Page 22 of Trust

I have to get a fire going. The wind off the lake could crack glass. She hardly ate or drank today and neither did I. I’ve been running on adrenaline and irritation since the police station.

I check the feed again. No movement.

This girl’s going to make me earn every cent of that ridiculous paycheck. I’ll need to deal with her again tonight. I don’t want to. But I have to. She needs food, water, and a warmer blanket, and I need five damn minutes without her trying to bite me, bolt, or throw stuff at me.

One day down.

Too many left to go.

RULES

Sara

Idon’t know how long I’ve been standing here, let alone what time it is. I search for a flicker of emotion, but there’s nothing. I’m numb. My brain’s gone blank. It went into overdrive, crashed, and now it’s stuck mid-reboot. God, I want to go home. Even if that means being near the man who sees me as a pawn, a piece on a political chessboard he sacrificed to secure his win. It makes me sick. How dare he? What kind of calculated monster would sign off on his daughter’s abduction? The kind who also had his wife killed. Of course. Why am I even surprised anymore?

At least the brute he hired didn’t cross that line. If anything, he recoiled when I mistook his intent.

A bag near the wall catches my attention and sets my body in motion. It’s not just any bag. This is my duffel. The one I took to my grandparents’ house last week when I fled my own. What the—

I kneel and open it. It’s my stuff, the exact same stuff I carelessly threw in there, now the crinkliest of messes. I remember Gabe putting it into the car when he picked me up, and now my father has handed it over to the guy who kidnapped me?

Unbelievable.

My brain comes back online, and I go through my bag’s contents to find the one item I truly care about: the hoodie. The one Mom bought a couple of weeks before she passed, saying she picked it because it was the kind she’d steal from her boyfriend if she were a teenager in love. Back then, I had no idea what she was talking about. It’s dark gray with a weird sketch of a roughed-up teddy bear holding a soda and a knife in its paws. I liked it because she liked it. Before Richard got rid of all her things, I managed to sneak into my parents’ bedroom, take it from their drawer, and hide it in one of mine until it was forgotten. He hated it on her then, and he hates it on me now. Another reason why I love it so much.

It wraps around me like a shield.

I also find a pair of leggings to go with it and try peeking through the small skylight over the bed. Although I can easily reach it, I can’t get it open. The only things I can spot are treetops and some stars in the nearly black sky.

I sit down, the mattress dipping beneath me, and do... nothing. If only I had Mom’s diary. I’d have all the time in the world to hunt for answers.

This setup is a step up from the one in the van but with exactly as much to do. I am alone with empty shelves, my thoughts spinning, and hunger clawing at my stomach. My head hurts. Dehydration, most likely. I only had that one bottle of water he gave me. Lying back, my bare feet touching the floor, I watch the last bit of light escape the sky... and... drift... off...

◆◆◆

His presence hits me before I’m fully awake. I jolt, heart kicking hard. I scramble back so fast, I nearly crash into the wall behind me.

What the fuck?

He sets a plate of food and a plastic bottle on the small table.

I exhale slowly, recovering from the shock. Half of me wants to sag with pathetic relief, the other half coils, bracing for another round of bullshit.

Not saying a word, he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, matching my exhaustion. I’m not the only one who’s had a day.

“You okay?” he asks, watching me like I’m a puzzle he hasn’t figured out yet.

My tilted head and tight-lipped grimace should answer that.

“Eat,” he commands, nodding at the plate.

I want to argue against his tone, want him to leave. I want to leave, but a girl needs food, and basic instincts drag me to the table. I pull the chair as far away from him as possible and sit down.

“Nice hoodie,” he says, and I think I catch a flicker of amusement. I don’t know if he’s mocking me or if he actually means it, but I also really don’t care, so I let it pass.

I shift my focus onto the food in front of me. It’s rice, mixed with roasted veggies and some sort of meat. It smells delicious. Next to the plate there’s something that looks like a plastic spoon and fork had a baby.

I hold the spork up at him.