Page 43 of Ruined

“Nice, huh,” Bobby says.

“Yeah.”

We never get to eat pizza when Angelo is around for dinner, at least, not the kind of grease trap slice only a local place with a borderline to nonexistent health rating can make.

“I should share,” I say. “Angelo might be hungry.”

“For revenge, certainly. For pizza? He’ll take that as an insult,” Bobby smirks.

“Good.”

I go downstairs, getting up the courage to look and sound confident. Bobby’s right. This is going to be more of a fuck you than chaining him up in the first place. I sure hope it is.

“Here,” I say as I get to the bottom of the stairs. “Not a sandwich. Would have waited but didn’t want it getting cold for you.”

I slide the box over to Angelo. He doesn’t bother opening it, just gives me a look like I just presented him with wrapped excrement.

“I need to teach at least one of you to cook. This is pathetic,” he says, quite seriously. I think he’s more offended at the pizza than the captivity.

I shrug and go back up the stairs, not before rolling him a can of soda to wash it down with.

“Little savage,” he growls to himself. I let him grumble. At least now I know he can’t free himself, and he’s not just playing along. The pizza would have broken him instantly if that were the case.

* * *

I feel a little guilty the first night Bobby and I sleep in Angelo’s bed while he languishes downstairs, but it’s not the worst thing he’s done to either one of us. It’s barely a sliver of payback for all we have suffered.

Still, I am restless. Bobby isn’t. He sleeps like a baby while I toss and turn and try to convince myself that I haven’t made the biggest mistake of my life. There’s part of me that wants to sneak downstairs and let Angelo go, but then I would be there, right next to him, and that would be immediately bad.

I need to find someone else to let him out. Yeah. That’s the ticket. Someone else needs to free Angelo while I am at a safe distance.

Having decided on that part of the plan, and feeling it to be very solid, I finally fall asleep.

* * *

Day two of Angelo’s capture, and I can barely believe he’s still in the basement. I feel like nobody has ever captured a beast like this before. Men with lions in cages are nothing compared to me.

“Morning,” I say as I make my way downstairs. “I made your coffee. And I got you a brioche. And the paper.”

Angelo looks at me with a deep, hollow gaze.

“It’s polite to say thank you,” I remind him.

His stare promises a thousand pains, but I remain strong. I slept well, and I will not be intimidated by my own captive.

“We can work on your manners,” I say, turning around to leave.

“Riley,” he growls my name.

“Yes?”

“Good work,” he praises me. I try not to smile from pleasure.

“Thanks,” I say, skipping back up the stairs, trying not to prance and failing.

“What do you look so happy about?” Bobby asks the question with great curiosity as I reach the top of the stairs.

“Angelo said I was doing a good job keeping him captive.”

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