Page 84 of Freeing Denver

I’d hardly call myself lucky, but I’m too tired to argue. I reach out a shaking hand for the glass of water by my bed. It’s warm, stale, but I finish it quickly.

“You’ll never survive this unless you learn to keep your mouth shut,” he adds.

“Thanks for the advice.”

When I place the glass back on the nightstand, Kitrick is glaring at me.

“And right there is your problem.” He locks his phone and slides it into his pocket, resting his forearms on his thighs as he watches me. “Do you know how many women have died in that room? And they spoke back a hell of a lot less than you do.” My fingers curl into the bedding, but I say nothing. “If Eli asks me to hurt you, I’ll do it because it puts money in my pocket. He does it because he enjoys it. Stop pushing your fucking luck.”

“Why do you care?” I whisper.

He snorts a laugh. “Caring is a real stretch, Deluxe. You know who did care, though? Chris.” My brows pull together in confusion. “Wow. You don’t even remember him, and he’s the one who died for taking you out of that room early.” My heart becomes a quickened, painful beat. “He thought he could shower, feed you, and put you back without Eli noticing. Had some weak notion that he was looking after you. I caught him spoon-feeding you soup.” Idealistic prick.” He leans back in the chair and takes his phone out again. “Now he’s dead.”

“And you killed him?” I whisper through gritted teeth, my vision blurring with tears.

He shrugs. “You’re an asset. I’m paid to keep you in this house. He’s lucky I made it quick.”

I sit up, ignoring the swimming in my head as my hunger takes hold. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“You’re not heeding my advice, Denver.”

“Fuck your advice!”

He’s out of his chair and over to me so fast that I barely have time to take in a breath or move away. His fingers grip my jaw until I almost yelp with pain.

“This is your last warning, Deluxe.” His voice is low, dripping with the need to hurt me. “Keep this shut, otherwise I’ll make use of it in a way you won’t fucking like. Am I making myself clear?” I don’t move, and his hold on me tightens.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He releases me and goes to the curtains, yanking them open, the metal hoops screeching against the pole. Sunlight bursts into the room and I wince, closing my eyes. “You have thirty minutes to get ready for breakfast, otherwise I’ll come back and dress you myself.”

He leaves, the door snapping closed behind him, and I sink back into the covers and try not to cry.

I survived, but I don’t think I could do another stint in that room. My stubbornness is going to get me killed, but it’s the only weapon I have. Otherwise, I’m powerless. Totally at Eli’s mercy.

Wiping away tears, I allow myself a few minutes, then I shower, dress, and leave my room. Kitrick is where he always is and gives me the same short nod he has for weeks. We go downstairs, but the dining room is empty.

“Where’s Eli?” I ask him.

“Just eat your breakfast. Do not move from that seat until I’m back.” He leaves the room, and I exhale deeply, grateful to be alone.

I’m served porridge, which I eat greedily, even though my stomach aches from my sudden fullness. Next is a bowl of fruit. The housekeeper stands quietly by the hot food as I eat. She’s older than me, her dark hair pulled back into a low bun, her head down.

“What’s your name?” I ask, and even though she tenses, she doesn’t respond. I glance at the open doorway, then back at her, and keep my voice low. “My name is Denver. Have you … seen anything about me online? Do people know I’m missing? Has anyone released a statement about me?” Her head remains down. I sigh, slumping back in my seat. I spoon the strawberries from the bowl to my plate and start cutting them into love heart shapes. “Probably best you don’t speak to me anyway. You’ll end up dead, too.”

“Dead?”

My head snaps up. Her light eyes are fixed on me, and I inch my chair forward. “Yeah. Chris … one of the men here died. Kitrick killed him for getting me out.”

She frowns. “Chris got you out?”

A banging from the kitchen has her jolting back into the side table, and we both fall silent. Minutes pass before she speaks again.

“Chris wouldn’t have done that,” she whispers. “Chris is … was… the worst of all of them. If he got you out, it wasn’t for anything good.”

My skin chills. Did he hurt me?

“He won’t have touched you. We’d have heard about that … we all hear when … that stuff happens,” she says, and when I raise my eyes, she’s by Eli’s chair, her delicate fingers gripping the wood. “And Kitrick would have been furious if it had.”