“YOU KNOW HOW to cook, right?” Greg asked, twirling the steak knife tip on the countertop.
For the thirtieth time, I tugged on the gold negligée he’d made me slip into. Where he’d gotten it from, I had no idea—it wasn’t a Belle Elle brand, and the satin slipped over my nakedness in the most awful way—but he’d been extremely incessant I wear it.
I hate you, Greg.
The spaghetti straps barely held the material over my nipples while the hem skimmed my ass cheeks, leaving so much of me nude and available for his ogling attention.
I stood in the middle of the kitchen glaring at the knife, wanting so much to pluck it from his hand and plunge it into his leg.
I didn’t want to kill him—just incapacitate him until I could get free, call David to come and break me out of here, and then press charges like a sane person would.
Greg is not sane.
You have full reason to join him in that insanity and kill him.
I didn’t doubt I would if it came down to his life or mine. But call me old fashioned, I couldn’t kill someone I’d known all my life. I couldn’t switch off like that.
He slammed the knife down. “Better answer me, Elle. I’ve been kind and gentle, but if you don’t start talking to me, I’ll have to show a different side of me, got it?”
I planted my hands on the counter, bracing myself. “It’s not a different side to you. I know that side better than you think. I’ve seen it in your eyes for years.”
He grinned. “Great, so you know I’m telling the truth.”
I swallowed as he moved toward me and stroked my cheek, his eyes dropping to my chest. “I showered you, dressed you, and now the least you can do is cook us a lovely meal to celebrate our new future together.”
I cringed, stepping away from his touch.
His face shadowed. “I almost forgot.” Clicking his fingers, he turned and disappeared into the living room where a duffel bag sat on the couch. Placing the knife on the coffee table—away from my eager fingers—he unzipped the bag and checked the contents.
Greg had many faults, but I’d never known him as so meticulous.
He’d planned my abduction flawlessly.
Clothes for me hung in the wardrobe right alongside clothes for him. The kitchen was stocked with delicacies and staple requirements, and hygiene products such as toothbrushes and toilet paper were in ample supply.
The bathroom had been bare when we’d arrived, but that was before he’d returned to the Dodge and emptied the trunk.
How long had he been concocting this?
How long is he planning to keep me here?
Greg returned with the bag, placing it with a loud clunk on the kitchen counter.
My hair was still damp from the shower, my skin still warm despite the lack of thermal properties of the skimpy negligée. Once he’d turned off the water, he’d dried me (despite my fight and refusal), then dragged me into the bedroom where he’d shoved the gold satin over my head.
He hadn’t let me go until I stood in the middle of the kitchen and he’d grabbed the knife. The sharp blade didn’t scare me, but the lack of warm clothes and shoes did. Even if I did spy an opportunity to run, I wouldn’t get far unless I dressed appropriately.
Greg patted the duffel. A smirk spread his lips. “I brought these as a last resort, but after having the convenience of the rope around your wrist, I think they’ll come in handy.” Pulling out a leather cuff, the heavy clinking of chains sounded.
My mouth shot dry as his bicep bulged, hefting the weight from the bag to the counter.
He’d dressed in a white t-shirt with faded jeans, his dark blond hair swept back, drying from our joint shower, while the odd droplet turned his t-shirt translucent on the shoulders.
He looked innocent...familiar. The contents he’d just dumped into view were the exact opposite.
I backed away, bumping into the oven. “What the hell is that?”
He chuckled. “Gifts for you, of course.”
“I don’t want any gifts.”
“Believe me, you’ll change your mind soon enough.” Unbuckling the leather cuff that attached to the glinting chain, he carried the metal across the living room to a sturdy looking hook. A fire poker and small shovel hung for cleaning out the ashes in the grate.
Removing the poker, he secured the chain and locked it with a small padlock before making his way back toward me, letting the links slip through his fingers to stain the floorboards with imprisonment.
The length kept going from the living room to where I stood petrified in the kitchen.
Dropping the remaining chain by my feet, he said, “Until you behave and stop looking at the door to run, I’m going to ensure you stay here with me, okay?”
“No, not okay. You’ve already squirreled me away where no one can find us.” I darted backward, trapped by cabinets. “I don’t like being tied up, Greg.”
“Too bad.” His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask your opinion or permission.” He held up the leather cuff. “Now, come here.”
I shook my head, my eyes flickering to the knife on the coffee table over his shoulder.
If only I could reach it. “I won’t run.”
“I know you won’t. This system will make sure of it.” He advanced.
I pushed harder into the cabinetry but had nowhere else to go.
Only a foot separated us.
Greg smiled then dropped to one knee as if to propose. I held my breath, shock and horror crawling over my insides as he reached for my ankle and latched his heinous fingers around my leg.
The moment he caught me, he wrapped the leather cuff around my limb, pulling tight before running the chain through the small hook at the top and securing it with the aid of another padlock.
The second I was locked in place, he stood with a triumphant look on his face. “You should be able to go anywhere you need in the cabin but not outside.” Returning to the bag, he pulled out another chain, this one shorter with two cuffs on either side instead of one. “Give me your hands.”
“What?”
“Your hands, Elle.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m deadly fucking serious.” He came forward, letting one cuff dangle while he reached for my wrist—the one with rope burns from the stupid twine he’d used.
What the hell is he doing?
“I’m not your prisoner, Greg.”
“I beg to differ.” His fingers bit into my arm as he wrapped the cuff around me and once again secured it with a tiny padlock. At least the leather was soft and supple rather than coarse and prickly. It looked expensive with gold stitching and faux fur trim. Not the cheap kink sold at wannabe sex shops.
Not that I know what cheap or expensive sex toys look like.
A memory of the Seahorse and other dildo samples from Loveline reminded me Penn still had my property.
He has my underwear, too.