Page 13 of Dangerous Games

I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks; I’m starving. The cookies last night were a great snack, but I’m thankful she can cook more than just cookies. I empty the plate quickly and she notices. “More breakfast?” she asks with the pan in hand, ready to fill my plate again, but I shake my head. If I’m going to keep my figure at this place, I need to practice the same self-control I have at home. Especially since I’m not able to run here. “Suit yourself,” she says, scraping the pan out into the garbage disposal.

I sip my coffee, feeling the heat of it warm me from the inside out. I want to ask her how long she’s been working for Dominic and find out what she may know about him, but I hesitate. She wasn’t exactly forthcoming when I asked her about him last night. I’m not sure what protocol is in this house and the last thing I want is for him to lock me up again.

“Dominic told me when you first got here that if you were obedient to him, he would let you have freedom in the house. I’m happy you don’t have to be locked up anymore. That is an awful way to live,” Mika says, clicking her tongue.

I wonder if she had to be obedient to him too, or if she knows what “being obedient” meant to him. I look down into my half-empty cup of coffee and try to hide the embarrassment turning my cheeks pink. I’m ashamed to admit I liked being obedient to Dominic.

“You should go out to the garden this morning. The songbirds are singing and it’s so beautiful out.” Mika absently washes dishes while she talks but I’m not fully listening. My mind is elsewhere, in that bed with him while he did those incredible things to me. Things I want him to do again.

“Oh, and you should visit the library too. Dominic has so many wonderful books.”

Her words pique my interest. “Books?” I take another drink of the coffee and realize it’s getting cold. There’s nothing worse than cold coffee, so I push it away and stand, smoothing my hands down the front of my jeans. “Where is the library?”

Mika’s hands are buried in the water, but she nods at the door. “Down the hallway on the left. You’ll see it.” I start toward the door, and she adds, “Don’t go into any other rooms though. You will find yourself getting locked up again. Just a friendly warning from one woman to another.”

Her warning is noted, and I walk out into the hall and wander away from the kitchen. The ornate wood carvings on every door frame speak of history and money. This place has to be over a hundred years old. Every single surface is decorated with some sort of art, telling stories of historical figures and events. The way Dominic has had this preserved is almost majestic. I find myself being drawn to a specific door, where a woman’s face is etched into the wood with so much detail, it comes alive, watching me move.

I am fascinated by the artistry, and I wonder if there is more on the other side of the doorframe, so I try the knob and find it unlocked. I push into the room, studying the intricate carvings on the frame, and a portrait on the wall catches my eye. It is a beautiful woman, painted in Victorian fashion, but she looks modern, with striking blue eyes—eyes that remind me of Dominic’s. Her hair is swept to one side, framing her heart-shaped face, and her smile mesmerizes me. I swear I’ve seen this woman before somewhere, but I can’t place the face or the image anywhere.

It's not a historical painting; I don’t recognize the name of the artist scrawled on the bottom right corner of the piece. But the more I study it the more I’m convinced that I do know this woman. I step closer to get a better look, almost ready to touch the picture, as if that will give me some connection to her—a way to discover who she is simply because of proximity to this art.

“What are you doing?” Dominic’s voice booms from the doorway and I freeze. I swallow hard remembering what Mika said. I should have stayed out of here, but I am too curious. I was only looking at the art. “You shouldn’t be in here.” Dominic is angry, enraged almost.

I spin around to face him and see his face contorted in an angry scowl. “I…” I utter, hoping to protest, but he is on me, racing toward me at lightning speed. His hands grasp my arms, and he shakes me hard twice.

“Who gave you the permission to come in here?”

I jerk away from him, terrified by this sudden outburst of rage, but I don’t let on that I’m scared. “It’s just a bedroom. I was looking at the art!” I step away from him, nervous about what he may do to me. I’ve never seen him this angry. A vein bulges across his forehead, his eyes bugging out. His face is red too, and his hands are fists at his side. Why is he so upset over me looking at this woman? Who is she?

“You are a guest here, and guests are supposed to mind their manners, not go snooping.”

“Who is she, Dom? The woman in the painting.” I try not to cower, but he grabs my wrist and forces me toward the door against my will. I whimper and try to twist my arm out of his grip, but he holds me so tightly I’m certain it will leave a mark.

As he pushes me into the hallway, I stumble and nearly trip, trying to keep my balance. My heart is pounding in my chest, beating so fast I'm afraid it will burst through my ribcage. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down, but my mind is racing with questions.

"Who is she?" I ask again, trying to get a better look at Dominic's face. He doesn't answer, just continues to glare at me with his cold, hard eyes. I can't tell what he's thinking, whether he's angry or scared or something else entirely.

"Why won't you tell me?" I plead, reaching out for him. But he steps away from me, his hand still gripping my wrist tightly.

"You have no right to be in this room," he says through clenched teeth. "And you have no right to ask questions about things that don't concern you."

"But she does concern me," I say softly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "I don't know why, but I feel like I know her. Like she's important somehow."

His grip on my wrist tightens even more, and I wince in pain. "You don't know anything," he growls, pushing me harder into the hallway. "Now get out of my sight before I do something we'll both regret."

I stumble backward again, feeling tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I refuse to cry in front of him, to let him see me as weak. He locks the door and when he turns, he glares at me, as if he expects me to have vanished. “I don’t want you asking about her again!” he warns, his voice low and menacing. His eyes are bloodshot, and I can’t help but feel scared.

“I’m sorry! I just wanted to know who she was…”

“You don’t need to know anything about her,” he growls. “Now go back to your room and stay there until I say otherwise.” His grip on my wrist loosens a bit and I try to pull away from him, but it only makes him angrier.

“Don’t try to fight me, Nanette,” he warns, his breath hot on my face, making me shiver. “I’m the one in charge here, and you do as I say.” He leans closer to me, his face only inches from mine and I realize how tall he actually is. His scent fills my nostrils and it’s a mix of musk, leather, and spice. It’s intoxicating.

“What are you going to do?” I whisper, not really expecting an answer.

“Nothing if you do what you’re told.” He releases his grip on me completely and takes a step back. “Now go.”

Something stirs inside of me. He’s hiding something from me, something he doesn’t want me to know anything about, and it has to do with that woman. My mind races, trying to think of where I’ve seen her before, because if I can figure out who she is, I may just have leverage over him, enough to get me and Jimmy out of this situation.

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