Page 13 of Sadist

She looked at me with suspicion.

Rolling my eyes, I took my usual spot, sliding her plate across the table and tossing a plastic fork after it.

“I believe we had this discussion yesterday,” I warned softly. “I don’t like to repeat myself, Octavia.”

She muttered something I couldn’t make out under her breath before sliding into the far seat, not even glancing at the food. Instead, her gaze was flitting around the room, quickly taking in everything she could.

Smart girl.

“This place is coded to me,” I offered, blowing on my forkful. “Even if you get out of the cell…and then past me, you won’t get through the doors. If you get through the doors, you won’t get past the lifts…and if you get past those, good luck getting out of the lower levels. So why don’t you just relax and enjoy my company?”

Her gaze snapped back to mine, and I gave her a wink.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.

“Nothing yet,” I replied, swallowing the admittedly rather tasteless cheesy mess. She tensed as I stood up, and I raised my hands placatingly. “Just getting a drink.”

I didn’t even bother asking her if she wanted one, just grabbed two Cokes from the fridge and placed one in front of her as I returned to my seat, which she eyed as if it had been poisoned.

“I’m going to need you to eat something,” I said as I sat again, pointing my fork at her untouched plate. “I’m not above force feeding you…I might even enjoy it.”

“Tell me what I’m doing here,” she hissed. “I knownothing.”

“Eat, and you can ask me questions,” I said evenly.

A muscle ticked in her jaw and her knuckles went white around the handle of the fork as she snatched it up, but she stabbed a portion and shoved it into her mouth, chewing angrily for a moment before her expression relaxed, her attention moving back to the plate as she took a second, bigger forkful.

“Good,” I murmured, watching her intently. “Now, what do you want to know?”

“Who do you work for?” she asked immediately.

“I can’t answer that,” I replied, tucking back into my own food.

“You said you would answer my questions!”

“I said you canaskquestions,” I clarified. “Not that you would get answers to all of them.” I pointed my fork at her plate in warning. “Try again.”

“Why have I been taken?” she snapped, angrily shoving food in her mouth.

“Because your father is far from an upstanding individual, and his attention was required,” I said.

She huffed mirthlessly at that, and it was my turn to study her.

“He owes your company money, then?” she guessed.

“Again, that’s not something I can discuss.”

“Well, it’s relevant,” she shot back. “If it’s money they want, I can get that, pay it, and be on my merry way.”

“You don’t have the kind of money required to meet a ransom demand,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

“You don’t know what I have set aside!”

“Oh, but I do,” I crooned, leaning forward. “You are surprisingly difficult to get information on, but I amverygood at what I do. Whatisyour aversion to social media, by the way? You know it’s 2025, right?”

She just gave me a stony look.

“Twenty-nine and no career of note,” I pressed. “You’ve spent barely any time in the UK in over two decades, don’t own property anywhere, you don’t even have a phone plan or a credit card…fuck…you barely had a digital footprint at all. And I’m gathering from the accommodation you were staying in when you were picked up—paid for in cash, might I add—that you do not have access to the Vanguard fortune. It’s certainly not in the singular account you have under your name, and with the quarterly allotments of ten grand coming from Vanguard holdings that were a month late this time…am I right in assuming that is the extent of the financial assistance you have?”

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