Chapter 5

Dolores brought me both lunch and dinner for a couple days, but I couldn't eat. On the third day, when she came to escort me to the bathroom to have a shower, she insisted that I wear the dress instead of the gym clothes, but I refused. After I was taken back to my room, I spent the day in bed, half asleep.

The next day, after I barely touched my breakfast, Dolores told me that I was expected to go to lunch, but I not so respectfully declined. Fear was causing me to be depressed, my earlier resolve to escape looking quite dire. This house, from what I could tell during my short bathroom breaks, was much better guarded than the previous location.

With all the men that stood guard around the house, it felt like I was in the middle of a wolf pack, with Alejandro at the head. They clearly had a rotation, my every move under the gaze of at least three men. As time went by, nothing changed, no mistake, no avenue for escape.

If it wasn't for Dolores telling me the day and time, I would have had no notion of it, and it was affecting me tremendously. I was surprised when she came in with a small digital clock in her hand. The small amount of freedom and control that came in that moment was priceless, providing comfort and a semblance of normalcy to this situation.

It was about seven p.m. on a Thursday, well over two weeks since I had been home, when Alejandro came into my room without knocking. He was dressed in all black, his hair wet, and his curls pushed back. I was still lying in bed and pulled the sheets higher to my neck as he made his way to my side.

"We are going to have dinner together tonight," he announced.

"I don't want to."

"It wasn't a suggestion."

"I'm not hungry," I tried to explain, staring at him.

"Yes, you are, and you look like death."

I turned my head to avoid his gaze.

"I expect to see you for dinner in ten minutes," he ordered before he walked out, leaving a trail of masculine fragrance notes behind him, teasing my nostrils and piquing my interest despite my best judgment.

There was no way I was going to join this man for dinner—or anything, for that matter. Dolores walked in behind him and sat on the corner of the bed.

"Por favor, se?orita, go to dinner. You need to eat."

I didn't answer. While I saw concern in Dolores's dark eyes, I was here in this house against my will. I didn't have to dine with my captor on top of it.

"He's a good man, se?orita. Just, eh…bad tempered right now."

"A good man?! Que secuestra?" How could she call a kidnapper a good man?

"Ay, no sabia que hablabas espa?ol!" she said with a smile, pleased that I answered her in her native tongue.

"Si, vivia en Mexico por un tiempo antes," I answered, explaining to Dolores that I had lived in Mexico.

My first language was one of the few things from my life in Mexico that Richard wasn"t able to get rid of.

"Ay, que bueno." She paused, seemingly thinking about what to say next.

"Yo se que las cosas son raras," she proceeded to explain. "But it"s…esta complicado todo."

Dolores stopped, seemingly toeing the line between making me feel more comfortable and telling me too much.

"What?" I pressed. "What is so complicated? He just wants money."

"No, se?orita."

"What do you mean?"

Dolores sighed but got up, ignoring my questions. She pulled the yellow dress out of the nightstand. "Let"s go, please. I will help you get ready."

I hesitated.

"It's for your own good. You can ask questions, se?orita. Maybe el patron will…I don't know." She sighed. "He is a good man, se?orita."

I felt bad for Dolores. She really looked very concerned and clearly did not want to cause me any harm. Plus, I was hungry. I gave in and walked to the bathroom with Dolores, admitting to myself that if I had any chance of escaping, I needed to feed myself and be as friendly as I could manage.

Dolores wasn't left in the dark as to my situation, and she also clearly had some information about my captor that could be useful. More importantly, Dolores was heavily hinting at a complicated situation and perhaps interests that weren't just financial, urging me to find my eagerness to survive, take matters into my own hands, gather information, and hopefully use it to find my freedom. Dolores gave me the hope I had been missing the past few days.

I took a quick shower to wake up and put the dress on. It was a tad loose on me, but I loved the embroidery on the dress. The top part was very fitted, but the bottom part of the dress was a nice flowing skirt that moved in harmony with every step I took.

Dolores sat me down and combed my hair, shaking her head as she noticed the bruises on my shoulder. She pulled two hairpins covered with small pearls out of her pocket and used them to pull my hair back, letting the rest of my curls fall down.

"Those are beautiful," I said. "Thank you." Dolores smiled and pinched my cheeks.

"Adding color to your lovely face," explained Dolores. "You are now ready for dinner," she announced. "Let's go."

"No head bag tonight?" I asked when Dolores started taking me down the hallway.

"No," she answered with a smile. "Juan is not here today."

"Why does it matter if Juan is here or not?" Dolores ignored me and continued walking.

I was starting to realize how big this hacienda was, as I could finally walk around more than the hallway without my face being covered. The ceilings were high, and we passed multiple rooms that looked like they were taken straight from a magazine, but there was no time to stop and explore—we were on a mission.

Dolores finally stopped in front of two big wooden doors. She knocked to announce us and opened one of them. She told me to walk in and closed the door behind me.

The formal dining room was stunning. The walls were decorated with some artwork I recognized as amate bark paintings. There was a beautiful chandelier in the center of the high ceiling. In the middle of the room was an eight-person, walnut dining table with hand-carved legs and chairs. A big bouquet of creamy white Dahlia's was in the middle. There was a china cabinet on the left wall. The wall on the right had a long painting depicting three very colorful birds, seemingly flying around each other with grace and elegance.

Across the room, I could see a bay window and, next to it, a small bar. Alejandro was standing there, pouring himself a whiskey.

"Do you want a glass?" he offered.

"No, thank you."

"Please, take a seat."

I kindly declined. I wanted to walk around, move my legs. I headed to the table to take a closer look at the flowers. I knew there were native of Mexico. I smiled as I caressed the petals. I was also fascinated by all the works of art in this room. I walked to one of the paintings to admire it more closely. It was beautiful, inspiring both freedom and happiness.

"You like this painting?" he whispered right behind me. I felt his breath down my neck and shivered as I held back mine.

"Yes," I managed to answer. "Traditional papel amate paper. I love seeing how colors come alive on such a unique canvas."

"How do you know this?"

"I am not as uncultured as you seem to think I am," I said, turning around.

I hadn't realized how close he was standing. I was now facing him, looking into those deep-brown orbs. They almost seemed sad.

My breast lightly rubbed against his chest. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity. I was breathing in every inch of him, a bit startled by my treacherous body's reaction. His smell was so masculine, a mix of tobacco, a bit of bergamot, a trail of lavender, and a touch of sandalwood.

This man was a god walking amongst mortals, and as much as I wanted to be indifferent, I still found myself breathing rapidly.

But he was my keeper, his savage beauty only contributing to the sense of danger I felt every time I looked at him. I was keenly aware of my situation. I was in his hands, at his whim.

He made sure to remind me, with this invitation, this pretending that I was a guest and not a prisoner. He was taunting me for some reason, standing way too close to me, but two could play that game. The reality was that it was in my best interest to be pleasant. My survival depended on it—however disgusting it might be.

He cleared his throat. "I, uh…I wanted to apologize for my behavior last time." He sighed.

I, on the other hand, remained frozen. I tried to speak, but my throat was dry. I couldn't think of what to say in this situation, with him being so frustratingly close. My captor had just apologized to me for being rude.

That wasn't what I expected. Brutes didn't apologize; they just took. Even Richard had never apologized to me, not when he had called my mother a slut, not when he told me it was a shame my skin wasn't as light as his, not when he reminded me that I was a poor excuse for a daughter.

I searched Alejandro's deep eyes, wondering what game he was playing. He seemed sincere, but then again, he was a criminal.

"Buenas noches."

Both Alejandro and I took a step back. We had been completely unaware that Dolores likely had been knocking. She entered the room, seemingly ignoring us, and proceeded to put the food on the table from the cart she had rolled into the dining room. She was serving pozole as the entree dish.

Alejandro and I silently sat down at the table. I was avoiding eye contact, while Alejandro was staring at me with inquisitive eyes. After setting down the pozole bowls in front of Alejandro and me, Dolores uncovered a plate full of chiles en nogada. I could not believe my eyes.

"I haven't had these chiles in so long," I exclaimed to Dolores, warmth filling my stomach. "Thank you!"

"My pleasure, se?orita," said Dolores, proud of seeing her dishes bring a smile to my still very pale and bony face. Dolores rolled her cart out and closed the door.

I started savoring her pozole without waiting for Alejandro. He smiled and proceeded to eat as well. We both enjoyed the soup in silence. I was too ashamed of my slight attraction to this man earlier to say anything, and frankly, I was too hungry to care about anything other than my food.

If there was one thing that generally improved my mood, it was good Mexican food. When I was done with my soup, Alejandro stood up, moved the bowls away from us, and served the chiles en nogada. I was surprised but held back any snarky remarks. My kidnapper was literally serving me food.

"My mom painted that piece," he said in between bites, shifting his eyes to the artwork I had been observing earlier.

I was getting more confused by the second. This man, for some reason, wanted to share information about his life with me. What exactly was I supposed to do with that?

"It's beautiful," I admitted. "She must be very talented."

"She is. Her work is fairly famous around here."

He looked so proud, his eyes suddenly filled with love and tenderness. It seemed he was capable of some human emotion and had a good sense of family values. Although, it didn't stop him from destroying mine and who knew how many others.

This was the first time I had seen him smile, a real full and happy smile. It almost looked honest, making him look younger than he generally seemed. I couldn't help but notice his white, straight teeth and admire the look of sensuality he had with every movement he made. The way he moved his hand, the way he looked at me.

Why would a man like this, who seemed to have it all and could really have the love of anyone he wanted, remove someone from their home against their will for money?

"Does your mother live here?" I inquired. Be polite, I reminded myself. Don't rush this. Get to know him. Take advantage. The plan was to be civil, avoid provocation.

"At times. She is a citizen of the world, she says."

"Where is she now?" I pushed.

He stayed silent for a second but continued, "Hawaii." I didn't know if that was true or not.

We managed to keep a friendly and comfortable conversation for the next hour, as if we were just two old friends enjoying a nice meal. I felt my anxiety reduce a bit, and I went from pretending to care about what he had to say to actually wanting to hear more. I savored the sound of his voice, deep and strong.

I bit my lip every time I wanted to scream that he should let me go home, that this was the most confused I had ever been in my life. I had to make him think I was going to comply in order to gain some trust.

Dolores walked back in to clear the table and served some wonderful tres leches cake.

I, surprisingly, did enjoy listening to Alejandro tell me about his childhood growing up in Mexico with barely anything but heart and passion for life.

He had managed to quiet my fears a little, but I was still alert, not losing sight of the plan to get to know my oppressor better, in the hope of being able to use any information in my favor. The more data I gathered, the better I could plan. And somehow, in some twisted way, talking to him casually like this felt very natural.

"When did you move to the States?" He cocked his head with a slight frown. "You barely have an accent," I explained. "I just assumed."

"Hm. An uncle had moved to Texas. He got me a visa, and I moved there during high school. I knew it would be up to me to make my parents' sacrifices worth it, and there were a lot more opportunities there," he finished.

"And you clearly succeeded. This house is, in itself, a work of art, it seems. Do you live here full time now?"

"Not exactly."

I saw his jaw tense as he looked at a message on his phone. The door for questions was quickly closing—I could feel it.

"Why, then?" I dared to ask, unable to stay cordial any longer as I felt like I was running out of time. "Why kidnap me if you don't need the money?"

He glanced at me, his lips now forming a thin line. I almost regretted my question. It probably should have been an inner thought, but it was too late. Richard's biggest problem with me was always that I spoke my mind too much. Alejandro shook his head and closed his eyes.

He got up from his chair with such ferocity I feared he would hit me.

"I made it very clear this wasn't a topic I was willing to discuss."

I was fuming. The audacity of this man was not something I could handle. In what world did he live in?

"You expect me to join you for dinner, talk to you, and pretend that I am not here against my will, is that it?" I retorted, standing up to face him. "I don't know you, and abduction does not generally make a good first impression."

His lips tightened. My face twitched but I kept my head high.

"You could, alternatively," he stated coldly, "refrain from asking questions and instead enjoy the fact that I am making an effort to treat you as a guest in my house."

"A guest!" I laughed. "Really? Is this what you call hospitality in Mexico?"

"Watch your mouth," he warned, grabbing my arm.

"Or what? You will do what? Hit me? Call one of those criminals who took me and have them punch me some more?"

His eyes darkened to black burning fire, his nostrils flaring. He must have noticed the blood leaving my face, because he let go of my arms so brusquely I struggled to stay balanced.

"I don't hit women, but don't taunt me, Amelia, because I will throw you over my shoulder and lock you back in your room," he warned under his breath.

"Great," I retorted. "I guess your preferred method of forcing submission is pretending to be a gentleman while you take their freedom away."

"You are an arrogant, stubborn brat!"

"And you are a fucking brute!" I screamed back.

Before he could say anything, I rushed out of the room with tears blinding me.

I had no idea where I was going, but I had to get away from this man. He had managed to make me feel safe this evening, but his behavior morphed into disdain at the drop of a hat, which angered and scared me even more.

It was very clear to me that he was the mastermind behind it all. Yes, he had a family, but so what? I was being forced to dine with a criminal, be cordial, and pretend we were two normal people getting to know each other under normal circumstances. No, staying there wasn't an option.

I opened the front door of the house wildly. I stepped out and started running down the stairs. Cold air hit me like a slap in the face as I was boiling, but I had to rush as I could hear footsteps getting dangerously close to me. As I finally made it to the bottom of the stairs, Alejandro violently grabbed my left arm and turned me toward him, staring at me angrily. I let out a frustrated groan. I was at my wits' end.

"Where do you think you're going?!"

"Away from you!" I screamed in tears. "Let me go! Please let me go home!"

"Don't you understand that you can't leave?! You can't leave! I cannot let you leave, but you are safe here. Calm down!" he ordered, shaking me.

I was still fighting him, trying to free my arms from his grasp. How on earth was I safe when I was at the mercy of a criminal pretending to be a gentleman?

He grabbed my other arm, pulled me closer to him, and held me firmly against his chest. Both my arms were on his hard chest as I was trying to pull back. With his other hand, he pulled my face close to his, and he aggressively pressed his lips against mine.

I froze for a second, eyes wide open, keeping my teeth closed, trying to resist his ravaging lips from overtaking me. But the pain was too strong, and I eventually gave in.

His tongue penetrated my mouth deeply, demanding, ordering my submission. I fought him, but when I felt his arms go around my waist in a possessive embrace, I closed my eyes and kissed him back with the passion and desire he was demanding. I felt myself melt into his hands as he was molding me like clay.

I heard myself groan and opened my eyes.

What on earth was I doing? I pushed him away from me, almost falling as I took a step back, staring at him in shock. We were both gasping for air.

"Much better," he said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "obediente como deberías de ser," he declared with a smirk of satisfaction on his face and victory flickering in his eyes.

Ugh, of course.

I was furious at myself for letting him kiss and touch me like that. I was ashamed for giving in so easily, letting this man think he could control me by violently forcing me to kiss him and now calling me "obedient as I should be." I was at a loss for words.

I looked up and saw Dolores standing by the door, her hands on her lips. I looked around in the dark, but I couldn't see where the road led. We were clearly not off a public street. This wasn't going to be an easy escape in the middle of the night, even if I somehow managed to outrun Alejandro.

There was nowhere to go but where I ran from, in the house of this man who was looking at me like he had won something. I quickly ran past Alejandro and up the stairs. I was shaking, but I had to get away from him. Dolores took me by the arms gently when I reached the top of the stairs, guiding me to my room. I was in shock, and the walk was a blur, a wasted opportunity to continue to map the floor plan in my head.

When we got to the room, Dolores left me, with the door open, and returned with a glass of water that she put on one of the nightstands before leaving me alone. I quickly changed into the gym clothes that had been washed and neatly folded for me on the bed.

That kiss, and all the different currents it had sent through my weak and shameless body, was haunting me, and I felt guilty for it. Guilty that I took pleasure from my kidnapper. Guilty that I had a fiancé out there who was probably looking for me. Oh gosh, I hadn't considered how George was fairing with all of this. Was he devastated? Was he trying to find me?

There was no denying that Alejandro was attractive. There was no denying that he was trying to manipulate me into submission—through physical attraction apparently.

And with the way my body had melted against his, he probably believed he had succeeded.

He was going to fail—miserably. If anyone was going to do any manipulation, it was me, as I had everything to lose if I didn't play my cards right. He could physically harm me, force me—or worse, I could lose my life—and no kiss, however amazing and confusing it was, was going to change that.