Chapter 11: Interlude of Suspicions

MARISOL

Something warm and wet brushed my cheek. I groaned. "Five more minutes."

Mr. Buttons didn’t care. He kept up his relentless assault, nuzzling me until the haze of sleep lifted.

A quiet throat clear sliced through the air.

My breath caught. That wasn’t part of the dream.

My eyes snapped open. He was there. Lounging in a chair. Watching me. The intensity of his stare locked me in place, unreadable and shadowed.

The warmth of Mr. Buttons turned brittle. My smile faltered, then vanished. This wasn’t my bed. The mattress dipped too softly. My hand pulsed beneath layers of gauze, sharp and rhythmic with pain.

Dante.

His name alone squeezed my chest.

He hadn’t moved. Just watched from the chair, quiet and coiled like something waiting to strike. My heart slammed against my ribs as memory clawed back: glass, blood, darkness.

"Good." His voice cut through the quiet. "You're awake."

My muscles coiled, every inch of me wired. Adrenaline surged. I pushed upright, pain ripping through my bandaged hand. My spine locked, my fear masked by instinct. His presence filled the room, thick and choking, but I wouldn’t suffocate.

I met his gaze. Steel for steel.

"What are you doing here?" My voice rasped. "Here to inflict my punishment? To torture me?"

My eyes swept the room for a weapon. Table lamp, heavy enough. Exhaustion dragged at me, but I kept my focus.

He raised his hands slowly, like I was a cornered animal.

"No, Marisol. I won't hurt you."

I tightened my grip on the sheets. My shoulders squared.

"Yeah, right. I don’t believe you."

Something shifted in his face. Regret? Maybe. His jaw clenched as he lowered his arms.

"I swear, no one will hurt you." Too soft. Too measured. Too damn calm.

Air burned in my lungs. My laugh cracked like broken glass.

"Is this psychological torture?" The words came sharp. Bitter. "Make me feel safe before you strike? Is that what you’re playing at?"

"No." Steel lined his voice now. "This isn’t a game, and I’m not your enemy. I want to help you." He stepped back. Gave me space. "I know you don’t trust me, but please, you need rest. You’ve been through enough."

My gaze dropped to the gauze wrapped around my hand. Memory struck: Cool glass against my palm. Blood curling like ribbons. That slippery edge between pain and peace, almost mine. Oblivion had been so close.

"Why did you stop me?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"Because you deserve more than that."

"I would’ve bled out in seconds." My voice cracked. Heat burned behind my eyes, but I didn’t let the tears fall. Not for him. "It would’ve been over. No more fear. No more hiding or running."

"And what about living?" His voice pulled me back. His eyes locked on mine. "What about freedom? You’re entitled to those, too."

The lamp was still close. Within reach if I needed it. But something in his voice made me hesitate. It didn’t feel like a lie. My grip eased, but my body stayed rigid.

"I’ll never be free. My father. Marcos. Now you. My whole life’s been cages."

Darkness flickered across his face. Not anger. Something else. Old pain.

He turned. His shoulders went stiff. When he looked back at me, the guilt in his eyes nearly knocked the air from my lungs.

"I couldn’t save my mother. And my father... he killed himself."

His voice barely carried. "I failed them."

He took a step closer. "This is my chance to do something right. To make a difference. Let me help you."

Grief radiated off him, undeniable and raw. My instincts screamed to shut him out. But something cracked. Just a little.

I gave him a nod. Barely.

"If this is another game..."

"It’s not." His voice hardened. "I give you my word."

Even my breath came easier now. Not trust, but the panic had ebbed. Just a little.

The room didn’t shift, but something between us did. Not safety. But a temporary truce.

A knock broke it. My body tensed as the door creaked open. Felix stepped in.

I didn’t recognize him. Another stranger. Another potential threat.

"Brought food." He nodded toward the kitchen. "It’s on the counter." His eyes bounced between us, brow furrowing. "How’s she doing?"

"She’s okay." Dante answered, but his voice said otherwise. He looked at me. "Think you can walk?"

I rolled my eyes, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Yes, there's nothing wrong with my legs." The kitchen felt miles away, every step a battlefield with him trailing behind me like a shadow.

Felix slid the plate toward me, but my stomach twisted. Not with hunger, with wariness.

Too smooth. Too casual. The kind of man who smiled while pulling triggers.

I edged closer, just out of reach. My finger nudged the meal like it might explode.

"Is it poisoned?"

He let out a laugh. Sharp and real.

"Seriously?"

I glared. He sighed, grabbed the drink, popped the lid, and took a long pull. Never looking away.

"See? Just soda. No secret knockout drugs."

Then he grabbed a fry, shoved it into his mouth. Chewed like a smug jerk. Swallowed.

"Totally safe. Happy now?"

My eyes stayed on the tray. Hunger twisted with instinct, the battle waging inside me. After a breath too long, I reached for the plate. Slowly.

He grinned, leaning against the counter like he hadn’t just been a living nightmare.

"There you go. See? Nothing to worry about."

Behind me, Dante shifted. I glanced back. His face was still unreadable, but some of the blade edge had dulled.

I turned back to the food. I didn’t drop my guard.

I didn’t trust the meal.

I didn’t trust the change in him, either.

* * *

MARISOL

Three days blurred together in a haze. Time crawled, each hour about as thrilling as watching paint dry. I lay on the couch, staring at the wall, my thoughts chasing their own tail. Every exit stayed locked, every window secured, but there had to be a way out.

I kept mapping the layout of the house in my head, counting steps, noting patterns. Felix came and went more than the others, always distracted, always careless. If I got one shot, just one, I had to be ready.

The soft whirl of the padlock snapped my attention sharp. This is it.

My breathing slowed. I'd perfected fake sleep years ago.

He stepped inside. Plastic bags rustled, shattering the quiet. He muttered something as he dropped them on the counter and wandered into the pantry.

Now.

I launched across the room with practiced grace. Slamming into him, I shoved him into the cramped space, the shelves rattling as the door slammed shut. His muffled curses followed me, but my pulse drowned them out.

Freedom. It was right there.

Cool stone bit into my feet, dew slick and sharp. The air hit my face like freedom.

Birds chattered somewhere beyond the trees, oblivious.

Then I collided with a wall of muscle. The impact knocked me flat, pain jolting through my tailbone as I hit the ground. A clean mix of cedar and soap filled my lungs. I looked up and found Dante towering over me, hands on hips, that scowl doing absolutely nothing to lessen his maddening appeal.

"Did you really think you could escape?" His voice had that dangerous edge I hated.

I hated how calm he sounded. Like I hadn’t just risked everything. I glared, ignoring his outstretched hand. Pride burned hotter than the ache in my backside as I pushed up and brushed the dirt from my palms.

He crossed his arms, jaw tight. "Let me save you the trouble. There are armed guards, drones on every inch of this place, and enough forest to get you lost for days... or mauled by a mountain lion. Your call."

Felix stormed out the door, face flushed and wild. "What the fuck!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "Why would you do that?"

I didn’t move. Just stared at the ground as he stormed toward me.

"Is that how you treat the hand that feeds you?"

"Felix," Dante snapped, voice sharp as broken glass.

Felix jabbed toward the kitchen. "Sit. Eat. Now."

My jaw locked tight, but I moved. Dragged myself to the table and dropped into the chair. As I reached for the plate, he smirked. "Good girl."

My head snapped up. "What did you just say?" My voice came out low. Dangerous.

He rolled his eyes, a smirk blooming. "Aw, the little one doesn’t like being called a good girl."

Something in me broke. I surged to my feet and threw myself at him. My fist landed with a sickening crunch against his nose. Blood spurted as he stumbled back, but I wasn’t finished. My foot slammed into his groin, and he collapsed with a choked wheeze.

I grabbed his collar, yanked him close. "Say it again," I hissed, "and I’ll make sure you choke on your balls."

"You... bitch," he croaked, folded in half.

"Enough!" Dante’s voice cut through the room. He stepped between us and dragged me back with firm hands. "Both of you."

I wrenched away, chest rising fast. Felix stayed on the floor, muttering curses through blood and spit.

"You sit and eat." Dante pointed at me, then turned on Felix. "And you... stop crying."

He glared down at him. A flicker of amusement touched his expression, but his tone didn’t budge. "I’m serious. Grow up. Both of you."

I sank back into my seat, every inch of me still braced for round two.

Felix groaned as he staggered up, limping toward the counter. "She’s psychotic," he grumbled, loud enough for me to hear.

The word cut deeper than I wanted to admit. Maybe because a part of me wondered if he was right. But I swallowed it down like I hadn’t heard a thing.

"And you’re an idiot," Dante snapped, tossing him a clean towel like he was done playing referee. I stabbed at my eggs, the only sound left in the kitchen was his occasional sniffling.

Just another lovely morning in captivity.