Jack and Djinn (The Houri Legends, #1)(48)

Miriam stretched, carefully opening her eyes. She wasn’t at her apartment or his, that much was clear: She was lying on a wide bed, an expensive flat-screen TV hung on the opposite wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows ran the length of the adjacent wall. Thick carpeting, a leather couch and chair in a sitting area near the windows, a fully stocked minibar…she was in a hotel room. Miriam sat up, or tried to; her head swam, and she lay back down. When the dizziness faded, Miriam sat up again, much more gingerly this time.

She stood up just as carefully and realized she wasn’t wearing her own clothes. She had left the house in an old pair of jeans and a hoodie; she was now wearing an expensive silver cocktail dress, scooped low in the front, the hem barely brushing her thighs.

In the forefront of her mind was the question of Ben himself: Where was he? She’d seen the madness return to his eyes just before he knocked her out, a blow worse than anything she’d ever experienced.

He’d appeared to be stone cold sober when he showed up next to her on the side of the road. Seeing her with Jack must have pushed him over the edge. Whatever the case, she knew she had to get away before Ben returned. She was barefoot, and the thought of running away on bare feet again didn’t appeal to her, but it was better than being here when Ben got back. He had something planned, and she had no desire to find out what.

She managed to step away from the bed, but at that moment the door opened and Ben entered, wearing a charcoal three-piece suit with a pale blue tie. Ben was followed by a hotel employee pushing a room service cart. Ben took the cart from him, gave him a folded twenty-dollar bill, and shoved him out the door.

“Miriam, you’re awake!” he said. He sounded cheerful, even excited, as if he hadn’t knocked her out and kidnapped her.

Miriam moved to brush past him, thinking it was worth trying to just walk out, but he grabbed her, pushed her away from the door.

“What do you want, Ben?” she asked.

“What do I want? I want to spend time with you, baby. That’s all.” He pushed the cart over to the sitting area, laid the food out on the table, held a chair out, and gestured to it. There was a bottle of Johnny Walker Black on the cart, opened and already a quarter empty; Ben picked up the bottle and drank directly from it.

“Ben, you knocked me out,” Miriam said. “You kidnapped me. I don’t know what craziness you have planned, but it’s not going to work. We’re done.”

Ben crossed the room in two quick strides, yanked her by the arm, and shoved her down into the chair. “It’s not craziness,” he said. “I just want to talk to you. I’m sorry I hit you. I know I promised I wouldn’t, and I won’t do it anymore. I really have changed, I promise.”

Miriam tried to get up, but he held her down. “Let me go, Ben! I don’t want to talk to you. You haven’t changed! This is kidnapping. Don’t you realize that? I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”

Ben’s voice hardened, and she caught a glimpse of the rage behind the mask of calm. “You’ll stay here, and you’ll listen to me. We’re going to have a nice dinner together, do you understand?” Ben sat down unsteadily, unbuttoning his suit coat and taking a long swig from the bottle still clutched in his fist. The butt of a handgun peeked above his waistline.

The situation was now suddenly much more precarious.

Ben smirked, realizing she’d seen the gun. “You’ll stay, and we’ll talk,” he repeated. Watching him, Miriam realized he was far beyond being merely drunk; that bottle of Johnny might not have been his first.

“Sure, Ben. That’s fine.” Miriam scooted her chair in, opened the cloth napkin, and spread it on her lap, knowing Ben wanted the ceremony, the process, the trappings of luxury. Ben nodded, approving.

He pulled off the plate warmers with a flourish. “I got you a salad, see? You don’t like steak, so I got you a salad instead.” He said this in a tone that almost begged her to see how much he’d changed, that he was paying attention to her, listening to her.

Miriam nodded, picked at the salad with a trembling fork. “Thank you, Ben. That was very considerate of you.” She was too terrified to be able to eat, but she had to pretend— she had to keep Ben happy until she could escape.

“I’m really sorry I brought you here under these circumstances, Miri,” Ben said between bites. “It wasn’t how I wanted to do this. When that…thing with Rachel happened, and when you had to go to the hospital, it made me realize how special you are. I haven’t been treating you very well. I know I haven’t. I’ve been an *, and I’m sorry. You deserve better, and I’ll give you better, I promise. This is a new start.”

“Why are you doing this? This isn’t you, Ben. You don’t need to do this. Just let me go.”

Ben froze, hands in the process of cutting steak. He didn’t look up. Miriam watched his fingers tighten around the steak knife, watched his veins throb as the rage boiled to the surface. “You’re mine! That’s why! Because you can’t just walk away from me like that. You’re mine, Miriam.”

“I’m not an object, Ben. I don’t belong to you,” Miriam heard the words rolling off her lips, but she couldn’t stop them. Reckless honesty was flooding through her. “You can get help, Ben. There are therapists—”