Page 78 of Freeing Denver
Eventually, I shower. The first week I was here, I had to be dragged into the bathroom to clean myself. I’d kick and fight and thrash, but I soon learned that it only made things worse. When I stopped fighting, they stopped hurting me.
When I was well behaved, he didn’t hose me down in the garage.
When I was polite, he didn’t starve me.
When I smiled, he let me walk around the house, even if it was never alone.
Dressed in a pencil skirt and silk blouse, I slip into heels too high for breakfast. I long for jeans, for T-shirts, for sneakers and comfortable pajamas, but he won’t give me any of that. I dress for him, not for me.
I open my bedroom door. Kitrick is leaning against the opposite wall, his figure striking even now. He’s my personal bodyguard, apparently, but we both know he’s more like a leash with a heartbeat. He’s tall, bulky, all muscle and scars that have tales I’ll never hear. As usual, his handsome face is expressionless, blue eyes darting down my outfit to make sure I’m dressed appropriately. If not, he’d only need to lower his brows and I’d turn around, go back, and change.
He lifts his chin in a sharp motion, signaling that what I’m wearing will do.
We head down the hallway.
The large property is a fortress. I’ve never seen a door that opens to the outside, and every window is sealed shut with an almost invisible covering, meaning no one from the outside can see in. On the outside are metal shutters, ones that close when the sun sets and rise again the next morning. The inside is enormous, a maze of hallways, most leading to rooms I’ll never go in. It’s ancient, cold, but its size means I can sometimes avoid most people for hours. It’s a small freedom I’m afforded while living through hell.
I make my way to the foyer. The stairs widen at the end, the curved banister smooth under my palm.
Low, rumbling laughter comes from my left. The dining room.
I walk to the double doors that are thrown open. The dining table can seat at least twenty, but only two places are set—the head, and the place beside it.
The chairs are high backed, the dark wood in keeping with the rest of the room. Mahogany floors, heavy dark drapes allowing only a sliver of light from the large window to warm the far side of the table. To my right are numerous polished silver containers set on an ironed tablecloth, the rich smell of breakfast food filling the room overpowered only by the smell of coffee. A waste, because it’s only ever the two of us who eat.
My steps are less sure as I approach the table and take my seat.
Beside Eli Eddards.
He’s forty but passes for my age, with a thick head of brown hair, and wrinkles set into a strikingly beautiful face. Cool blue eyes cut to me as I take my seat, and he runs a hand over his freshly shaved jaw before reaching for the pocket watch hanging from his waistcoat.
“You’re late.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”
Two minutes late.
Not acceptable.
But I needed to make sure I hid how hard I’d cried in the shower, and even though he’s supplied me with every makeup brand known to man, I still needed the puffiness to go down.
Eli watches me. “What were you doing to be late?”
I keep my eyes on my plate. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”
Still, he doesn’t shift his eyes from me. Sweat gathers between my shoulder blades, and I close my fingers into my palms.
“Make sure it doesn’t, Robin.”
I wait until I hear him resume eating before I even dare to lift my eyes.
Part of me wants to pick up the silverware and ram it into his throat. I’d take pleasure watching his bagel spritzed in red, and I’d cut him to pieces before I walked out the door.
But I rest my hand on my belly.
And I don’t even dare.
The silver coffee pot gleams, and I eye it greedily.
