Read Online Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) by Nenia Campbell - Free Book Online

patience to wait much longer.
     
    Christina:
    Days passed without word from my parents.
    Part of me took pleasure in the fact that they had managed to elude capture. But if my captor was as good as he claimed, we were all still in terrible danger. Especially me. I worried about them every day, but I worried about myself every second . After all, he already had me.
    My captor had barely said one word to me since he had delivered his latest threat. It had been recent. Yesterday. Or the day before that. All the days blended together. My captor had come down to deliver my breakfast. He got too close, and I launched myself at him, digging my nails into his neck as hard as I could. He managed to pry me off, making me wish more than ever than I had both hands free. I went without breakfast that morning. Lunch brought a single glass of water. It was drugged. When I woke, he was there, setting my food down as if nothing had happened. There was a bandage on his throat. He reached into his pocket and showed me a fingernail clipping, with chipped red polish. “Next time,” he said, “You lose a finger.”
    With the exception of bathroom breaks, which were few and far between, I remained chained up like a dog. I had the feeling that I smelled like one, too. A viscous membrane of grime surrounded me. When was the last time I had taken a shower? My hair was starting to feel wet, and when I ran my fingers through the matted strands they stuck up in clumps.
    The bathroom contained a shower. The spigot was orange with rust, the tiles discolored by mildew, but I suspected it worked. My captor didn't have greasy hair. I planned my course of action accordingly, playing up the cooperative hostage bit to the point where he asked me, “What the hell are you up to?” I swallowed the question and shrugged, postponing my request until the next meal where I asked, in a suitably cowed voice, “Can I take a shower?”
    “ A shower?” He scoffed. “That why you've been so cooperative?”
    I thought about denying it. No. With my luck, I'd anger him by lying and he would withhold showers as punishment. Then I'd be back to square one. “Please?”
    He set the sandwich and the bottle of water down with a clatter. “This isn't a hotel.”
    “ But I'm filthy,” I protested. “I won't try to escape. Please. I just want to get clean. What if I get sick?” I tacked on, pouncing on his one weakness. He couldn't want me to fall ill if I was the bargaining chip. If something happened to me, he would lose that leeway with my parents. He couldn't afford that. Right? Right?
    “ No.” He left the room. I sank into filthy despair.
    Hours later, he returned with a key. I'd been crying and jumped when I heard him, swiping the tears from my eyes. He always managed to catch me with my head down. “Don't make me regret this.” He unlocked the cuffs and yanked me along like a pull-toy. I barely noticed — or cared. All I could think about was the warm water and how good it would feel on my skin. And soap. Soap . Lovely white scented lather.
    My happiness popped like a soap bubble. What was I thinking? I'd achieved nothing except making myself look even more pathetic and helpless than before. Worse, I'd shown him he could manipulate me. Jesus had been betrayed for thirty pieces of silver. I'd betrayed myself for soap . If he was even planning on giving me any. I wished I hadn't pleaded quite so hard now.
    But I couldn't resist asking, greedily, “Do you have soap?”
    “ Yes. Mine. You can use some.”
    His? I said nothing.
    The rest of the house was as shoddy as the basement. The carpet was burnt orange, the beige paint on the walls was cracked and peeling. All the windows were curtained, or so smeared it didn't matter. I wondered whether his intent was keeping me from seeing out, or others from seeing in. Both? Did that mean we were someplace where there were others around to see in?
    We went past the living room. I caught a glimpse of cheap furniture