Page 74 of Caged

“Good choice. Have you tried Meg’s bacon mac and cheese or my mom’s lasagna?” I asked before remembering she’d tried Meg’s signature dish the night before we were taken.

“That’s cheating,” she huffed.

“Right, my answer is there isn’t a food I won’t try, but my favorite is steak.”

She laughed. “That specific, huh?” Before I answered, she said, “I retract the question.”

“I’ll allow it.” We kept our voices low and the questions light and fun, learning about each other while killing time.

I asked, “Why, in your professional opinion, won’t Roman or Franks come down without at least two riflemen?” I wanted her to tell me they were afraid we’d find a way out, but she didn’t.

“To remind us they’re in charge,” she said. I’d explored the cage while she was upstairs, but hadn’t found a weak point. And while physically I could overpower one goon, I couldn’t take them all, even if they didn’t have rifles. Under the circumstances, trying would be a poor life choice.

The foghorn blasted, letting us know we had company. We stood and walked to the middle.

Like Pavlov’s fucking dogs.

Roman paid us a visit, flanked by his rifle-carrying friends. I didn’t care what Maxwell said, we scared him. Which was amusing, considering we were locked in a cage.

“I do wish you’d speak up when you talk to each other. I’d love to hear what’s making you laugh,” he said, confirming our suspicion.

“Go to hell,” I said.

“Such bad manners,” Roman said. His fixation on manners wasn’t lost on me. “I think it’s time I taught you a lesson, son.”

Oh, hell no. This man wasn’t a fraction of the man my father was. “Don’t call me that,” I growled. “My father is a thousand times the man you are.”

“Too bad you’ll never see him again.” His laugh made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He ordered, “Take him.”

Grateful they weren’t taking Maxwell again, I complied with their instructions like a good soldier.

They followed the same protocol to cuff me and lead me upstairs as they had for Maxwell.

The first thing I noticed was how much warmer it was. I’d gotten used to the cold and had all but forgotten about it.

I looked around but the wall of men surrounding me made it hard to see anything. The one thing I could see; the sun was setting. We’d been here twenty-four long-ass hours.

I prayed Roman was wrong and I’d have the opportunity to see my dad, and my family, again.

Franks left my wrists cuffed behind my back. Their warning, that they’d shoot Maxwell’s kneecap if I fought back, as they tied my ankles to the chair guaranteed my compliance. Making the thick, scratchy rope they wrapped around my chest tight enough to dig into my skin, unnecessary.

Not that they’d trust me. Even with the threat, I might involuntarily lash out in self-defense if the abuse was severe enough.

I looked around, it wouldn't do me any good to fight, I was out numbered and out gunned.

And that cattle prod doesn’t look like much fun. I saw what it did to Maxwell; it’d take longer to have the same effect on me, but it would still suck and I had no doubt Franks would deploy it as often as needed to make sure I suffered.

Roman waited a good five minutes after I was tied up to talk. “Will it make a difference if I tell you this will be easier if you cooperate?”

“Probably not.” I grinned. “Where are we?” I asked. I could see a yard behind him, but there was nothing that hinted to our location.

“Does it matter?” He grinned back.

“Nah, just curious.” The tight rough ropes scratch my arms when I shrugged.

Careful to keep a safe distance from the tip of the cattle prod, Roman walked around his desk and leaned against the front. He crossed one ankle over the other, looking relaxed and casual. His hands gripping the edge of the desk the only indication he wasn’t.

“Jaden.”

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