla. All I knew was that it was before I could form memories and that I was definitely not welcome.

I shook my head of those wandering thoughts. Ramsey’s guests tended to stay a while, and no one ever bothered me when he was entertaining, so I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. My dreams for the last few days brought me right back to that night, that man, and the way he’d looked at me.

He was no prince, but I wouldn’t mind being rescued by him.

CHAPTER FIVE

“A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives.” ~ Jackie Robinson

Saros

We wereable to get video from Fernando. Anger boiled in my veins as I watched Marco go down and Benny get shot, but Em, he was like a balm to that burn.

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