Chapter 1
"First I'll tell you what I'm not going to do to you," said the man sitting opposite Jo with a faint smile, though his grey eyes under his dark brows were deadly serious. Still, from his tone you would think he was discussing the weather. Jo said nothing, just watched his face for signs of hesitation, anything that would make this whole situation less threatening. It was a pointless exercise she knew. Everything that had led up to this moment, here, implied a very real threat.
They were sitting in a penthouse apartment. His, apparently. It was all modern furniture and white walls and technology. It even had an automated door that had been set to open at 08h00 tomorrow, and not a second sooner, she'd been informed. Until then she was trapped here, in this stark apartment, with this calm maniac sitting opposite her across this excessively polished wooden floor.
It had taken her a few minutes to realise the gravity of what had happened earlier that evening when she had woken up lying on a couch shaped like an enormous black bean. Her head had throbbed and she had felt nauseated and disorientated. An after effect of the drugs she had been fed by the woman who had brought her a coffee as she had sat waiting for her taxi to arrive, she assumed. She had endured a dull and interminable business meeting that her boss had insisted she attend at Medor Holdings this morning, and she was supremely grateful that it was over. A bunch of overweight old men discussing the remote possibility of a merger ad nauseam. As if they could do anything about it if Medor decided to take over the company. Ha, that thought was laughable.
She drank the strong bitter coffee, and climbed into her taxi when it arrived, and that was all she remembered until she had woken up in this apartment. The maniac had been watching her sleep from an armchair, and when she woke and sat up, her head swimming, he had explained things to her.
This apartment is soundproofed, he had said. The window glass is unbreakable. The door is steel lined and locked until 08h00 tomorrow. He had watched her reactions. Incredulity initially. Then confusion. Finally a deep unease.
"Why?" she had asked.
"No means no, dickhead," he said obscurely, but she had understood immediately. That goddamn video of her had become an internet sensation almost overnight. Jo had never understood why someone would record what was intended to be a sexual assault, and then when it turned out to be something completely different, post it on the internet. It was madness.
She had watched the video a couple of times, seen the man approach her from behind as she walked down a street. He'd grabbed her by her hair and shoved her up against a brick wall. She'd seen her expression change from surprise to anger as he had pressed his body against hers, grinding his hips suggestively against her backside. She'd used her hands to push herself off the wall in one violent and unexpected movement, and had used the momentum this generated to swing around and smash his nose against his face with her elbow. Blood had spattered everywhere, some had even landed on the camera lens. Seriously, you couldn't make this up.
Her assailant had collapsed to the floor, clutching his battered nose, and she had tilted her head and eyed him coldly.
"No means no, dickhead," she had said flatly.
And that was it. Jo had never understood why it had become so popular. Gone viral, was the term, apparently. She had read a few of the comments posted by random strangers who had detailed exactly what they wanted to do to her. Some of them were pretty inventive, but nothing like this. No, this was in a league of its own.
"I'm not going to hit you," the man opposite her continued as if reciting from a list. "I'm not going to tear you or make you bleed. " He paused. "I'm not going to record this in any way."
"That's reassuring," she said sarcastically.
"It should be," he said expressionlessly, his eyes watching her steadily.
"I'm
"First I'll tell you what I'm not going to do to you," said the man sitting opposite Jo with a faint smile, though his grey eyes under his dark brows were deadly serious. Still, from his tone you would think he was discussing the weather. Jo said nothing, just watched his face for signs of hesitation, anything that would make this whole situation less threatening. It was a pointless exercise she knew. Everything that had led up to this moment, here, implied a very real threat.
They were sitting in a penthouse apartment. His, apparently. It was all modern furniture and white walls and technology. It even had an automated door that had been set to open at 08h00 tomorrow, and not a second sooner, she'd been informed. Until then she was trapped here, in this stark apartment, with this calm maniac sitting opposite her across this excessively polished wooden floor.
It had taken her a few minutes to realise the gravity of what had happened earlier that evening when she had woken up lying on a couch shaped like an enormous black bean. Her head had throbbed and she had felt nauseated and disorientated. An after effect of the drugs she had been fed by the woman who had brought her a coffee as she had sat waiting for her taxi to arrive, she assumed. She had endured a dull and interminable business meeting that her boss had insisted she attend at Medor Holdings this morning, and she was supremely grateful that it was over. A bunch of overweight old men discussing the remote possibility of a merger ad nauseam. As if they could do anything about it if Medor decided to take over the company. Ha, that thought was laughable.
She drank the strong bitter coffee, and climbed into her taxi when it arrived, and that was all she remembered until she had woken up in this apartment. The maniac had been watching her sleep from an armchair, and when she woke and sat up, her head swimming, he had explained things to her.
This apartment is soundproofed, he had said. The window glass is unbreakable. The door is steel lined and locked until 08h00 tomorrow. He had watched her reactions. Incredulity initially. Then confusion. Finally a deep unease.
"Why?" she had asked.
"No means no, dickhead," he said obscurely, but she had understood immediately. That goddamn video of her had become an internet sensation almost overnight. Jo had never understood why someone would record what was intended to be a sexual assault, and then when it turned out to be something completely different, post it on the internet. It was madness.
She had watched the video a couple of times, seen the man approach her from behind as she walked down a street. He'd grabbed her by her hair and shoved her up against a brick wall. She'd seen her expression change from surprise to anger as he had pressed his body against hers, grinding his hips suggestively against her backside. She'd used her hands to push herself off the wall in one violent and unexpected movement, and had used the momentum this generated to swing around and smash his nose against his face with her elbow. Blood had spattered everywhere, some had even landed on the camera lens. Seriously, you couldn't make this up.
Her assailant had collapsed to the floor, clutching his battered nose, and she had tilted her head and eyed him coldly.
"No means no, dickhead," she had said flatly.
And that was it. Jo had never understood why it had become so popular. Gone viral, was the term, apparently. She had read a few of the comments posted by random strangers who had detailed exactly what they wanted to do to her. Some of them were pretty inventive, but nothing like this. No, this was in a league of its own.
"I'm not going to hit you," the man opposite her continued as if reciting from a list. "I'm not going to tear you or make you bleed. " He paused. "I'm not going to record this in any way."
"That's reassuring," she said sarcastically.
"It should be," he said expressionlessly, his eyes watching her steadily.
"I'm
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