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He didn’t let the Italian predator buy me. Didn’t let Topher humiliate me or hurt me.

A part of him looks at me and sees more than a pretty face. More than a game.

Maybe if I’m good, he’ll remember that. Maybe I can even grow to like this side of him.

And maybe if you’re bad, he’ll kill you. Maybe that’s what happened to Topher’s mom. He might’ve killed her.

Either way, I have to gather my strength. I have to eat to survive this.

“I’ll be good.”I’ll survive this. I’ll survive him.“What do you want?”

“That’s better.”

With the bottle squeezed into his armpit, he has one free hand to retrieve the gold keys from his jeans pocket. He unlocks the door, closes it behind him, and locks it up again. The keys slide back into his pocket.

I’m wary and insanely curious as he gets closer. His elegant gait. His eyes on mine. How he lowers himself into the bed I refuse to get into.

“Before I left, I ordered you to do something.”

The plate is on the bed. I smell peanut butter. Did Topher tell him it was my favorite snack? I’ll kill him. I’ll destroy him.

Food doesn’t matter. Topher doesn’t matter.

“How long has it been since you left, anyway?”

James takes a moment or two to answer me. Could be a million. His silence is unsettling. His silence makes me wet.

“Okay. I’ll indulge you.” He makes it sound like a gift, and I, sickly, in the most depraved way, light up at this. Then this darkness splashes across his face. He’s mad that I’m leaning closer to him. “Three hours. Couldn’t leave you here for longer than that without food. You need to eat. You will eat, damn it.”

Hope. A sliver of it. He might care for me. In an unconventional way. But still. “Even if I don’t?—”

One shake of his head and my mouth slams shut.

“Food and water won’t come for free. Tomorrow, maybe.” He shrugs, and even that movement looks violent. “Depends on how well you behave. On how well you follow orders tonight. How pleased I’ll be by the way you crawl to me. How much of a fight you put up before you finally bend to my will. You will, eventually. Trust me when I say that I’m not leaving here before your stomach is full. The only question is if you’ll be punished for it or not. You don’t want to test my patience. You shouldn’t.”

My first reaction is to shudder. Can’t help it. He’s so severe. So intimidating. His words are teeth sinking into my flesh.

James, my owner, notices. His eyes narrow. Wicked satisfaction lights up in them.

The last time he was here, crawling to him seemed like the worst possible thing that could happen to me. Every cell in my body rejected the idea.

Now, late at night, when I’m exhausted, hungry—and after spending hours here by myself—it doesn’t sound as awful. Having him here isn’t as terrible. His presence doesn’t terrify me.

It…

Fuck.

These feelings for him. I shouldn’t be having them, yet here they are.

Right. Fucking. Here.

He can never know that I’m growing attached to him. That a part of me finally admits that I’m relieved that he returned to my cell.

I hoped he never would. Prayed that the next person to come down here would be a man or a woman in a police uniform, they’d hold the literal and metaphorical key to my freedom.

James is here instead. A familiar presence. And he brought me water and food.

He’s someone I find comfort in.