An hour had passed before she heard Priest’s return. She wasn’t amused. She needed the bathroom again, even though she hadn’t eaten or drank anything.
He arrived in the kitchen, where he’d left her. “Oh, good, you didn’t try to escape.” He sounded way too amused for her liking.
“Do you think this is funny?” she asked.
“You’re still alive, so yeah, it is.”
She opened her mouth and screamed. Cleo didn’t even want to scream. She certainly didn’t want to piss this man off, but with how smug he looked, and the fact he could do whatever the hell he wanted pissed her off. This wasn’t fair. She was getting tired of people hurting her in some way.
This man could kill her. Maybe he should.
Annoying him wasn’t the most logical thing to do. She couldn’t seem to help it though. Screaming wouldn’t help her cause. All it did was hurt her voice.
She wasn’t sure what she expected Priest to do, but it wasn’t to stand there with his arms folded as if completely unimpressed. As if dealing with a child having a tantrum. Couldn’t he at least … blink? Or look a little put out?
“Are you done?” he asked.
“Are you going to let me go?”
“No.”
Anger filled her at the unfairness of life. There was no way she could go home, or back to work. She was stuck.
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“And you think screaming children get to do what they want?” he asked.
“I’m not a child.”
“Yet, you’re behaving like one?”
“Ugh, you’re infuriating. How would you like being kidnapped and tied up against your will? Do you think you’d be happy with it?”
“It’s not fun.”
Cleo opened her mouth, about to agree with him, but stopped, turning her gaze on him. “You know what it’s like?” she asked.
He still had his arms folded. “Do you think I don’t? At least you’re not being tortured. This could be much worse.”
“You’ve been tortured?”
Priest leaned forward, putting his hands on her arms. She noticed he didn’t put the whole of his body weight on hers, but he could have if he wanted. There was nothing Priest couldn’t do to her.
“I kill men for money, sweetheart. It’s my job. I’ve caused a great deal of pain, and that doesn’t come without consequence. So yeah, I’ve been tied to a chair.” His palm went down toward her leg, and he pressed against a point. “I’ve had a knife here.” He moved to her other leg. “And here.” He lifted his hand and touched her stomach. “I’ve been slashed here.” Up he went further. “And I’ve had several blades sink into my flesh here.” He touched her just above the breast. “Let’s not forget the gunshot wounds. Trust me, Cleo, this is a piece of cake.”
“I need to use the bathroom.”
Cleo didn’t exactly feel so good, but at least he wasn’t torturing her.
If Priest had experienced that kind of pain, and he wasn’t afraid, did that mean he dealt with it on a daily basis? Of course, he did. He was a hitman. He didn’t get paid to sit around all day, doing nothing.
She didn’t know how to handle that.
Her world had been small. Foster homes. The real world. Fighting to survive. Always feeling like everything was a lost fucking cause.
Priest untied the ropes around her wrists. She’d spent a good portion of the day imagining this moment. Where she’d lure him into a false sense of security and make a mad run for it. But she’d already tried that, and it didn’t end well.
Instead, she waited for him to get up and then escort her to the bathroom. She used the toilet, flushed, and washed her hands before opening the door.