Page 21 of Knight

“Your fingers are still purple. The circulation needs to return properly. You want to be able to use your hands again. Or I could just leave you, and you can see how you manage to live without them.”

She shudders, but doesn’t resist when I pull her right hand closer. The skin around her wrist is raw and bloody where the cuffs cut in. Her fingers are cold, nail beds still showing signs of poor circulation. I manipulate each finger carefully, checking her responses.

"Can you feel this?" I press on her fingertips.

She nods jerkily.

"Tell me. I need to know exactly what you can feel."

"Pins and needles." Her voice catches, and she sniffs. "It burns."

"That's good. It means nerve response is returning." I move to her other hand. Tears stream down her face as I check the wrist. The metal left deep gouges in her skin. She must have pulled against the cuffs more with this one. "Keep trying to move your fingers. Small movements."

I release her hand, and she immediately tries to pull her arms close to her chest, but they barely move. She slumps against the couch, exhausted just from that small interaction. But exhaustion is good, even if she doesn’t believe it. Exhaustion means her body is focusing on healing. On repairing the damage.

I settle back in my chair, giving her space. For now, I let the silence fill the space between us. And consider exactly how to get answers from someone who has every reason not to want to speak to me.

A notification chimes on my phone, informing me food has arrived. I assess the woman on the couch. I need to go down to the lobby and collect it. She can barely hold her head up, let alone try to do something stupid like escape while I’m gone. I doubt she’ll get far. I leave her where she is and walk out to the elevator.

The delivery guy doesn't even look at my face when I meet him, handing over the food with barely a grunt.

When I return, she’s exactly where I left her, but somehow looks even more tense. Maybe she expected me to bring back friends. Or, more likely, she hoped I wouldn't come back at all.

I set the food down onto the coffee table, then go into the kitchen to fill a glass of water. I find a straw in a drawer and drop it in, then walk back into the living room. She tracks every movement like prey watching a predator, fear rolling off her in waves.

"You need to eat." I place the glass beside the food. "And drink."

She eyes them like they're poison. Given our recent history, I can't really blame her for it.

"No."

"Your body needs?—"

"I don'tcarewhat my body needs." The words are shrill. "I'm not accepting anything from you."

I study her hands, the way her arms shake whenever she moves them. Even if she wanted to eat, she couldn't hold a spoon or the glass. Which means I'll have to feed her.

"The sooner you eat, the sooner your arms will work again." I keep my voice flat. "Unless you prefer staying helpless?" I lift one eyebrow.

I sit beside her, and she presses herself deeper into the couch. "Stay away from me."

"You need food and water." I keep it clinical. "Close your eyes if you have to, but youaregoing to eat."

A sound catches in her throat. Not quite a sob, not quite a scream. But when I bring the spoon to her lips, she opens her mouth. Each bite seems to cost her something vital. After every few bites, I hold the straw to her lips. She drinks automatically. I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it.

I don’t try to soften what I’m doing. Gentleness or comfort would be worse than cruelty right now.

The rice and chicken disappears one small bite at a time. She doesn’t look at me, and she doesn’t stop crying. But she eats and she drinks. Because her body knows what it needs, even if her mind tries to reject it.

When the bowl is empty, and the glass half-finished, I set them aside. She turns her face away, squeezing her eyes closed, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Even with my lack of people skills, I can see how humiliated she feels from being fed by her captor.

“Maybe you took Michael.” The fire in her voice is at odds with the tears falling down her cheeks. “Maybe this is just some kind of twisted game.”

“If I took your brother, why would I bring you here?”

“You didn’t.Knightdid. Maybe you realized he’d figured out what you did … And you’ve done something to him.”

I don’t bother telling her I’m Knight again. She’s not ready to listen.

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