The food was delicious, that was something I couldn’t deny, and if Andre kept feeding me like this I’d probably be the only person in history to actually gain weight while being held captive. But something was wrong, all of the weird sexual tension was gone. Andre had barely looked at me when he’d returned, leaving me the tray on the bed as he took his plate to the desk.

Along with his water, one of the short glasses, and the entire bottle of rum he’d brought upstairs.

For the last fifteen minutes, it had been nothing but awkward silence with the scratch and scrape of silverware on the plates as we ate. It was weird, and I wanted a fucking drink. Popping the last bite of elote between my lips, I started tapping my fork on the plate until it irritated him enough for him to look over at me. “You going to give me some of that rum?”

“Depends, are you going to explain why you didn’t tell me what happened when I was gone today?” Andre didn’t flinch as he asked it, and I wondered if someone had told him, or if Diego had mouthed off about it… or if he had some kind of surveillance set up in or around his room. The latter wouldn’t surprise me considering his security measures on the door, but none of that really mattered.

I huffed. “Did you really give me an opportunity to have a chat with you about the other assholes in this house when you got back?”

“There have been opportunities,” he growled, pointedly not apologizing, and it cranked up my anger another notch.

“When?” I asked, voice dripping with rage-fueled exasperation. “When you were showering me after you pinned me to the bed and fucked my ass as I screamed and told you no? Or when you called me an idiot for coming here to save my brother? Or, wait, maybe you mean when you brought the food back and looked like you wanted to murder someone, again, and then sat your ass down over there to glare holes in your fucking desk?”

“What did he do, Nicky?” The question was a low rumble, threaded through with the violence that his body projected so clearly.

“He tried to get in. Right after you left, just like you told me he would.” I fought the urge to shiver, remembering the raw fear as the door shook and Diego shouted. Shoving my hair back over my ears, I met Andre’s dark eyes. “I want some fucking rum.”

The way his body unfolded from the chair felt threatening, but he snagged the bottle of rum and brought it over to the bed, moving along the side until he was almost uncomfortably close. His gaze never left mine as he unscrewed the lid and took a drink directly from the bottle. I wanted to growl, to mutter about hygiene and backwash, but when he planted a hand on the bed beside me all of those words left me. Andre let his gaze roam over me with no shame, lingering on the spot where his shirt ended high on my thighs.

Swallowing, I tried to summon the ability to speak from wherever his overwhelming presence had banished it, but all I managed was a heavy exhale as he finally shifted his eyes to the glass on the tray and poured a hearty amount.

Andre planted the bottle on the other side of my thigh, caging me in with his arms. “I will kill him if he touches you, Nicky. Do you understand that?”

“That’s what I told him,” I whispered, aware of just how close he was.

“Did you mean it?” he asked, and his face was only inches away, his dark brown irises almost swallowed by his pupils.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever killed someone, Nicky? Have you ever even seen someone die?” His voice was soft, but that edge was still there. A subtle threat, and for the moment I couldn’t tell who it was for — so I just shook my head slowly. Andre’s tongue snuck out over his bottom lip, and with his exhale I could smell the sweetness of the rum on his breath. “Would you watch if I killed Diego, belleza? Or would you turn away?”

“If he touched me again… I’d watch every minute of it.”

A low groan escaped him just before his lips captured mine, the salt of our food mixing with the sugar of the rum and that overpowering richness of him. I moaned into the kiss as I felt his weight dip the edge of the bed, his hand moving to cradle the back of my head, fingers tightening to control the depth of the kiss. Tongues and teeth at war, nipping, tasting, devouring each other. Slowly, he leaned me back onto the pillow, and I felt the shirt riding up, over the tops of my thighs, and my only comfort was that I had my legs together, even though part of me wished I didn’t.

As soon as I was laid back, he changed the angle of the kiss, growing more aggressive as he bit my lower lip, thrusting his tongue into my mouth again as I gasped. It was dizzying, consuming, and I couldn’t deny the outbreak of heat between my thighs, coiling upward into my belly as I managed to move. Fisting his shirt with one hand to pull him harder against me, moaning softly as his weight pressed me into the bed. An almost feral sound tore out of him and he sat up suddenly, practically launching himself off of me as he stood and then tilted the rum back.

Stunned did not even begin to describe my headspace. We had gone from arguing to… whatever the fuck that was so fast that I’d never even caught up, and then it had all stopped. “What the fuck, Andre?”

He huffed out a laugh, but it sounded bitter before he cut it off with another drink. I pushed myself upright on shaky arms and grabbed for my own glass, needing… something to help me process this fucked up situation. Unfortunately, the burn of the liquor didn’t give me the clarity I’d hoped for.

“Andre!” I raised my voice this time, and he turned to stare at me, a wild look in his eyes. My mouth hung open, because I honestly couldn’t think of a thing to say to him.

“I don’t know what to do with you, belleza.” His lips tilted up in a wry smile, and then he stared up at the ceiling before he cursed under his breath and walked away, swallowing another mouthful of rum.

I took the hint and drank as well, shrugging as I offered a suggestion. “Let me go?”

Another huffed laugh, Andre shook his head as his eyes moved around the room, landing on everything but me. “You still don’t get it, do you? Paulo isn’t going to let you go, Nicky. I couldn’t let you go even if I tried.”

The words caught me by surprise, and I felt darkness creeping in, but I fought it. “That’s… that’s bullshit. You could at least try! Honestly, you could walk me out of here right—”

“Do you honestly think Paulo doesn’t know where you live? Know the hospital room your brother is in?” Andre wiped a hand over his face, pacing the bit of floor between his closet and desk. “Fuck, Nicky, he probably knows your entire life by now. There isn’t anywhere you could go where he wouldn’t find you and fucking kill you.”

Panic exploded inside me, spreading fast through my veins as I shook my head. “No, no, you bought me. You own me, right? Isn’t that the deal? That means YOU can let me go! You can—”

“Paulo owns you, Nicky. I told you that last night. He owns me, he owns you, he owns this house and every man in it.” Another harsh laugh that held no humor. “And if you think he doesn’t pretty much own this fucking city, you’re delusional.”

I was spiraling, breaths coming shorter as I tried to wrap my mind around what he was saying. It wasn’t real, didn’t feel real, but I had to say the words aloud, to make him confirm them. “He… he’s never letting me go. Ever.”

Andre’s jaw was clenched as I looked up at him. Rough, terrifying, and for a fraction of a second he almost looked sorry. But then it was gone, and he jerked his chin toward me. “Drink the rum, Nicky.”

It was like he’d let the air out of the room, and I followed the direction gladly. Not even tensing when he moved close again to refill my glass, carrying his own.

Nudging the tray out of his way, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, both of us drinking in silence for a while as I let the impossible settle inside me. Never. I’m never getting out of here. And as much as my mind tried to fight it, I couldn’t deny the logic of it all, because there was no way that I’d grow old in this house. I wouldn’t be like that woman making breakfast this morning, becoming some odd fixture of this place.

I was a toy, a plaything, and for right now I was Andre’s toy, but Paulo could come by at any time and take me. And I had a very strong feeling that Paulo didn’t take good care of his toys.

“I’m going to die here, aren’t I?” It was barely a whisper, but I knew Andre had heard me because he took another long drink from his glass. When I looked up at him, his eyes were glued to the rumpled sheets. “Tell me the truth.”

“No one knows the future, Nicky.”

“Then tell me your fucking prediction,” I snapped. “I’m not talking about whether or not I’ll get married someday, or have kids, I’m asking about your fucking boss. Will he let me live or not?”

“It’s…” He stopped, stealing another drink as he avoided my gaze. “The safest place for you is here.” Andre spoke to the bed, not lifting his eyes at all, and my rage burned through all of the nihilism to find its way back to the surface.

“Why can’t you just give me a straight fucking answer?” I shouted.

That brought his eyes up, but he seemed to be without any more bullshit answers. Everything about him closed off, shut down, until he was that empty, terrifying robot I’d seen the day before. Hot, cold. Violent, tender. On, off. Andre was made up of extremes, and I was lost in the middle somewhere.

Fucking drowning in the void.

“Why did you help me?” I asked quietly, feeling like something was tearing inside my chest. “Why didn’t you just let them have me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just leave. Can you just leave? Can you just — fuck! — can you just go get me some clothes? I can’t — I don’t want to be around you right now.”

Tall, dark, and silent, he got up from the bed without another word. I watched as he set the glass down on the desk, tucking the list I’d hastily written into his pocket before he moved to his dresser to grab socks and then his shoes. I finished off the rum in my glass, and reached for the bottle on the tray to refill, already planning on getting completely drunk in his absence.

Once he finished tying those heavy boots, his phone went into a pocket, and then he grabbed one of the guns to tuck into the back of his dark jeans. The fact that grabbing a gun was as natural to him as his phone was not lost on me as he moved to the door, but he stopped at the edge of the wall for the bathroom. For a moment I wondered if he’d recalled his threat from before he’d brought lunch, his promise to fuck me, but he didn’t even look at me.

“Don’t forget the locks,” he mumbled. Then he moved to the door and I listened as he opened and shut it.

A moment later I followed to lock myself into my own prison cell. My own fucking coffin. Quite possibly the last place I’d ever see alive.

Yeah. I was definitely going to get drunk.