Page 37 of Merciless Daddy

Guilt gave another hard turn beneath my ribs. I covered it with contempt.

“You should have moved faster.”

“Yes.”

“I could have taken your eye.”

“You’re a little monster, you know that?”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

He poured the hot chocolate into a mug and set it in front of me. It was blue ceramic, plain and warm between my hands. He had not made it too sweet. I took one sip, and the chocolate hit my tongue thick and dark and warm enough to hurt.

My throat tightened.

Sal slid the toast plate closer.

“No.”

“You may punish me however you like, Yelena Lvovna.” His voice stayed low. “You may insult me. You may leave when you decide where to go. You may put another hole in my face if it improves your morning.”

“Tempting.”

“But starving yourself only punishes your body. It does nothing to me.”

The tenderness of it was worse than a command.

He had no right to say it like that. No right to make my refusal look like harm I was doing to myself instead of the only weapon I had left. No right to see through it.

I took one piece of toast.

“Happy?” I asked.

“No. Not happy. Not by a long shot.” He went back to the stove. “Relieved.”

I bit into the toast solely because I could not stand him being right.

The hot chocolate had barely cooled before I went looking for the edge of the cage.

I left the mug on the counter. Sal did not ask where I was going.

That was almost insulting.

The service door stood off the hallway, plain white and unremarkable. I opened it. Beyond was a narrow stairwell, concrete steps, steel rail, a keypad beside another locked door at the bottom.

Four-nine-one-one.

He had told me once in the dark, when I was struggling to breathe. I entered it.

The lock clicked.

I went down two flights before I heard him behind me.

Not close. Not rushing. His shoes struck each step with infuriating calm.

“You’re following me,” I said without turning.