Taken With The Enemy Read Online Free Page B

better of me.
    I don't know why I was so anxious to punish myself. My head throbbed to the point of dizziness, my empty stomach hurt, and every muscle in my body ached. On trembling legs, I ventured into the living room.
    I had been here five days ... five long days without food. Five endless days of denial when I had a perfectly stocked kitchen full of yummy goodness. And those five days didn't include the three days prior to my abduction when I had hardly eaten at all.
    Staring at the dining room table, I decided right then that my keepers were overly cruel people.
    This time, they had left me a huge ice cream sundae.
    My mouth watered.
    Bastards.
    I would not give in. If they wanted me to eat so badly, then they needed to let me go. I'd eat only after I was returned to camp.
    Despite my stomach's objections, I left the latest lure on the table and made my way back into the bedroom. Collapsing on the mattress, I felt around the covers, searching for my bottle of water. Unscrewing the cap, I took deep gulps of the tepid liquid, as much as my stomach could tolerate, hoping it would ease my hunger pains.
    I wondered how they even knew if I ate or not. Unlike my original captor, the other keepers never came around unless I was in my bed, which was most of the time due to the constant fatigue I'd felt since I started the ‘resistance'. I had yet to meet them—not that I wanted to.
    Hidden cameras, maybe?
    Day one was the Chicken Biryani, so I'd guessed my keepers assumed I wasn't hungry right then and that I'd eat later. Day two passed without a visit, as did day three. But the morning of day four I'd awakened to the smell of bacon. When I had gone into the dining room, there was a plate waiting for me with an all-American breakfast upon it.
    The torture hadn't stopped since.
    Yesterday's lunch had brought salad and yogurt, and dinner had been roasted lamb chops and vegetables. This morning it was fruit and muffins, and lunch, grilled kebabs and pita bread.
    Now this. Fucking ice cream.
    I had to laugh. I brought this suffering upon myself. What did I expect?
    In a way, I guess I expected them to either let me go, kill me, or let me die of starvation. No questions asked. What I didn't expect was for them to care enough to cook on my behalf, with the sole purpose of trying to coax me into eating again.
    In a few hours, they would come to retrieve the ice cream. Perhaps I'd make an introduction then. I couldn't fathom why I wanted to do such a thing, considering that previously, I had avoided them at all costs. But if felt like the right thing to do. Though I wouldn't partake of their fare, I still wanted to thank them for the concern.
    Thank them?
    Shit. The water fast was really screwing up my mind.
    I thought about changing my pajamas for more appropriate clothing, so I'd be ready when they came, but my body was too tired to get out of bed again.
    Maybe after a quick nap I'd be up for the task.
    * * * *
    Thwack!
    I woke up to darkness and another crashing noise, like that of a pot being thrown into a kitchen sink. Damn. They were being loud tonight. I rolled over and turned my back to the light spilling through my doorway from the living area. Later, when I felt up to it, I would get up and shut the door. But until then, I needed more rest.
    Thunk.
    Dinnerware slammed on the dining room table.
    Then heavy footsteps advanced toward my room.
    My eyes shot open.
    They never came into my room. It was like some unspoken rule, it just didn't happen ... unless...
    Sandalwood.
    Yanking the covers away, he grasped my arm and pulled me off the mattress. I was so shocked, I didn't object when he dragged my ass into the dining room. He shoved me down into the chair at the head of the table.
    "You will eat. Now,” he growled.
    Staring at the steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup and the glass of fruit juice before me, I instinctively touched the spoon resting on the napkin, but drew my hand back. The thought of putting something in my