I breathe in deep and look at my reflection as I layer on one more coat of mascara. The cabinet is filled with high-end beauty products that are all brand new. It also contains my makeup bag, which he obviously stole from my house.

I’ve been watching the clock like a hawk.

My hair’s tied back in a loose braid, and my makeup is clean and natural-looking, just enough to cover the imperfections.

The closet is stuffed with all sorts of clothing. From cocktail dresses, to slutty role-playing costumes, to everyday pieces that I actually love. He also brought along a duffel bag packed with a few items that I wear all the time.

The variety of clothing, makeup, and accessories is strangely familiar. Some things I recognize as mine, but the new additions are all nicer, more luxurious versions of what I already own.

The one thing he didn’t grab were the owl earrings my mother left me.

They were hers, and when she found out she only had three months left to live, she gave them to me.

They’re gorgeous. I'd admired them since I was a little girl. The earrings are yellow gold with ruby flowers in the centers of the owls, but I’ve never worn them. I was always too afraid I’d lose them. And now they’re gone.

I tilt my head back and exhale, waving my hands around my face to cool my eyes and keep me from crying. It’s almost time, and I can’t ruin my makeup and piss him off.

I don’t know why I was so lackadaisical when he came in this morning. Maybe it’s because I slept so damn well. It took forever to actually get to sleep, but when I did, I slept wonderfully. I guess allowing myself to cry some helped. I'm not sure why I wasn't more alert this morning. Maybe it's because he was so lenient last night, but whatever the reason, I can't let it happen again.

I calm myself down and put the mascara back. Everything’s neat and put away. It makes me feel at ease. I just need to make the bed and then I can wait for him.

I always make my bed in the morning. I think staying at home all day has made me a tidier person than I ever was before. So long as I’m capable of making the bed, I’m able to do anything. I snort a humorless laugh as I move the sheets into place and reach for the duvet. It’s so pretty and soft. It’s off-white, with thin silver threading making a paisley design throughout.

I bend at the waist to lay my head down on the bed and love how I sink in to the mattress and smell the comforting scent of fresh laundry. As I inhale deeply, I hear the doorknob turn and the door slowly open. I quickly climb the bed and kneel at the end of it. I don’t know if this is where he wants me. My heart races. I don’t know any of his preferences. He never told me. He may want my hair a certain way, my makeup to be heavier, or my clothes to be different. I have no fucking clue. I need to ask him. He hasn’t given me anything. He’s not playing fair.

As soon as I find out what kind of mood he’s in, I’m asking. So long as it’s a good mood.

I hear him walk by the sofa and toward the bed, but I don’t look up. I keep my head bowed and wait. I’m on my knees, sitting back on my heels with my hands slightly in front of me, palms up.

I’ve read a lot of books and there are so many damn positions. I don’t know which one he means by kneel. For Christ's sake, in movies they kneel on one foot, but I’m sure he doesn’t mean that though.

I watch as he picks up my hand and places it gently on my thigh and does the same with the other. His fingers tilt my chin up so I have to look at him.

“No need to bow, kitten.” He pets my hair as he talks. It’s soothing and rhythmic. “I want your eyes on me always. You never have to look away.”

“Yes, Anthony.” I feel like I’m playing a role. It gives me a small thrill, but I have to remember this is an act. All of this is an act.

“Did you find everything you need?” he asks.

I look up at him through my lashes. He’s so fucking handsome. It still amazes me that he felt the need to take a woman when he could have anyone he wanted. That a man like him would stoop this low. I realize I haven't answered his question and bite my lip. I want to tell him I want more of my things, but I can’t. I’m too scared to do anything to upset him. Because of that, I merely nod my head in assent.

“So I packed everything that you need, then?” he asks with slight disbelief in his tone. The way he says it makes me feel like I’d be a liar now to tell him that I want more of my things. My skin heats and I feel nauseated. I feel trapped in a corner, like no matter what I do, it’ll be wrong.

“Kitten,” he says as he leans my body against his chest and runs soothing strokes along my back.

“You can tell me anything. I promise I won’t get mad,” he says.

“I want to go home.” The words fall out easily. As though they’ve been perched there, waiting for me to release them.

“I know you do, but you can’t.” He keeps petting my back and I hate him for it. I want to move out of his embrace, but at the same time I don’t. I need the comfort.

“What else did you want to ask?” he says. I’m quiet for a moment and he adds, “If you want certain things, you’ll need to ask for them.”

“I have other things I want,” I say softly into his chest. I wait with bated breath for his reaction.

“We’ll go together. Later tonight.” His answer surprises me so much I go completely still. I’m afraid if I move, or if I even breathe, he’ll change his mind.

“I want you to be happy here. You know that, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes, Anthony.” I respond with the only answer that seems fit, but really, I don’t know that to be true. He wants me here to serve him. To play his fucked up game. He doesn’t want me here to be happy. He’s not doing me any god damned favors.

He finally releases me and I maintain my position.

He looks me over, assessing me before taking me by my hand.

“It’s time for breakfast, kitten.” He leads me off the bed and to the door. We’re leaving the room. Hope rises in my chest. I wait for the sash, but he doesn’t pull it out. Maybe he'll let his guard down today, and I'll have a chance to run.

He looks back at me as he enters in the code. I bite my bottom lip and look away. Damn it. He grunts a laugh and it pisses me off. At the click he opens the door and reaches out to prop it open with his foot. I consider grabbing the door, swinging it open and running. My heart beats fast and adrenaline rushes through my blood at the thought. But I don’t do it. I watch as he wheels in a steel cart and the door slowly closes. My eyes fall to the ground and I feel like a fucking coward.

“Now now, kitten, stop that.” I look up at my captor, at my dom, with sad eyes.

“I just want to go home.” I say the words again and I'm sure I sound pathetic.

“You are home,” he says absolutely. It crushes something inside me and I have to work hard not to cry. I stand there while he wheels the cart over to the sofa and sets up covered dishes on the coffee table. I look between him and the locked door.

It could be so much worse. He was supposed to kill me. I close my eyes and steady my breathing as I consider how many other ways this could have gone. I just need to behave. He can’t keep me here forever.

“Come, kitten.” My feet move toward him before I’m even fully conscious of his command.

I start to sit on the sofa, but he holds his hand up and I freeze.

“On your knees,” he says.

I only hesitate a fraction of a second before gracefully sitting on my heels. I put my hands on my thighs where he placed them earlier. I can do this. I know I can. And I can win his trust and I can get the fuck out of here. I just need to role-play. I can do it. I know I can.

“Let’s play a game, kitten.” He starts talking and I give him my full attention, but I don’t want to play a game. I want to go home. I want to read my books, talk to my clients, and engage with my group of readers on social media. Every hour I’m away from them kills the interaction rates. It’s fucking horrible for business. I breathe in deeply. My books and my work are my life. And he’s murdering both of them right now.

“Between every bite we’ll ask each other a question.” He lifts a silver dome off of a plate and a delicious scent fills my lungs. I inhale deeply, loving the smell of peppers and sausage and eggs. I eye the dish. Omelets. My mouth waters. “Does that sound like fun to you?” he asks.

No, I think, but of course I answer, “Yes.”

“Does it really?” he asks, immediately countering my simple answer.

“Fun? No, it doesn’t. But it sounds like something to do,” I answer honestly out of instinct. I don’t have time to be nervous about it. He barks a laugh at my answer and lays a gentle hand on my hair.

“Thank you, kitten.” He leans down and plants a kiss in my hair and strokes me gently. It’s soothing, and I hate how comforting it is.

I look his body over as he moves to cut a piece of the omelet. I still don’t understand why a man like him would do this. I want to ask him. But I’m not going there. I think I’ll stick to, What’s the weather like outside, since I can’t fucking see it?

“I’ll go first, kitten,” he says as he stabs a piece of the egg and puts the fork in front of my mouth. I obediently open and wait for his question. “I know what happened with the Cassanos. But I want you to tell me what you saw.” I chew the food slowly as my blood chills. I don’t want to talk about it. I also don’t know if this is a test. Maybe he really does work for them. Maybe this is all a ploy of some sort. Anxiety creeps up on me. As if reading my mind, he reassures me.

“It’s not a trick. I’m just curious how it happened.” He sets the fork down as I swallow.

“Would it help if I tell you what I know?” he asks. I nod my head, still unable to speak. Everything that happened fucking destroyed me. I may have been a sweet, shy, book-loving nerd before, but at least I was strong and confident. Going through that shit robbed me of that. I don’t want to go back to that fucked up place.

“You saw three of their soldiers kill Judge Hawthort. He was killed by Michael Davis, and Joseph and Brandon Becker. And later you were able to identify them all as well as account for their missing kilos of dope,” he says.

I shake my head no and say, “He was alive. I’m fairly sure he was alive.” I didn’t testify that I saw him dead, and I'm confident that he was alive at the time that I witnessed everything. His body was never found though. It’s a very real possibility that he’s dead simply because I saw them. Talking about this triggers the memory. I see the hammers in their hands and hear the sound of Brandon smashing his against the judge’s knee. He was alive. I hear his screams echo in my head. The bricks and the bags are there. My body turns to ice.

He holds another bite to my lips; my appetite is gone, but I take it. “What else did you see?” he asks.

“Nothing. I never saw anything else,” I say.

“They were charged with more,” he points out.

“Nothing that I testified to,” I answer quickly.

“But you testified to attempted rape and kidnapping?” he asks.

I look away and nod.

“I have another question for you and then I’ll lighten it up, kitten.” My eyes fall. I don’t want another question. This game fucking blows. “I want you to be honest.”

I wait nervously for his question.

“Did they touch you?” I know what he's getting at.

I shake my head no. “They tried,” I answer, looking to the floor. “That’s when I left.” Not a single one of them did. Not even Lorenzo. He was having too much fun beating me for sport.

“What about your boyfriend?” he asks. I fucking hate that I ever called him that. Lorenzo helped me escape the pain of losing my mother. He made me feel free and wild. And then he destroyed me. I shake my head no, and I don’t realize until Anthony says something, but my hand moves to my cheek.

“He hit you?” I lock my eyes on Anthony’s. His voice is calm. He’s been calm the entire time. But his eyes spark with a darkness I never want to see directed at me. I give one curt nod in response. I’m ashamed that I let Lorenzo hurt me. I’m ashamed that it all ever happened.

He scoops a piece of omelet onto the fork and holds it out for me.

I take it simply to fill my mouth so I don’t have to talk.

“Your turn, kitten. Ask me anything.”