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“You haven't earned the right to use my name,” he says in a low growl. “I told you I had many ways to punish you. You've had your spanking, and you've had your reward. Now you lose some freedom.”

“I wasn't doing anything,” I protest.

“The next time you try to get into my phone, don't leave it where I can see it. You locked me out for five minutes. I’ve set it so the only way that happens is if somebody puts in the wrong password.”

“Well, that’s dumb. What if you put it in wrong?”

“I don’t.”

I blow out a breath, cross my arms over my chest, and sit down, defeated. He gives me an annoyingly patient look, like he has all the time in the world and is only mildly interested in me.

“I hate you.”

“Do you?” He leans in closer. “Tell that to your pulse.”

I make myself breathe deeply to calm my nerves so I don't scream or hit him or do something that will get me in worse trouble, and he just watches me. He doesn't look satisfied. He doesn't look like anything. His face is a mask before he turns and walks back to the desk.

The room feels smaller now that it's dark, and I think to myself—the next time he leaves his phone around, I'm going to take it apart, piece by piece. He's not going to win this.

That night, he doesn't wake when he sleeps. I know because I'm watching.

He's getting calmer.

I should be glad, but I'm not sure why I'm not. I need to figure out when to plan my escape. I tell myself that's the only reason I'm still awake.

Chapter Nine

TORIN

Four nights now. No nightmares. No waking up swinging at something that isn't there anymore. I don't know what that means yet, and I'm not going to examine it.

I still insist on sleeping on the couch. She hasn’t pushed the limits, so I haven’t tied her up at night.

Valentina has been stirring on the bed. At one point, she threw the blanket off her feet. Why does one of them look red from here?

“Let me see your foot. What happened there?” Did she hurt herself?

“Don’t know,” she says, looking down. “I woke up once after they drugged me, and my foot was cut. They bandaged it.”

Interesting. I wonder if they put any trackers in her. If they did, they saw it disappear when we entered this hotel. It’s a maximum-security room designed to block any tracking devices, but we still led them here.

We’ll have to move.

“It hurts, but it’s no big deal. It's basically a paper cut,” she says.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

I sit on the side of the bed and pat my lap. She gingerly pulls the sheet back from her foot—which already tells me it's not just a paper cut—and lifts it toward me.

“Christ, woman,” I say when I see the state of it. It's swollen, and pus is coming out from where the cut was made. “When were you going to tell me it hurts?”

“When were you going to tell me you fucking care?” she snaps, staring at her foot. “Yeah, I think it's infected.”

“You think.” I crouch down to look at it. “Christ, Valentina.”

“Don't overreact.”

“Don't tell me not to overreact. Have you ever watched someone lose a finger to an infection?”