He was physically large and strong, and he was a sadist—but also careful about not hurting her badly, not so far, anyway. Which meant—what did it mean?—that he planned to keep her around for a while longer?

If Lizzie Connolly could stand it here for another minute. If she didn’t flip out and make him so angry that he’d snap her neck, as he’d threatened to several times a day. “I’ll snap your little neck. Like this! You don’t believe me? You should believe me, Elizabeth.” He always called her Elizabeth, not Lizzie. He told her that Lizzie wasn’t a beautiful enough name for her. “I’ll break your fucking neck, Elizabeth!”

He knew who she was and quite a bit about her, and also about Brendan, Brigid, Merry, Gwynnie. He promised that if she made him angry he’d not only hurt her, but he’d do the same to her family. “I’ll go to Atlanta. I’ll do it for kicks, just for fun. I live for that kind of thing. I could murder your whole family, Elizabeth.”

He was desiring her more and more—she could certainly tell when a man got like that. So she did have some control over him, didn’t she? How about that? So fuck you too, buddy!

Sometimes he would leave her binds slightly looser and even give her free time to walk around in the house. Tied up, of course—on a kind of chain leash that he would hold in his hands. It was so demeaning. He told her that he knew she’d be thinking that he was getting kinder and gentler but not to get any stupid ideas.

Well, what the hell else could she do except get ideas? There was nothing for her to do all day in the dark by herself. She was —

The closet door swung open violently. Then it slammed against the wall outside.

The Wolf screamed in Lizzie’s face. “You were thinking about me, weren’t you? You’re starting to get obsessive, Elizabeth. I’m in your thoughts all the time.”

Damn it, he was right about that.

“You’re even glad for the company. You miss me, don’t you?”

But he had that wrong, dead wrong.

Lizzie hated the Wolf so much that she contemplated the unthinkable: She could kill him. Maybe that day would come.

Imagine that, she thought. God, that is what I want to do—kill the Wolf myself. That would be the greatest escape of all.

Chapter 58

Chapter 58

THAT SAME NIGHT the Wolf had a meeting with two professional hockey players at Caesars in Atlantic City, New Jersey. The suite where he stayed had gold-foil wallpaper everywhere, windows facing the Atlantic, and a hot tub in the living room. Out of respect for his guests, who were big stars, he wore an expensive chalk-stripe Prada suit.