Page 11 of Triple Threat

“Because I have no reason to lie to you,” I said. “Plus, I dropped you rather quickly with an ankle hook the other day, did I not?” She nodded reluctantly. “As long as you play nice, I’ll play nice. If we both play nice, there are nice cups of tea, a great lovely kitchen, and there is a ninety-six-inch high-definition television in the home theatre.”

“You have a home theater?”

“Of course, I do enjoy movies as much as I loathe going to the actual theatre,” I said. “Come, I’ll show you a little bit of the house.”

“When can I have some clothes?”

“You’re clothed now, and you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before,” I said. “You can stay as you are, or you can come as you are, those are the choices.”

“Prime rib or sole,” she murmured.

“Oh, dear no, that choice is also gone. Rib roast takes time to sit, roast, and rest before serving. It’s sole now.” She rose from where she sat on the bed and walked slowly toward me. She was skittish, hesitant, like a wild horse. I half expected to see her nostrils flaring, ears flicked forward, tail twitching impatiently, nervously. I gave her the doorway and mocked a bow. She stepped close to me, only as close as she had to, to get through the doorway. When she was out of arm’s reach, she bolted.

I sighed and followed after her. She made a mad scramble down the hallway and hit the first door to the right, almost bouncing off of it from the force. “Linens closet, love,” I said. She lit off again, hitting a door on the opposite side of the hallway, repeating the nearly comical bouncing action. “Laundry room.” She gave a harsh scream and overshot the archway into the living room to run smack into the wall instead of turning the corner. “Literally just a wall,” I said.

“Gah!” she screamed. I waited by the archway and listened to her hit the next four doors.

“Guest bedroom, guest bedroom, second linens closet, servant’s stairs,” I replied.

“I just want out!” She came back toward me, finding not even windows in what was functionally the guest wing of the house.

“Your behavior,” I tsked. “Things would be so much better for us both if you’d stop running around like a bloody chicken.” She stared at me, her chest heaving and face tinged with red, eyes brimming with tears. “Now, that’s it. Just calm down.” I gestured to the archway. “The living room, home theatre, and service kitchen are this way. I wouldn’t recommend running, the floor can be slick.”

I gestured toward me and she drifted my way sullenly, stopping again out of arms reach. I turned sideways and gestured she should go ahead. She would find the stairs down to the living area past me. She skirted around me as though I would suddenly lunge and bite, hugging herself tightly.

She flew down the curve of the staircase, stopping to survey the sofas and settees in the living room, the shelves of curated books, and illuminated nooks where statues and art pieces were displayed. Her eyes slid over treasures and antiquities with the same flat eye that tourists survey the walls of kitsch in family-style restaurants.

I followed her casually as she found the service kitchen and immediately crashed into the door leading out onto the back veranda and grunted with effort. The door didn’t budge. She tackled several windows with frantic effort including climbing up on a counter and beating on the window with her fists. It was better to let her wear herself down before the next escalation occurred, and that would be soon. As she tried to pull the window over the sink open, I did get an eyeful of her bottom, and saw she was still wearing the sheer panties.

“It’s not glass, it’s Lexan,” I said. She had started leaving bloody smears against it. “It would take a NATO high explosive or armor-piercing round to get through that.” She came off the sink, and I shuddered as my expensive cookware was scattered and the lemon curd and caper jars shattered on the tile floor. She snatched one of the knives from the magnetic latch and brandished it at me.

“I’ll cut you. I’ll hurt you if you don’t let me out,” she said, desperation tingeing her voice.

“Put the knife back on the bar there, if you wouldn’t mind,” I said.

“You’re scared, you’re no killer.” She growled in desperation, and the sound and sight of her conjured images of a frightened feral cat.

“That knife has a blade made from meteoric iron, and the handle is polished fossil. I will be very upset if you damage it,” I said. “And if you come after me with that blade, you’ll spend the night stripped naked, tied like a hog, and left to contemplate the mistake of your actions.”

She flashed the knife at me; her grip was terrible, and when she lunged, it was timid. I swatted the strike away, hitting just inside her wrist with my forearm. She lost the knife and scrambled back, going for another one.

“Oh, you’ve got spirit,” I said with a laugh. She had a knife in each hand now, a mismatched set. The left held the santoku I used for dicing vegetables; the right held my fish boning knife. She came and started slashing, frantic and furious. She was fading though. Days spent asleep, without full and proper nutrition, sick for Lord knows how long, I was honestly surprised she was still on her feet.

Spirit indeed.

I used my cane to disarm her, knocking the santoku to the floor, and then snaring her opposite hand. She gave an indignant noise and then I had her. It was easy to put her right arm in a submission hold. She gave a weak scream and went to her knees. “I told you what was going to happen if you acted up, and I’m a man of my word.”

Thoroughly winded from her running and screaming, still with the shadow of pneumonia over her, Sadie was barely able to resist being bound hand and foot. I left her sitting on the floor in the service kitchen while I set to putting it back in order. She glared at me, face flushed and lips pressed thin to vanishing, tears wetting her cheeks, though she didn’t sob or weep. She had a level of pride I could appreciate.

She had some struggle when I carried her back to the bedroom. I changed the bindings on her hands and feet, something that would keep her from escaping or causing too much mischief but not completely immobilizing her. “I think that since you are new to this situation, I should be lenient. You’ll stay hobbled, but I’ll let you keep your modesty and thus your clothing.”

“Go fuck yourself!” she screamed, her face sheened with sweat and tears alike.

“As you like,” I said flatly, shutting the door to her room behind me and throwing the lock.

Chapter Six

Sadie…

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