Page 83 of Razor

I stiffen in surprise because her accent is foreign with deep, thick tones that shape around unusual vowels. She heads toward the door, checking outside, and I frantically strain to see what’s out there, the handcuff rattling against the iron bed post.

She sighs heavily and lowers her voice.

“There is nothing I can do,wecan do.”

“I disagree.”

My tone is soft, disguising the desperation inside me.

“There is always a way out of madness when you are one step ahead.”

She shakes her head, her shoulders slumped.

“He is too powerful; you don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

I hold my breath, and she glances at her wristwatch and sighs.

“I have taken too long.”

Before I can reply, she strides out of the room, the door slamming behind her, the key turning in the lock. In her haste, she forgot to unchain me, and I gaze with desperation at the water on the table, my stomach growling as it begs for food, and tears of failure cloud my vision.

I made it worse. I must wait until he returns before I can move. That was a disaster and the worst thing is, I need to use that fucking bucket so badly.

I doubt I will be able to hold it in for hours. My humiliation will be complete, and I bite my lip, the tears flowing freely as I face the fact I just made a bad situation worse.

* * *

I must have fallenasleep because the sound of the lock turning causes me to wake with a start. My bladder is almost bursting at this point, and as the door opens, I stare in confusion as the woman heads inside, a grim expression on her face. She moves to the bed and unfastens my wrist and pulls me roughly to my feet, my knees buckling under the pressure on my legs. I’m in a daze as she pulls me from the room and moves fast down a corridor, reaching a door at the end that she opens in haste.

I blink in surprise as it reveals a bathroom, and I note the tub filled with water, and I swear my soul dances with joy. A bath. A warm bath, judging by the steam, and without saying a word, shelifts my cotton nightdress from my weakened body and pushes me toward the tub.

“You have five minutes to bathe and wash your hair. Mr. Santiago has instructed that you must be clean, styled, and dressed exactly to his specifications.”

I say nothing because I need to clean up so badly, and as she leaves the room, my first stop is the toilet. It’s pure bliss using proper facilities, and I hate how grateful I am for such simple pleasures. He has done a good job of breaking me because I am doing nothing to interfere with cleaning up and enjoy the freedom of a simple bath without his cruel hands scrubbing at my body with a stiff brush.

I don’t waste any time and sink low in the water, savoring the hot steam, loving how my muscles relax on impact, my mind buzzing with possibilities.

I will escape or die trying. This willnotbe my life. I refuse to accept that, and my mind works hard to formulate a plan because this is my opportunity, and I will seize it with both hands.

I am not going to accept my fate without putting up a damn good fight.

CHAPTER 43

RAZOR

Ryder was right. The hospitality is second to none. The rooms rival the best hotels on the planet. I have never indulged in such luxury before.

Nothing is out of place; it’s an interior designer’s wet dream, and I imagine Bonnie would salivate if she were ever allowed to visit.

I’m disappointed we won’t get to stay here longer because the bed looks so appealing right now. The white sheets, silk comforter, and endless plump pillows and cushions calling to me. I’m not usually a man who appreciates the finer things. I’m happy with a bed, a television and a can of beer most days. But this place could tempt God himself; it is so decadently luxurious.

It stuns me a little. I hate how dirty it makes me feel inside. My heavy boots crushing the pile of the white carpet, causing me to remove them out of fear of marking it. My leather jacket is out of place, and my huge body is not even diminishing the sheer size of this room.

The bathroom is no different. Immaculate, clean and stocked with every luxury you may want in life.

My thoughts turn to Sunday, and I wish she were here to share this experience with me. She would love every minute ofit, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I miss her so hard it physically hurts, and it fires my resolve to push my fascination for this place aside and get on with the job.