Taken With The Enemy Read Online Free Page A

his hand on a simple, unassuming wall phone located next to a padlocked door. “If there is anything you need, anything at all, just pick up the phone. You will hear a beep. Once you do, make your request and hang up."
    "Then what?” Ugh, why do I feel the need to ask?
    "Well, it depends on what you ask for. If it's on hand, someone will bring it to you. If not, they will try to get it. If it's non-attainable, then, well, your request is not met. Another thing. The other residents in the building, the ones who'll be taking care of you while I'm gone, will not speak to you. And if they do, it will be in Arabic. If you have a question, be sure to phrase it in a way that they can nod an affirmative, or shake their head for a negative."
    "If they only speak Arabic, then how will they understand my questions at all?"
    With an arrogant smirk across his face, he looked at his watch. “I have to go. I'm late. I will see you in a couple of days.” He headed for what I assumed was the front door.
    But if that was the exit, then what was I standing in front of?
    "Wait,” I called out.
    He turned. “What's up?"
    I cast a meaningful glance at the heavy padlocked door.
    "It used to be the spare bedroom."
    Used to be? “What is it now?"
    "If all goes well, you will never have to find out,” he offered cryptically, shrugging his shoulders. Then he was gone. The door closed behind him, there was a jingle of keys and the click of deadbolt sliding into place.
    I looked at the padlocked door again. If all goes well, I'll never have to find out ... What the hell was it? A fucking torture chamber?
    Shit. It probably was.
    My mind instantly filled with images that I could not physically see—shackles hanging from the ceiling and horrible devices that inflicted agonizing pain. Famous war movies with gruesome torture scenes danced across my mind.
    My stomach churned. It all made sense now. I could do what they wanted and stay in my gilded cage, or I could suffer the horrors of whatever lay behind that door.
    And my dumb ass was actually playing into his nice-guy act. Could we say Stockholm Syndrome?
    Lying bastard.
    The guy was the definition of the word ‘contradiction'. I mean, who ever heard of a gourmet chef who cooks a beautiful meal one minute and talks about his willingness to kill someone the next? No, he wasn't all accommodating and harmless.
    Well, I wouldn't make that mistake again. He was the enemy, and he would get nothing from me. And in turn, I would take nothing from him but the bare minimum—that which I needed to live, and perhaps even less. And if I suffered for that decision, so be it.
    What did they want from me anyway?
    Of all the people in the world, why did they go through the trouble of taking me? I had no information that would help their cause. Ransom maybe? For a trade? Perhaps some of their buddies were being held in an Allied prison? But that still didn't explain why me . They could ransom any American.
    Maybe they thought they'd have more weight with me because I was a female?
    It didn't matter.
    I would not play the pampered prisoner any longer.
    Retrieving the Chicken Biryani from my room and throwing it, along with the bowl and silverware, into the kitchen trash can, I opened the fridge and grabbed as many bottles of water as I could carry before retreating back to my bedroom. Setting the water on the vanity, I gathered my pajamas and toiletries, then went to the bathroom for a bath.
    I decided that I would give myself this one last creature comfort before I began my passive protest.
    [Back to Table of Contents]

 

    Chapter Five
    Lying in bed, daydreaming of food, I heard the front door open. Soft footsteps moved into the flat, but once again, no one called out to me.
    My abdomen quivered when the unmistakable sound of porcelain being placed on the dining room table met my ears. But it was only after the steps retreated and the deadbolt lock slid in place did I rise out of the bed, curiosity getting the