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“Exactly.”
“So, you are—”
“Not Mexican,” he evaded with another smile.
I pursed my lips. “Can I use the bathroom now?”
“Certainly,” he pulled me up. “I’ll even do you one better. You can shower and change. I have clothes laid out for you.”
He must have felt my body stiffen as he frowned at me when I got up to my feet.
“You do not want to clean up?” He asked as he cut the flex-ties with a switchblade and pocketed it behind his jeans.
“I don’t want to wear clothes that don’t belong to me,” I tried to find an excuse.
“Are you worried they belonged to Kyra?”
Fresh terror rattled through me. “You … you’re the one who … but why?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” His voice turned harsh as he shoved me toward the adjoining bathroom. “To get Foster out of my way.”
Fury blinded me and I attacked him. “You killed an innocent woman.” I punched his jaw.
“Ow!” I shouted as my knuckles hit hard bone. He cursed and grabbed my arms, twisting them painfully behind me.
“Your meek and cooperative behavior only lasted so long, didn’t it?” he sneered. “You may be my obsession,cara, but do not mistake me as what do you call it? Pussy-whipped?”
When we got to the bathroom, he laughed cruelly as he began to pull my pajama bottoms down along with my panties. I struck uselessly against his shoulder, and he gripped my wrists and pushed me to sit down on the toilet.
“You’ve lost your right to privacy,” he told me.
“You expect me to pee in front of you?” I asked in disbelief.
“Yes. And if you don’t do so immediately, I’m going to assume you don’t need to go really badly, and you’ll just have to wet the bed.”
My cheeks burned knowing he’d do it too.
“I … can you maybe wait outside the door?”
“No.”
“Please?”
He glared at me. There was a cut on his lip, and I was surprised he didn’t hurt me back given the blood-curdling screams I heard earlier.
“Make it quick,” he bit out tersely.
As I relaxed into unloading my bladder, I decided to push the thought of poor Kyra aside, and concentrate on surviving. “What’s your name?”
There was a bark of sarcastic laughter. “You’re too cute, my love. You’re still trying to win me over.”
“I’m not being cute. I’ll need to call you a name eventually.” Despite my fear, I was partly annoyed that he wasn’t some psychopath I could manipulate.
“Why … when I haven’t decided if I’m going to keep you?”
“You don’t want me anymore?” I asked, trying to sound hurt.
“Are you finished yet?” he asked in irritation.
