Page 45 of Taken As Collateral

“I thought we were going to be a good guest, not an insolent one,” Rafe responds.

I look down. “Sorry, I—” Wait. Why am I the one apologizing? I look back up. “Wouldn’t you be a little distraught if you were in my shoes and your days were numbered?”

I glance at James, who has no reaction, as if it’s common for Rafe to wine and dine his victims before he has them killed. Maybe that’s the extent of his sympathy, to decrease his guilt by filling their final days with nice things.

Rafe tilts his head as he regards me. “That’s pessimistic thinking.”

“Do I have reason to be optimistic? Maybe if you let me have my phone back, I’d have a better chance of getting through to my brother. What if he’s trying to reach me? What if my mom or my friends call? If they don’t hear back from me, they’ll report me missing. To the cops.”

I wonder that I didn’t think to threaten him with that before.

However, Rafe is unfazed. “We’re monitoring your incoming calls.”

“How?”

“Basically, your phone is wiretapped. Now what would you like for lunch?”

Feeling like I have no control over anything, least of all my life, I hold on to the one thing I can control at the moment: whether or not I eat.

“Just the iced tea,” I reply.

Rafe thinks for a minute as if trying to decide whether to contest me, then says, “I’ll let you have the iced tea for now. Get in the water.”

I bristle. “I’m good here.”

Rafe jerks his head for James to leave before sitting down next to me. He towels off his wet hair as he asks, “Did you forget there are consequences for not being a good guest?”

Ihadmomentarily forgotten, but reply, “Just because I don’t do everything you say doesn’t make me a bad guest.”

“I’m the host. I get to define what’s good and bad.”

“Then by ‘good,’ you should have specified ‘obedient.’”

He grins. “Like I said before, smart girl like you should be in college. I’ve also said that I don’t give warnings twice, so I’d get in the water if I were you.”

I should just get in the water. This is hardly worth fighting over, but part of me wants to see just how serious he is. I know I’m acting like a child testing parental boundaries, but I don’t want him thinking that I’m some weak female he can just walk all over. If I’m going to die, I want a shred of dignity in my final days.

With more confidence than I’m actually feeling, I reply, “No, thank you.”

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