Probably a hundred pounds heavier, all of it muscle.
And we’re alone in this room.
No witnesses.
No one to stop him from doing whatever he wants.
The terror I’ve been holding back surges up and I press myself against the back of the couch, trying to make myself smaller.
But Leo doesn’t grab me.
He doesn’t touch me at all.
He just walks to the coffee table, picks up a fork, and spears a piece of the scrambled eggs on the breakfast plate.
Then he holds it out to me, his expression unreadable.
“Eat,” he says calmly. “I won’t ask again.”
I scowl at him. “I said?—”
“If you don’t eat, I’ll have my men hold you down while I force feed you through a tube. It won’t be pleasant. Your choice.”
The casual way he says it—like he’s discussing the weather instead of threatening medical torture—makes my breathing hitch.
I look at his face, searching for any sign that he’s bluffing.
He…he wouldn’t really do something that barbaric, right?
All I see is absolute certainty.
He’ll do it. He’ll actually do it.
The hatred that surges through me is so intense it’s almost blinding. I hate him.
I hate him so much that if I had the strength, I would launch myself across this room and beat the shit out of him.
I hate him for kidnapping me, for threatening me, for taking away every shred of control I have.
But I’m not stupid.
And I’m not going to let them hold me down and shove a tube down my throat.
I snatch the fork from his hand with more force than necessary and eat the eggs.
They’re cold now, which is disgusting, but I force them down. Each bite is an act of defiance.
Each swallow is me refusing to be broken.
Leo watches me with an expression I can’t read.
When I literally can’t eat another bite without gagging, I set the fork down and glare at him with all the hatred I can muster.
He nods once, like I’ve passed some kind of test.
“Good girl.”
The words make me see red.