It’s sensory overload, a dead end, and a bleak reality.
I’m surprised I haven’t thrown up by the time he stops. My nails continue digging into his abs while I scan my surroundings.
What if the crazy bastard starts the engine again and I fall on my face?
He brings me to a hidden alley that’s dimly lit. Several luxurious cars are parked to one side, and Jeremy has placed his bike near one of them.
We’re away from the main street, so I can’t exactly walk there unless I’m planning to run for about half an hour.
“Will you be holding on to me for long? Not that I mind, but we have somewhere to be.”
I carefully release him, my cheeks probably looking red again. Just why the hell do I keep getting caught in compromising positions by him?
Jeremy hops off the bike and I remove the helmet and give it to him.
“This doesn’t look like the dorm,” I start as we walk down the street.
“I never said I was giving you a ride home.”
“Can I go home?”
“I told you, not yet.”
I open my mouth to ask why not but clamp it shut when we reach a metal door in front of which stand two burly guys with angular features and harsh eyes.
They nod upon seeing Jeremy and he nods back. No words are exchanged as one of them opens the door.
Jeremy walks in, and when I don’t follow, he grabs me by the nape. His big hand stretches across my skin as he flings me to his side, forcing me to fall in step beside him.
“I don’t want to go in there…” I try to negotiate as an elegant hall with baroque wallpaper materializes in front of us.
“And I didn’t want you at the initiation.” He sinks his fingers into my skin. “But we don’t always get what we want, now, do we?”
“Are you doing all of this because I was at the initiation?”
“Am I?”
The condescension behind his question makes my blood boil, but before I can reply, he stops in front of a door and pushes me inside.
I start to struggle. There’s no way in hell he’ll get me into his torture chamber without a fight.
My body freezes when he locks the door and I’m greeted with a table that’s set like in a luxurious restaurant.
Elegant wallpaper covers the walls and a huge painting with bold strokes of warm colors occupies half of the opposite wall.
Two red velvet chairs are on either side of the elegantly set table.
If I wasn’t suspicious, I’d be almost certain this was one of those restaurants with private dining rooms.
But then again, why would Jeremy bring me here for a meal?
The question must be written all over my face, because he settles on one of the sophisticated chairs and motions at the one across from him.
“Sit and then you can ask your question.”
My steps are rigid, forceful even, as I carefully slide into the seat.
“What is this place?”
“Somewhere to eat.” Jeremy grabs the menu and skims it with disturbing nonchalance.
Maybe he’s doing it on purpose, knowing full well how nervous I am.
“Why would you bring me here?”
“I only agreed to answer a question, not questions.” He motions at my untouched menu. “Pick something.”
“I don’t have an appetite.”
He stares at me from above the menu. “Why not?”
“Are you seriously asking me that after you stalked me, assaulted some random guys, and kidnapped me to God knows where? Food is the last thing on my mind under the circumstances.”
“Stalking, assaulting, and kidnapping. Three serious crimes, don’t you think?”
“Is this a joke to you?” I ask with a trembling voice.
“No, but you must believe it is, because you’re not taking my words seriously.” His gaze slides to my menu. “Pick something or I’ll do it for you and shove the food down your throat.”
My spine jerks upright and I reach for the menu. It’s for self-preservation and I’m only choosing my battles.
That’s it.
That’s all.
Names of dishes I’ve never seen before spill out in front of me in gold letters, but there are no prices listed. I’ve been to many restaurants like this, usually with my parents or grandparents, so I know that this place is either exclusive or pricey or both.
The door opens and I jerk upright in my seat when a well-groomed man with rimless glasses walks into the room.
He places some appetizers on the table and a bottle of premium-looking vodka in front of Jeremy. He takes his order and then turns to me. I pick some soup that had the fewest weird ingredients in it.