Page 67 of Salvatore

He’d obliged, which I guess was delightfully generous, yet he’d waited until I was in the shower, then he entered my room, kicked the bathroom door open, and grabbed me from under the water’s spray to hold me against the tile floor and forcefully wash me with the products I’d requested.

I’d thrashed and screamed as he touched me while Alonso watched from the doorway.

I haven’t showered since.

Someone enters the apartment, the higher pitched squeak of the entry hinges discernible from the cupboards and bedroom doors.

“Lunch,” my brother calls out.

I sit up and slide from the bed, anticipating another reunion.

There’s a rustle of paper bags from the hall. Multiple claps of footsteps. Then my door opens and there Alonso stands, glaring at me.

He throws a takeaway food bag at my feet, the thought of its contents turning my stomach. I’d kill for a salad. A head of broccoli. Even a goddamn carrot. I don’t think I can force myself to eat another burger.

And the scent.God. Bile coats the back of my throat.

My room already smells like landfill from the piled food containers in the corner. I’ve had to chance periodically opening the balcony door an inch during the night just to get some much-needed fresh air.

“Don’t look so fucking disappointed, you fussy bitch.” He grabs the door handle and begins pulling it closed.

“Wait.” I rush for him, quickly tapping the brakes when he scowls at me in warning. “I need to call my boss.”

“Fuck off.” He continues dragging the door shut.

“What does she want?” Gabriel asks from somewhere down the hall, making my brother pause.

My pulse increases. I haven’t heard Gabriel here in six days. “Please let me use my phone.” I raise my voice to carry through the apartment. “Just one call. I haven’t shown up for work in weeks. They’ll be worried.”

My brother looks down his nose at me. “Why the fuck would we care?”

“I’ll be reported as missing,” I argue. “Then the cops will get involved.”

“We’ve got the cops handled,” Alonso sneers.

“What about the media? I’ve got neighbors who will ask questions. Eventually it will make the news and draw attention.”

“I’ll think about it,” Gabriel grates from his unseen location.

“There you go.” My brother raises a condescending brow. “He said he’ll think about it.” Then he slams the door in my face.

I slump. Sigh.

I’m never going to get out of here. Not alive anyway. I’ll be slowly killed by saturated fats.

It’s midafternoon the next time I hear footsteps approach.

I pause my post-lunch session of staring into oblivion and glance at my bedroom door as it opens.

Gabriel moves to stand in the frame, my cell resting in his palm. “I’ve had the battery charged. You can call your boss.”

I lunge from the bed in a rush, my hands shaking with ridiculously pitiful hope as I come to stand before him. But before I can reach for the device his hand snaps out, grabbing my chin.

I turn rigid and force myself not to fight back.

He tilts my jaw from side to side, inspecting my face and I assume my fading injuries. “You’ve misbehaved?”

There’s no right answer, so I keep my mouth shut, the crack on my bottom lip almost healed and the bruising around my eye mostly faded.

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