Chapter Three
1292 Words
“What?” Bela asked blankly, partly because she couldn't make sense of the question, but also because she was a bit distracted taking him in the full light of day.
She had subconsciously referred to him as her giant, but impossibly enough, he seemed even bigger and more intimidating than last night.
And he'd been covered in blood and holding her at gunpoint then.
And what had he meant about her staying here?
As if she were a guest who'd come to visit or something?
Bela decided she would respond to that shortly, but first…
"Are you ...okay?" she asked the question haltingly, afraid of how he would respond.
It sounded crazy that she was asking him that. He was her captor after all.
She didn't know who he was, but it seemed as if he was in charge, so she should probably be scared of him.
And she was.
Really.
But she was also...curious.
You're so gonna die.
A dark eyebrow rose above a gun-metal grey eye.
"Are you concerned about me, Bela?"
Bela registered shock that he knew her name?
How on earth did he find out her name?
She mentally cataloged that as a question she would ask in a bit, but she was determined to know how he was sitting next to her so...wholly, as if he hadn't been at death's door last night.
"I am," she responded.
Because she was.
Mikhail thought himself to be a good judge of character. Humans were complex creatures, with a variety of different values and motivations which influenced their nature. He wasn’t a human lie detector or anything, but over the years, he’d become adept at reading a person’s non-verbal cues and being able to decide if they were being deceitful or not. There could be exceptions to those rules of course.
Some persons, like himself, were exceptional liars.
He wanted to believe this wasn’t the case with Bela Kavek.
It would be quite convenient if she really had just been unfortunate enough to meet him last night. If she was just an innocent who hadn’t yet learned the value of being cautious enough to ignore a strange man bleeding out from gunshot wounds.
If this whole dilemma was just a mere coincidence…
He was inclined to think that it was. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure he was being completely unbiased in arriving at a conclusion.
All the pieces to the puzzle of this girl fit.
But was it because he wanted them to fit?
Was he deliberately overlooking something?
He wanted her.
If she had been planted in his path with nefarious intentions he would have to get rid of her eventually.
Likely in a manner that would set an example for anyone who would have similar ideas.
But… his entire being violently rejected the very thought of her being hurt.
That’s what was confusing the hell out of him.
“As you can see, I’m in one piece,” he swallowed the rest of the brandy in a gulp and refilled the glass.
He watched her carefully as her gaze ran down the length of him as if trying to determine if he was truthful.
“What …happened to you?”
“We’re here to discuss what’s going to happen to you,” he returned, instead of answering her question.
Maybe it was his tone, but Bela found herself frightened all of a sudden.
“Are you going to kill me?” she blurted.
“Eat.”
“Is this my last meal?” she continued, glancing down at the table.
She had vaguely been aware of the food on the table but had been too entranced by the man at the table to really take note.
There were a variety of fruit and pastries, juice, coffee, and what looked like tea leaves scattered across the table.
There was a place setting in front of her, but all that sat before him was a half-empty decanter and the glass he held in his hand.
“Is it…poisoned?” she whispered the last word as if it were a curse.
His expression didn’t change, but he tilted his head to the side curiously at her question.
“Do you suppose I would go through that much trouble just to kill you?”
Bela wasn’t entirely sure, but that sounded like an insult.
Didn’t she deserve to at least have someone put effort into killing her?
She glared down at a basket of bread as she placed one on the plate in front of her because even though she was miffed at his question, she wasn’t brave enough to glare at him.
She spread something that looked like jam across the surface of the roll and took a bite.
She sighed around the mouthful of divinity.
How can I possibly be enjoying this? she thought as she added another dollop of the pineapple–- her new favorite flavor—jam to the rest of her roll and took another bite.
Mikhail watched her reach for another bread roll and took another sip of brandy to prevent the smile he felt threatening to form.
It was f*****g ridiculous that the word adorable was even a part of his vocabulary, but that was the word that had sprung to his thoughts when she’d started eating.
One second she had been concerned about if she was going to die and the next, she had been totally captivated by whatever was in that little jar. It was almost empty now.
She finished her third roll before she returned her full attention to him.
“Are you finished?”
Bela glanced at the empty jar.
“Yes.”
Mikhail nodded in acceptance. “Now, about your stay here…”
He placed his glass on the table and leaned forward, “I have decided to give you two choices.”
“You kidnapped me,” she pointed out, in case he was under any misconception.
“That is option number one.”
“Option number one is that I choose to be kidnapped?” Bela asked out loud.
This conversation was becoming more and more confusing as the seconds ticked by.
“Yes. You have the option of being a captive. And doing the typical things that captives are wont to do. Like crying, pleading for your life, and bargaining, and on the odd occasion when a moment of courage besieges you, you might even try to escape. Or do something even more silly like call the police. That will most likely interrupt my schedule, which generally puts me in a bad mood and well…”
He left that statement hanging.
Well, what? What was he going to do to her when he was in a bad mood?
Bela’s hand twisted nervously in her borrowed dress as she listened to him explain everything so casually.
Who was this man whose life she’d saved?
“Do you…” she cleared her dry throat. “Have you..had many captives?”
A small dangerous curve of his lips and the look that accompanied it sent a shiver down her spine.
It was the first genuine moment of fear she had felt in his presence since meeting him.
“Is my second option death?” she asked.
“You seem particularly fixated on the concept of your imminent demise.”
Was it just a concept? It seemed like a genuine possibility from where she was sitting.
This conversation wasn’t exactly inspiring optimism either.
“What’s my second option?”
There was a dramatic pause.
Deliberate on his part? She wondered but then thought it was quite fitting when he told her what her second option was.
“You can work for me.”
- Writer
