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Then I headed back to the living room where Kyra was lying unconscious.
“Fuck,” I ran a hand through my hair and contemplated what I was doing, then carried her into the room/prison I’d set up for her before I changed my mind.
She was innocent, but unfortunately for her, my father had chosen her as his bride.
Now she was an integral part of my plan.
I tucked her under the covers and brushed her wet hair off her face so she didn’t catch a chill.
So considerate.
Now, after my first confrontation with her I am tense with desire for my captive and the knowledge that I am going to fucking hurt her.
She knows it and I know it.
“Shit,” I slam my palm down on the marble counter in the kitchen.
So, this is what he feels like to be a monster.
––––––––
I’VE ADVISED MY housekeeper that I have my young cousin staying with me for a few weeks. That she’s not very sociable and not to bother cleaning her room.
She won’t be able to unlock the door, anyway.
“You know teenagers. Just let her come and go as she pleases.”
I almost snort at the irony.
Kyra won’t be going anywhere.
It’s a calculated risk. I don’t have time to clean my apartment or cook. Plus, Alma is in the United States illegally, so unless she hears any screaming or fucked-up stuff, I’m almost certain she’ll turn a blind eye and just keep doing her job.
Almostcertain.
Pulling the baked salmon dish out of the oven, I place a serving in a bowl and grab a fork out of the drawer. Then glance at it for a second.
Nope.
I crouch down to dig through the utensils for a safer option.
When I open the door, Kyra is curled up in a ball staring at the wall.
“Dinner,” I say, placing the bowl on the cabinet, lifting the plastic fork into the air. “Good luck hurting yourself with this. But if you come up with any other dumb ideas, just know I won’t be back in here until morning.”
She sits up and glares at me.
“I’m not suicidal. My father will pay the ransom or whatever you want.” She snorts angrily. “But nice to know you’ll let me bleed out.”
Kyra is right.
It takes a person a lot more than being kidnapped for someone to want to take their life. But she’s a trust fund baby with parents who love her. For all I know, she’s a fucking attention-seeking princess.
I’m setting boundaries.
I snort back pointedly. “I’m not your daddy, sweetheart. You’re here to serve a purpose. Don’t expect your usual silver service, and you can forget throwing out any demands.”
“You don’t know me.” She hisses with a little more sass than I saw from her earlier.