Page 50 of Sinful Honor

How could I be turned on by threats of violence?

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Understood?”

I nodded.

“Now, tell me your name.”

He opened a package and wiped across my wound.

Hot pain shot up my arm, and I inhaled sharply.

“It will only sting a little. Try to relax.”

Relax? Was he serious?

He put on gloves, then opened another package—I only caught a glimpse at the suture kit before he pulled out the thread and needle.

Who had things like that in their suitcase? Was he a doctor?

I shook my head, inhaled deeply through my nose, then exhaled through my mouth.

“Your name?”

I shook my head.

He held all the power.

But I wouldn’t just roll over.

I braced, expecting more pain, but he just kept on talking.

“Will you tell me where they caught you?”

“A nightclub,” I spoke without thinking first. I bit my lip. Would giving this away give him more power? “Why won’t you release me? You can drive me to the airport, and I’ll be gone in an instant.”

“Do you have your passport?” There was no emotional inflection in his voice.

I flinched, and not only because he took that moment to pierce my skin with the needle. “No.” A painful lump in my throat made the word come out inaudible, and I hung my head.

“So, then you’d be stuck at the airport.”

He finished the sutures and opened another package of antiseptic wipes.

I hardly felt the sting this time, hardly felt anything at all when he put a dressing on my arm.

I didn’t have my passport. I didn’t have any clothes.

I had no way to escape.

“I want to make a call.”

He sighed. “I can’t let you do that right now.”

“Why not?”

He pulled the gloves off his hands and wrapped everything together. Then he got up and threw it away.

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