Page 7 of Crazy In Love (Secrets of Suburbi 3)

"Help me!"

I needed a minute to think. "Stop yelling. I'll be right back to untie you." I closed the door and slid the deadbolt back in place. Was he serious? Did he really not know where he was? Who I was? If that was true, he had serious memory loss. The smile returned to my face.

He started screaming at the top of his lungs again.

I needed to stop that. But first I had an opportunity I couldn't pass up. This was better than I could have ever asked for. I must have given him a concussion or something. I mean...by accident of course. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know who I was.

I ran back to my room and quickly did my makeup and changed out of my pajamas. My husband hated those PJs. And I couldn't shake that hate.

I put on a pair of tight jeans, a sweater with a low neckline, and my thigh-high black boots from last night. As a finishing touch, I pulled my blonde wig back in place. I might be able to get through this whole thing without him even knowing me.

His shouts drifted into the bathroom.

If he'd stop screaming. Before heading back downstairs, I pulled out a box of random things I’d been meaning to donate from the top shelf in my closet. It only took a few seconds to find what I was looking for. I lifted the reindeer mask they’d handed out last year at my neighborhood’s annual Christmas light competition. It was like a masquerade mask, only more ridiculous because it had antlers instead of feathers. I pulled it over my wig. For some reason dressing up made it easier to be bold. I'd found the same thing last night when I'd worn the wig. Or maybe it was just a blonde thing. As far as I could tell, blondes did have more fun.

I made my way back downstairs, unlocked the deadbolt on the basement door, and walked down as gracefully as possible. The click of my heels on the wooden steps finally made him stop yelling for help.

When I reached the cement floor, he was staring at me. Well, taking me in. His eyes scanned me from head to toe.

"Untie me." He wasn't screaming now, but his voice was firm.

The ice pack and blanket I'd given him were both on the floor. I tilted my head to the side as I stared back at him. The gag was all the way out of his mouth now. But he was still firmly tied to the chair. "We both know I can't do that." I took another step toward him.

"I absolutely do not know that."

I kept my lips in a straight line even though he was being funny.

"What do you want? Money? I'll get you however much you want if you let me go, sweetheart."

Sweetheart? Condescending jerk. "I don't want your money." I wanted my money back. And I wanted him to look me in the eyes and confess he was sleeping around. I just wanted the truth. Was that so hard to ask? Apparently so. I picked up the blanket and folded it. There was no thank you for taking care of his wounds or keeping him warm last night. He looked hostile. His nostrils were practically flaring.

"Then what do you want from me?"

I didn't respond. I placed the blanket back in its forgotten box. The sound of the rattle jingling jarred me again as I put the box back on the shelf where it belonged.

"Why does it feel like my ribs are broken?"

I didn't respond.

"Is this a kinky sex thing? Does this get you off?"

I definitely didn't need to respond to that. My mask was sophisticated. And classy, even if it was Christmas themed. I should have just worn my pajamas.

"Untie me, you fucking bitch."

Well, he didn’t think I was beautiful anymore. He preferred another b-word now. And he seriously needed to relearn some manners. Did he not realize that he was the one tied up? I could do whatever I wanted to him. I was in control. For the first time in my life, I had all the power.

"What would you like for breakfast?" I asked, ignoring everything he'd said. "I went shopping yesterday afternoon so we'd be well-stocked for our time together. Cereal, eggs, bagels, waffles, fresh fruit..."

He just stared at me.

"How about some French toast?" I knew that my husband loved my French toast. He asked for it every weekend.

"Bite me."

"I'll make French toast then." I walked behind him and placed the gag back in place to a slew of curse words. It was nice to have him silent again.

I walked back in front of him. "The next time we talk, I want you to remember that I put ice on your bruises last night." I lifted the ice pack that was no longer frozen. "I gave you a blanket to keep you warm. And I'm about to feed you a delicious breakfast. So there's no need for that foul language or the yelling. Okay?"

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