Freedom... Or Not

Petrified that he had snuck up behind her, River’s fall to the floor was nasty.

“So, who's the thief here?" He mocked, his voice echoing in the dark living room. “You, sneaking around after my property."

River felt her cheeks burn. "Your property, okay. But what about my property? My property," she retorted, "that you took from me in the first place! It's not stealing if it's mine to begin with."

He snorted, but even his snort sounded devilish. "Fine, argue semantics all you want. But you're not leaving here without fulfilling your end of the bargain."

With a grunt, he tossed items at her – a mop thudded against her leg, a broom clattered to the floor beside it. A rag, a bottle of potent-smelling detergent, and a bucket followed in quick succession.

"Get to work," he commanded with a darkened gleam in his crimson eyes. "The sooner you're done, the sooner you can be on your way."

Yeah, right. Like she didn't want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible too.

River scowled as fru