Thumper by Marie James

Chapter 15

Cara

“What?” I ask around a mouth full of crackers and spinach dip.

Javier shakes his head. He doesn’t stop staring at me, but he doesn’t answer either.

I caved. Just like I knew I would. He offered some of his lunch the third time I was in here yesterday, but when I discovered that he was eating the exact same things that were being brought down to us, something inside of me just snapped. I resisted the food he placed in front of me for all of five minutes before attacking the plate like a hyena going after an injured zebra.

“Maybe slow down?” he says as I shovel in another mouthful of delicious food.

He was right that first day. Lupe is an amazing cook.

“Where are we?”

“The office.”

I frown. Why did I even think he’d actually tell me what I want to know?

“What happened to Megan?”

He doesn’t answer this question either, but his demeanor changes slightly. I only recognize the shift from keeping such a close eye on him every time I’m brought in here.

“The others are asking. Did she die?”

“She was starving herself.”

“And she’s no good to you if she’s dead? So what? You sent her to a hospital?” It hits me that he used past tense. “She’s dead?”

He pulls his eyes from mine, but once again he doesn’t explain. I honestly have no expectation for him to answer me. I don’t know why I even bothered.

Maybe it’s the way Lola and Angel no longer seem like enemies. Or the way Angel has never really seemed bad and his demeanor toward Javier has changed over the last couple of days.

I’ve been paying more attention to Angel and Lola. I caught them whispering to each other this morning, and either I’m crazy or she was fucking flirting with him.

Maybe she’s crazy. She did claim Javier as hers, saying that no matter what he does to her there are always worse men.

Is it Stockholm syndrome? I’ve wondered this about myself more than once, but now that I think back to being excited to leave my cage to come up here today, I’m thinking it might be true even more than ever. Who in their right mind would be happy to visit the psycho who played a hand in abducting her? One that keeps her continually locked in a basement cage along with now four other women?

Someone unhinged, that’s who.

Me.

I’ve lost my damn mind.

I drop the cracker back on the plate and sit back. Javier glances over, his eyes dropping from my face to the plate of food sitting in front of me, but he doesn’t say anything. The man has silent manipulation down to an art.

The silence grows thick around us, and I wonder if I made a mistake by not fighting Angel. I may be misreading the situation, but did I lose the chance to escape? If he’s not as bad as I thought, then maybe he won’t chase me as hard if I try to bolt out the front door. I know Miguel is still around and that lunatic would probably lunge at the chance to teach me a lesson.

I stiffen when Javier stands from his desk chair and crosses the room to sit in front of me on the table.

His dark, shaggy hair falls into his eyes, but it only takes a practiced twitch of his head to put it back into place. His full lips turn down in a frown. Why in the ever-loving fuck am I noticing his lips?

“What’s your favorite food?”

I keep my focus just over his shoulder, refusing to give him my full attention. Am I being stubborn or acting like a bratty child because I want to see what he’d do if I act out?

I still haven’t decided when he leans even closer.

“Cara?”

“Can I go back downstairs now?”

This gets his attention, but I bet he’s going to refuse to answer, just like every other question before this one.

“Angel is busy,” he says as he stands.

“I’ll go straight down there,” I lie.

He scoffs, knowing I’ll arrow right out the front door before taking those steps alone without the threat of someone stopping me.

Then I remember what Lola told me about what happens to the women left behind when one escapes, and I could never risk them like that.

“You could take me.”

“I’m busy.”

I narrow my eyes at his back as he walks away.

He pulls his shirt over his head. I freeze, holding my breath and praying on some miracle that he has somehow forgotten I’m in the room. Maybe if I stay still enough, he won’t hurt me.

He doesn’t face me again as he drops to the floor in a plank and begins to do push-ups.

Is this another psychological game of his?

I keep my eyes on him because anticipating your opponent’s next move is vital for survival, right?

His back is corded with muscles, and other than a few scars, his skin is blank. No freckles. No hair. No tattoos even though I was taught as a teen growing up at Knight Salvation that criminals are covered in tattoos and body piercings, abusing their temples to spite the Lord.

It’s not a positive in his pro column by any means, despite the change in atmosphere around this place.

My eyes are glued to him so hard I notice the first drip of sweat that rolls from the center of his lower back to his oblique muscle before dripping onto the thin area rug beneath him.

“What are you doing?” I snap.

He does several more push-ups before rolling over onto his back and starting to do sit-ups.

“Exercising,” he answers, barely out of breath. “What’s your favorite food?”

I glare at him, refusing to answer.

“I answered one of your questions. Now answer mine.”

“Why are you fucking with my head?” He doesn’t bother to pause his sit-ups, and I have to look away before I get distracted. “Either you’re going to rape me or sell me to someone who’s going to do the same. My favorite food is inconsequential to you.”

He pops up off the floor so fast, a gasp flies from my lips, but he doesn’t come in my direction, rather he circles around to his desk, hitting a few keys.

“Cara Gibson.”

Those two words are the only thing he needs to say to have my undivided attention. I didn’t give him my real last name. When I completed the paperwork that first day, I lied and gave them my father’s last name. Holman.

Javier looks over his shoulder at me, in what looks like disappointment before turning his attention back to the computer screen.

“Twenty-four years old. Originally from a small community just south of San Francisco. Mother, Jena, married a cult leader nine years ago and moved her two daughters to the Knight Salvation Ranch. Fuck, what is it about California and goddamned cults? When was the last time you talked to April? Do you still keep in contact with her, or did you completely cut ties when you took off seven years ago?”

My eyes well with tears, the threat of them burning in my sinus cavities.

He prowls toward me, but still the evil look I expect from a man about to hurt someone is absent, and I consider this is another one of his tricks.

I stand before he can reach me, hoping it’ll give me an advantage, and then breathe a sigh of relief when the knock hits his office door from the hallway.

Javier doesn’t put distance between us though. He grabs me, pulling my back to his front, and I stop breathing.

“Be quiet,” he whispers in my ear. “Come in!”

Lupe steps inside, her eyes widening at the sight of us. She always retrieves the dishes, but I’m always on the sofa and Javier is across the room near his desk.

I don’t recall a time before now that he’s touched me, and even though he has every advantage, he doesn’t press his body against mine, threatening me with his power without words.

Lupe gives him a quick nod before shuffling out of the room. The door snaps closed behind her. I didn’t realize just how close Javier’s hand was to my breast until it falls away.

He takes several steps away, running his hands over the top of his head as I stare at his naked back. Bending at the waist, he takes several long breaths, giving me the opportunity to glance toward the door. Is he distracted enough that I could get away?

“Don’t even think about it.”

I snap my eyes back in his direction to find him mere inches from me. In a bid to put some distance between us, I drop back down on the sofa.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says softly, his eyes staying locked so hard on my face it makes me wonder if he’s having to restrain himself from looking elsewhere.

“I speak to her as often as I can. Please don’t hurt my sister. I’ll do anything to keep her safe.” Tears run down my cheeks. He lifts his hand a few inches from his side as if he’s going to wipe them away, but he drops that hand and goes back to his office chair.

My proclamation hits me like a tidal wave. I may not be willing to sacrifice my safety for just about anyone, but I’ll protect April any way that I can.

“Are you going to hurt my sister?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“Any question,” I vow.

“What’s your favorite food?”

Yep, and that’s all the evidence I need to fully believe he’s a sociopath.

I swallow when he grabs his shirt off the corner of his desk and puts it back on.

“Baked Mac and Cheese. My mom used to make it for us when we were kids before she lost her mind and married Charles McKnight.”

“Thank you.”

And then he just turns back around and starts typing away on his computer.