His Pet, page 5
Now! My brain screams at my body to move, lunge, attack, but I stay rooted in place. Lorenzo’s hands lift and he begins undoing the buttons on his shirt.
Now!
I slowly pull the knife from beneath my dress and stand, my knees wobbly.
Almost, I tell myself. I’m almost ready. This is the perfect opportunity. His back is to me. He’s within my reach. And he’s undressing. He could be gearing up right now to rape me. The guy is a criminal. A kidnapper. He’s scum.
He deserves to die.
I tell myself this over and over, but the anger I held onto earlier isn’t there egging me on. It ran and hid like a coward the moment Lorenzo stood. Now it’s just me, Amelia Norwood, about to end someone’s life.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, I wrap my other hand around the handle and bring the knife in front of me.
Lorenzo shrugs the shirt off, revealing a white undershirt and exposed shoulders. He pulls the undershirt off and tosses it to the ground. My eyes go wide, and my grip on the knife loosens.
Lorenzo’s back is littered with tiny white stripes that stick out in the dark contrast of his skin. He turns around to reveal the same with his torso. Scar tissue mars otherwise perfect, Hollywood-worthy muscle with a California tan so unfitting for this man. Even with his Italian lineage.
Air rushes in through my lips, and I realize they’ve parted. When I meet Lorenzo’s eyes, they hold disappointment.
Then I remember the knife.
I look down at it and gasp, shooting my gaze back up at him as if he might not have seen it.
He holds out his hand for it, and confusion surfaces, but I don’t give it time to settle. I shuffle back as quickly as I can and brace myself with the knife. The chain catches when I’ve gone too far, and it steals the air from my lungs.
“Get back!” I scream, standing and raising the knife at my shoulder.
Lorenzo takes a step toward me, and I slash the knife through the air. “I fucking mean it! Come near me and I’ll kill you!”
“You couldn’t kill me with my back to you, you coward. You couldn’t even bring yourself to try.”
That confusion surfaces again, and this time I let it take hold. He doesn’t sound surprised. He looks less angry than he did earlier.
“Did you plan this?”
Lorenzo doesn’t answer, but the lack of one is enough.
He was fucking with me. I agonized over ending this man’s life, and it was just a game to him.
He comes toward me with his hand outstretched, and the fury rushes back inside me full force.
“Here, give that to me before you hurt yourself.”
I bar my teeth and jump toward him while slashing the knife, this time connecting. Blood sprays out of Lorenzo’s forearm, and his eyes widen as he peers down at it. I rear the knife back, and when I jab it toward Lorenzo’s chest, he kicks me in my stomach, propelling me backward.
The chain loses its slack, and a sharp yank on my throat sends me into a coughing fit as soon as I plummet to the floor. The knife falls from my hand, and when I go to grab it again, Lorenzo kicks it from my reach.
I lay on my side, coughing uncontrollably, and squeeze my eyes shut. My body is in too much shock for me to cry, and as minutes pass, that shock slowly eases. Lorenzo’s footsteps echo outside the room, and a sink turns on.
The first tear pushes through my closed lid, and a torrent ensues. Sobs rack my shoulders, and loud mewling sounds come from my mouth. I feel Lorenzo when he’s back in the room, but I refuse to open my eyes.
I feel him come closer and expect his shoe to connect with my ribcage or for him to yank my hair. I wait.
And wait.
My sobs ease until I’m lying on my side with my eyes closed, and the only sounds that come from me are the heavy breaths I expel through my mouth. My nose is filled with snot, and I have the overwhelming urge to wipe away the excess, but my arms don’t lift.
What is going on?
I lay here for several more minutes, convinced he’s waiting for me to open my eyes so I’ll see what’s coming. Maybe it’s more fun for him that way. It gets to a point where I can’t take it any longer.
Slowly, I peel my eyes open and blink. Lorenzo, standing with his shoes inches from my face, comes into my focus.
I peer up and meet his curious eyes.
Curious?
I squint, studying him, and now I’m certain it’s curiosity. He doesn’t look like he’s about to strike. He looks like he might whip out a pad and start taking notes.
“What are you doing?” I croak. I wince and put my hand to my throat. The chain choking me coupled with my crying has it sore beyond belief.
“Watching you.”
I narrow my eyes when he kneels next to me, but I don’t move. His gaze travels my body, wrapped up in a now destroyed Balenciaga. I follow his gaze. My heart stops when I see blood smeared on my chest, but then I realize it isn’t mine.
My eyes snap to his forearm where I cut him. There’s a bandage covering the slash. Red seeps through the white cotton.
“What does it feel like?”
“Huh?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
He’s staring at me in a way that makes me feel naked. The dress might as well be in a pile on the other side of the room. His shirt is still off, and that adds to the sensation.
I try not to look at any of his scars, focusing instead on the golden flecks in his irises. The last thing I want to do right now is insult him.
He waves a hand over my body like that should answer my question, and when my face wrinkles with confusion, he sighs. “What does it feel like to fear for your life?” He waves a hand over me again. “What’s happening with you right now?”
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask, my shoulders caving in on me. My lip trembles, and I can feel the emotion working its way back up my throat.
He frowns and raises back to his feet. “Never mind,” he says with a shake of his head. With that, he leaves the room.
I close my eyes and let out a cry, my throat protesting. I lay on the floor and hope with everything I have that he doesn’t come back. I’d rather die here from dehydration than die by his hands.
My hope shrivels when his footsteps sound outside the door and he enters the room. He tosses something that lands with a jangle and a thunk by my head, and I open my eyes. A set of keys lay in front of me.
“Hurry up,” he says when I make no attempt to move. “You’ve already wasted enough of my time today.”
I sit slowly, my body aching, and pick the keys up off the floor.
“It’s the copper one.”
I lift my eyes to him for a momentary glare and then try to work the copper key into the lock on the chain.
“It’s for the collar.”
I feel for the lock on the collar, and when I find it, I struggle to insert the key while holding my hair out of the way. Every time I bend forward, the chain weighs heavily on my neck.
Lorenzo walks to me, and when he tries to help, I jerk away from him. “I’ve got it,” I croak.
He grips my jaw and forces me to look at him. The keys fall from my fingertips and land behind me on the rug. His fingers squeeze into my bone until tears prick my eyes and I yelp.
“There are very few kindnesses I will ever give you, and this is not one of them, Amelia. You are taking too long, and you’re testing my patience. Right now, I do not have much to give. Be still and be quiet.”
He plucks the keys from the carpet, and I hold my hair up while he easily unlocks the collar. It falls to the floor, along with the chain, and my body instantly floods with relief. I take several deep breaths while Lorenzo stands up straight and stares down at me.
“Up,” he commands like he’s speaking to an animal again.
My gut reaction is to resist. Demand respect. But this isn’t the time to challenge him. I’ve already done it, and I’ve yet to find out what it will cost me. I stand, appreciating every second that the chain doesn’t pull me back to the floor and search my brain for a new plan. One that will get me back into Lorenzo’s good graces, if it even matters anymore. For all I know, he wants me to come with him to dig my own grave.
That thought leaves me catatonic, and when Lorenzo urges me to move with his hand at my back, I stand motionless.
“Move. Now.”
“Wait, just wait a second, okay? Please.” My voice wobbles, and the breaths I try to take to steady myself are shaky. Lorenzo steps in front of me, and his head tilts to the side when our eyes meet. Curiosity enters his eyes again.
“Could you tell me where we’re going? I—” I swallow and give my sore throat a moment when my voice croaks. “I would feel so much better if I just knew what you were planning.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
My lips part, and my eyes go wide. I search Lorenzo for some sign that he’s merely threatening me, but there isn’t one. His tone doesn’t sound malicious. It’s like he’s just stating something honestly. It makes the statement worse, and I’m filled with foreboding.
“Yes, I would.”
He blinks and looks at his watch. “I have to be somewhere by three, and something you may want to know about me is that I abhor being late. By any amount of time. If you make me late, Amelia, it will make what I have planned for you much worse. I’m not entertaining your requests, and I have zero care about what would make you feel better. The sooner you figure that out, the better.”
“Now,” he waves toward the door. “Walk. I don’t like to use force, but I will if necessary.”
I swallow and put my head down as I shuffle toward the door. Lorenzo follows with his hand on my lower back. It sends shivers up my spine that make me want to leap forward, but I fight it. I’m in no hurry to get to wherever he’s taking me.
Lorenzo stops and I look back at him, pausing. He opens the bathroom door and gestures for me to enter. I scurry inside and he steps in after me, shutting the door behind him. There are bandages strewn out on the sink with a bag beside them. With a quick peek inside, I see it’s a first aid kit. I glance at myself in the mirror only for a second before looking away. Not quickly enough to miss the bruises around my neck, but quickly enough not to study myself. I don’t want to know how bad it is. It’ll only make me feel worse.
Lorenzo pushes the bandages to the side and lifts me onto the sink. My whole body tenses and I yelp, but it’s like Lorenzo doesn’t notice. Does he get a thrill from never clueing me in on what’s coming?
I stare at him with my brow furrowed as he pulls the bandage from his forearm and tosses it in the trash can. Blood oozes from the gash, and I wince. I scoot as far on the edge of the sink as I can without falling off and turn my head away from him. The bag rustles as Lorenzo sorts through it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
The rustling stops, and I bite my lip before turning to look at him.
He’s staring at me with his head tilted. “Are you sorry or are you scared?”
Scared, my brain immediately goes to. I glance at the gash, still oozing blood, and a jolt tenses my own arm. I can feel the pain he must be experiencing, and part of me actually is sorry. Mostly scared of the repercussions of slicing him with a knife, but a little sorry too. I’ve never wanted to hurt anything or anyone in my life.
“Both,” I say, tearing my gaze from the wound to meet his eyes.
His eyebrows pinch and he squints like he isn’t happy with my answer. Or maybe he doesn’t believe me.
He goes back to the bag and sorts through until he finds what he’s looking for. A needle and thread. A bottle of antiseptic sits on the countertop.
“Thank you for calling me by my name earlier.”
He tenses, but it’s only for a moment. I almost don’t catch it.
“I’m not in a playful mood.”
Playful mood? That’s why he likes calling me Kitty? Because he thinks it’s fun? He hasn’t looked for one second like he’s feeling ‘playful’. He hasn’t looked anything other than terrifying.
He begins threading the string through the needle while holding his arm over the sink. The bleeding has at least slowed some. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain, or he isn’t showing any signs of it. His lips are in a tight line and his eyes are emotionless.
“I need your help,” he says, shifting his forearm toward me. I squirm and flick my gaze between him and his cut. “Pinch the skin so I can sew it up.”
My mouth drops open and my eyes go wide. “No,” I say, shaking my head.
“No?”
“I’m not qualified for that. You need a doctor.”
Lorenzo’s lip raises on one side in a crooked smile that makes me squirm. “Are you afraid of blood, Little Amelia?”
I narrow my eyes but don’t answer.
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you decided to slash my arm open.”
“You wanted me to!” I don’t realize it’s true until the words are out of my mouth. “You hid the knife where you knew I would find it, and then you turned your back on me on purpose.”
“It was a test, Kitty. And you failed.”
Kitty. No more Amelia.
“You wanted me to fail,” I say, my voice dropping low. “All you’re doing is fucking with me.”
“Messing.”
“What?”
Lorenzo sighs and glances at his cut. He picks up a fresh bandage and applies pressure to the wound.
“There are other words you could have said besides fucking. I’m messing with you. Playing. Toying.”
I narrow my eyes and shake my head. “You are unbelievable. You kidnapped me and are treating me like an animal, but you want me to talk like a lady to you? Why the hell would I do that?”
Lorenzo leans in close to me, his eyes holding a malice to them that sends foreboding through me. I don’t know how, but sometimes I forget how dangerous he is.
He had you kidnapped, Amelia. He put a collar on you and attached a chain that made it hard to breathe.
But he hasn’t raped me. He didn’t hurt me when I reached out for help this morning. He hasn’t hurt me yet for cutting him. That should be a death sentence, but he seems angrier about my cursing than the damage to his arm. These things matter. They make him less threatening, even when he drips with viciousness on the outside.
Now, he has me scared. My throat closes up, and I stop registering how sore it is. I stop breathing. All it takes is a look from him to send me cowering.
“Because, Kitty, I’m done warning you. If you keep talking like that, you will be punished. Do you understand?”
I bite my lip and look away. When I nod, he takes my chin and turns it toward him. “Hmm?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
I swallow and breathe in, inhaling an aroma I doubt I’ll ever forget. It’s masculine. Sandalwood with something I can’t put my finger on that sends goosebumps over my flesh. There’s a hint of aftershave, but it’s almost drowned out by Lorenzo’s natural scent.
“Yes, I understand.”
He stares at me blankly with his hand still on my chin, and when the silence grows awkward, I blurt out, “Yes, I understand, sir.”
Lorenzo gives a small smile and removes his hand. “Good, Kitty. Now,” He rests his arm over the sink and picks up the needle. “Help.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I shift toward him and tentatively reach for his arm. When I pinch the skin, I look at him, expecting him to cringe, but he remains impassive.
“Both hands so you’re not in my way.”
With a breath, I push the skin together with both hands. He goes to work with the needle, stitching up the wound with ease. Too much ease.
How many times has he done this?
I open my mouth to ask about his scars, but promptly close it. That’s an insulting thing to ask about, and I’m already fucking up my chances of survival as it is. I have no idea what he plans to do with me, but if he’s on the fence about killing me, I’m making it easy for him. I’ve seen his face. Hell, I know his name. Who he is. Where to find him. He’d be a fool to simply let me walk out of here when he’s done with me. Maybe he thinks threatening me will work.
It would.
Lorenzo finishes up the stitching and dabs at the gash with antiseptic before placing a fresh bandage over it. He glances up at me, and I look away.
“Let’s go, Kitty.” He pats my thigh, and I hop down off the sink, my head down as I follow him back to the bedroom. I spot the collar, and my hands instinctively lift to my neck.
“Don’t worry, I have a different one for you.”
I snap my head toward him and lower my hands to my sides. He pulls out a collar from the brown paper bag and holds it up. It’s black with studded diamonds embedded in it and a silver loop dead center.
He walks toward me, and I can’t help it when I take a step back. He pauses and I look toward the floor while crossing my arms over my chest.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice breaking. My eyes begin to water, and I’m thankful I let my hair grow out. It veils my face.
He walks the rest of the way toward me and turns me around. I let out a whimper and throw my hand to my mouth to muffle any more sounds that may try to escape. I don’t want him to see me cry any more than he already has. It’s him winning at a game only one of us wants to play.
He brushes the hair off my shoulder, his knuckles grazing my skin. He cups both my shoulders and squeezes. It’s a gesture I don’t expect from him, and I equally don’t expect the way my body responds to it. I lean into him, my back hitting a wall of muscle.
With that, he tenses. He moves me forward, gently pushing me off him. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and I shrink as if my body is trying to hide from my own embarrassment.
Lorenzo lifts my hair and wraps the collar around my neck. I lift my hands to the collar then lower them when Lorenzo hums his disapproval.
“This one isn’t heavy. It shouldn’t hurt.”
“My neck is sore… please.”
Lorenzo ignores my plea and fastens the collar, letting my hair fall when he’s finished. I don’t miss that there’s no lock on this one, and I wonder if he knows I’ll remove it as soon as he leaves.
