KATYA
AFTER SHOWERING AND changing into clean clothes, I feel somewhat better. Not that my situation has improved at all — I'm still being held captive by a man I know nothing about in an unknown place and for an unknown length of time.
In all actuality, Jackson could be a creepy serial killer, and I could just be his latest victim.
I pace the room and finally flop down on the bed. There is absolutely nothing to do in here, no TV, no magazines or books. I'm bored to tears, and I've only been in this room for probably a couple of hours.
If there was a clock, I would be able to tell. But, of course, there's not.
It reminds me of the basement where Pavel would keep me for days or weeks sometimes, starving me after a horrific beating. There was nothing to do but stare at the wall or sleep to pass the time.
But at least this room has a comfy bed and a bathroom. The basement didn't have such luxuries, and I can still smell the stench of my own piss and vomit…
A familiar beeping sound drags me from those horrible memories, and I quickly stand and watch as the door opens. Internally, I curse myself for not lying in wait and ready to strike. I could have maybe escaped.
Jackson walks in, shutting the door behind him, effectively locking us in. "Hello," he says casually as if we're old friends and he's not currently holding me hostage.
I narrow my eyes at him, and I'm about to make a rude remark, but then I see the tray of food in his hand, and all I can think about is eating.
I'm starving. But after being drugged twice by this man, there is no way I'm going to eat his food willingly.
My eyes roam over his appearance. He's cleaned up since the last time I saw him. He's not covered in his cousin's blood anymore. It looks like he showered, and he's now in fresh, clean clothes — jeans and a long-sleeved charcoal-colored shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms and revealing those eye-catching tattoos done in red and black ink on his left arm.
"I didn't know what you liked, so I grabbed a little bit of everything," he says, gesturing to the food in his hands.
The tray is packed with sandwiches, fruits, veggies, chips and a bottle of water. Even the water could be drugged, so I decide that I'll drink out of the faucet in the bathroom and not take any chances.
When I make no move to take the food from him, he sets the tray down on the bed between us. "Not hungry?" he asks.
I glare at him and ignore his question. Instead, I ask, "Where are we? Whose house is this, and who was that man downstairs?"
He only answers one of my questions by saying, "That man is my cousin, the one I was telling you about."
"This is his house?"
He nods in response.
"Is he still alive?" I ask in an almost whisper. I don't know why I asked. It's not like I even care. From the information I've gathered of his cousin so far, he's a very bad man who holds girls hostage in rooms that can only be opened with a code.
"Yes," he answers, but I can hear the worry in his tone.
I fold my arms across my chest and stand up straighter in a defiant stance. "So, what are you going to do with me?" That is the million-dollar question, after all.
Jackson takes a few steps back toward the door and leans up against the wall, facing me. "I don't know. Things are…complicated right now," he says cryptically.
"Tell me about it," I say with an eye-roll. "So you're just what, going to keep me here as your prisoner?"
"No," he says quickly before adding, "Well, not technically."
"Not technically? It's a yes or no question!" I snap at him. Again, he's answering me with not technically just like he did when I asked him if he was a doctor. This man is infuriating me to no end. And that goofy grin on his face — notwithstanding a very handsome face — is not helping matters and is only pissing me off even more.
"I'm only keeping you here until Lucien gets better and can help me with your…situation," he explains, taking his time to find the right words, which are so very wrong in my eyes.
"My situation is that you kidnapped me and are holding me hostage for reasons you can't even explain to me, let alone yourself," I tell him angrily. I'm running out of time here. And he's waiting on that man to get better…the one who was shot up and looked as dead as a body you'd find in the morgue. "How do you know your cousin will even wake up?" I ask, exasperated.
My words visibly wound him, and the smile slides right off his face. "I…I just have to believe that he'll be okay," he says sadly.
Frowning, I suddenly feel bad for him. But that only lasts for a moment when I realize I'm feeling bad for the man who is currently holding me captive. If Jackson wouldn't have seen me kill my husband, then he wouldn't have chased me. And I would be halfway across the world by now. Hell, I might be halfway across the world right now, considering I have no idea where we are, but my idea of escaping Pavel didn't involve being held hostage by a man I don't know or trust.
I've been held prisoner for far too long. I wanted nothing more than one thing — my freedom.
And now Jackson has stolen that from me just like everyone else in my life previously. All I have ever wanted was to be free, but I was never afforded the opportunity to be anything but property, someone's possession.
"Let me go, please. I'll figure things out on my own," I plead, begging him and even being able to summon up some fake tears for added effect. I've been in complete control of my emotions for so long now that I can turn them off and on as I please.
But my tears have no effect on Jackson, who simply tells me, "I'm sorry. I can't do that right now."
And with that, he inputs the code and walks out of the room. When I hear the door close and the beep signaling that I'm locked in here without any way out, I scream at the top of my lungs. My feet carry me to the door and I bang against the wood with all of my might.
If Jackson thinks he kidnapped an easy and docile prisoner, he's in for a rude awakening. I'm going to make his life a living hell, if it's the last thing I do.