Which warms the cockles of my heart. If only her loyal husband could see her now.

Despite it all she isn’t screaming. She’s not begging or crying, which is more than a little disappointing. I’d like to break her spirit. Would love to see her grovel and plead. In fact, it’s one of my most cherished fantasies. Obviously it isn’t going to happen today.

But her time is running out. It won’t be long before she’ll be pleading for her life. Right now, it is still early. She doesn’t really know what she’s in for.

“Good morning,” I say sweetly.

“Who are you?” Defiance in her tone. Even belligerence.

“I thought you might want breakfast.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Let’s see, I’ve got a sandwich. Peanut butter. Nontraditional for the morning meal, but it’s all I could scrape together.” As I reach in my bag I feel her rising in the cage.

“Let me out.” She’s on her feet, facing me through the bars, staring me straight in the eyes. She’s calmer than I’d expected or hoped.

I lift my chin. “I don’t think so.” What kind of idiot does she take me for?

“I won’t press charges.”

She’s serious. Desperate. Good. I like that attitude much better.

“Oh, yeah, right. I believe that,” I mock. She’s being stupid. “After all the hard work I went through to get you here, do you really think I’m just going to release you? Give me a break, you’re smarter than that.”

“Why are you doing this? Who are you? Not Sherry Petrocelli.”

“Ding!” I say, pushing an imaginary button. “Score one for the blonde in the cage.”

“What do you want from me?” she pressed. She was single-minded. Just like Bentz.

“Nothing,” I say honestly. “From you.”

“This is about my husband.”

“Bingo. Now you’re up to two right answers. Another one and you’ll be in the bonus round.”

“You think this is a joke? A game?” she asks, glaring at me as if I’m crazy, when she’s the one locked up.

“A joke? No.” I feel the boat sway a little, smell the scent of the beasts who were locked up before her. “A game? Possibly. Only I know the outcome and you, I’m afraid, don’t.”

“Fill me in.”

God, she’s ballsy! What the hell is she doing trying to get information from me? Asking questions when she should be submissive and fearful and begging for her life? I’m the one in charge. Doesn’t she get it? “You don’t need to know anything.”

“Do you know my husband?”

“RJ? Oh, yeah.”

“So you’ve been pretending to be Jennifer?”