Her heart raced. Yes, even coffee would help her hunger.
He placed the full mug on the tray. “Good girls get rewards. Bad girls are punished. Don’t move and don’t even think about touching this tray. You didn’t earn it.”
The tears were back again.
What could he do that would be worse? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be as bad as starving on the cold floor, could it?
Dexter stood. “Whatever you’re thinking, I promise your imagination can’t begin to conjure the possibilities.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her hair. “Don’t test me. Bugs can be squished.” He ground the toe of his boot into the floor and then moved it toward her knees, spreading them even wider, exposing her core and causing her thighs to ache. “I’ll be watching.”
And then there was another buzz, a gust of warm air, and the closing of the door.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
Her eyes closed. Perhaps she could forget about the tray, but it was impossible while the scrumptious aroma surrounded her. Seeing it within her reach was a sick kind of torture. With each passing minute, her toes ached more and more. Even her thighs called out in pain.
Perhaps it was hunger, perhaps the effect of the drug, but as time passed, her head began to bob, to fall forward, as her eyes fought to stay open. Each time it fell, she’d pull it back. Through it all, her shoulders screamed out. No longer could she feel her extremities. The tingly sensation had passed; now there was only heavy nothingness.
Natalie didn’t know how long she’d been there. There was no way to measure time.
She assessed the clues. The light through the window was now brighter. The coffee was no longer warm as no steam came from the dark, rich liquid. Though she hadn’t drunk, her bladder again felt full.
And then it happened. The buzz sounded.
Dexter was back.
Chapter Nine
Some things are so unexpected that no one is prepared for them.
~ Leo Rosten
Natalie talked to herself throughout this punishment or whatever it was—Dexter’s power trip. She didn’t do it audibly: he could see so it was possible he could also hear. She spoke in her mind. It helped her stay awake as she convinced herself she could do whatever she needed to do to survive. She could fight his ice with ice, his commands head-on, until she found herself on the other side of the door, back in the sunlight, and then she’d run.
No matter where he had her, what country, there had to be a US embassy. Her father was wealthy and influential. He had friends and business associates all over the world. He would move heaven and hell for her. Of that, she had no doubt.
Natalie wouldn’t be forgotten or allowed to disappear simply because she supposedly decided not to meet her family. No matter who that other woman was, Dexter’s plan was flawed. Natalie’s immediate family may be in Nice, but that didn’t mean that her father didn’t have people all over the world. The abrupt change in plans would serve as a red flag signaling Phil’s people to track the other Natalie. Once they discovered that she was an imposter, it would be all over the international channels: Natalie Rawlings was missing.
As time passed and her extremities lost feeling, she’d tried to come up with Dexter’s motivation. Since she was sitting—no, make that kneeling—on a concrete floor in basically a dungeon, naked, the sexual component was obvious, but there had to be more. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the more was money. Anthony and Claire Rawlings’s daughter was a valuable commodity.
All of her life her parents had preached caution and safety. The cameras and bodyguards seemed second nature while at the same time overkill. She’d never in twenty years seen or felt a threat. Had there been some and Phil’s team had thwarted them? Had everyone in her father’s world kept the specifics away from her to protect her?
What had that false sense of security cost her?
She recalled times when she’d pondered a life away from the watchful eyes of her father’s security. It wasn’t that the security bothered her. Knowing she was watched hadn’t changed her plans or behavior, because it always was. Yet there’d been a part of her that longed for a simpler life than living up to the standard set by Nichol.
Getting away from the Rawlings expectations had sounded like a dream. If this was it, the reality was a nightmare. The realization created more tears. Each one burnt a trail down her cheeks, dripping off her jaw and landing in a warm, salty splash on her cold breasts. Each tear took a piece of her soul until the pieces begged for glue—for a way to come back together.
Her hope was her knowledge and confidence in her family. They would never hesitate to monetarily pay for her return. It was her goal to convince Dexter that they’d pay more if she were returned unharmed—unsoiled, so to speak.
Buzz.
Natalie’s chin snapped upward. Despite her crying, her tears were now dry and nose had ceased to run. Her plan was in place. She’d had her breakdown. Now it was time to appear strong and indifferent, the same way he appeared. If Dexter wanted to believe she would play his sick game, she’d let him.
Still facing the bed and the tray of untouched food and drink, Natalie couldn’t see what was happening behind her, only hear. There were footsteps and wheels.
Wheels? Did she hear wheels moving over the hard floor, like a cart?
If only she could turn, but she refused to give him another reason to retaliate. Instead, her mind filled with possibilities. She pictured the carts used by the staff at the estate in Iowa that brought food to the dining room or to the suites. There were the carts used in hotels when room service was summoned. Each of her thoughts had a common denominator—food.
Her stomach had surpassed grumbling, giving up as it had grown accustomed to emptiness. That was, until the new sounds revived it: a pang and softer rumble murmured in the damp, musty air.
She closed her eyes and tried to summon non-food alternatives. There were the carts the maids used at the estate as well as in hotels, ones with bedding and supplies. That possibility even excited her. A towel for the bath or a sheet for the bed. Such simple needs.
Natalie pushed down her expectations. If she didn’t hope, Dexter couldn’t disappoint. She feared that would be worse than more punishment.
As each second ticked by, marked by the tap of his shoes upon the concrete, she began to wonder if he planned to talk, to acknowledge her obedience—anything. The anticipation of what may occur brought her tired, aching body back to life, restoring the circulation and bringing needles to her veins. The new rush created a painful and prickling sensation.
Natalie stifled a cry, biting her lower lip, careful to stay silent and vowing to keep secret her suffering. And then Dexter changed the rules by giving her what she feared most—hope.