Roxanne (The Italian Cartel Book 2) by Shandi Boyes

Author:Shandi Boyes [Boyes, Shandi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-10-20T18:30:00+00:00

Fourteen

Roxanne

I roll onto my opposite hip, saving my stomach the torture of my eyes drinking in the overloaded burger and fries taking up a majority of the nightstand. My ruse is stupid, and I’m doing more harm to myself than anyone, but for the life of me, I can’t give in. I’m being held against my will and persecuted for crimes I didn’t commit. A hunger-strike is the low end of the scale for how I could protest to Dimitri’s unfair ruling.

I’ve had plenty of time to contemplate other methods, but for now, I’ll continue with this one. It’s the safest of the three I thought up, and the least likely to shed blood. Even with my head delusional with hunger, I’m reasonably sure my other two ploys would kill more than my anger. Dimitri doesn’t handle his jealousy well. It makes him as unhinged as his distrust makes me.

My brows draw together when a frantic buzz overtakes the grumbles of my hungry stomach a few seconds later. It isn’t the drone of an electronic lock opening, nor the static that comes out of the speakers a second before Smith’s voice. It’s foreign yet familiar like it entered my room along with the eleventh meal I’ve refused to eat.

Too curious for my own good, I roll onto my back, prop myself onto my elbows, then stray my eyes in the direction the buzz came from. Although the black device nestled on the serving dish a scrumptious-smelling burger is resting on doesn’t appear to be a cell phone, it rings as if it is one. It vibrates and bounces across the antique wood serving tray, its shriek growing louder the longer I stare at it.

A normal captive would gobble up the first sign of life outside of these walls as if it’s the key to their captivity. As I’ve said before, I’m nothing close to ordinary. Just like each meal has become more and more enticing the longer I refuse to eat them, this is another trick in Dimitri’s vault-load of arsenal. I’m certain of it.

When the device halts ringing a few seconds later, I lock my eyes with the camera in the corner of my room, glare at it as if the only meal I’ll ever agree to eat is Dimitri’s balls when I rip them off with my bare teeth, then I roll back onto my side.

I’ve barely sucked in two body-cooling breaths when the annoying buzz starts up all over again. It rings and rings and rings until my temper gets the better of me.

Imagine a robot malfunctioning after you take to it with a baseball bat. That’s the noise the little black device makes when I send it hurtling across the room. It smacks into the door that only unlocks when I’m using the bathroom before it crumbles to the floor.

Feeling somewhat victorious—and a whole heap hungry—I squash my back to the bedpost that has handcuff marks notched into the wood before curling my arms around my knees.

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