Page 96 of Taming Scarlet

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, rolling my eyes with a smile. Like he was the silliest guy in the world to even think that. “I just want to hold the towel and warm up, so we can talk more. My teeth are starting to chatter,” I insisted.

He looked conflicted for a moment.

And when he pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and flicked it open, I felt my stomach plummeting as my pulse accelerated.

But I forced a relieved smile.

“Thank you,” I said as he went for the zip ties binding my wrists, and cut them free.

My shoulders immediately eased forward, curling in toward my chest for a second as the pain eased.

Pins and needles assaulted my arms and hands as Gene reached for the towel again. When he draped it, I focused hard to make my weighted, numb hands raise and close over the material, holding it in place.

“That’s so much better,” I said, nodding at him as he moved back over toward the counter, setting down the switchblade.

Well, that made two weapons.

“Why are we in this kitchen?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Don’t you remember?” he asked, looking hurt.

“This kitchen? No,” I said, shaking my head.

“Not this kitchen, but this bar,” he said.

“Well, ah, I haven’t seen the bar,” I reminded him. He’d carried me in here unconscious. But if I had a chance to have him move me closer to the street, I was going to take it. “I’m sure I’ll remember it, though.”

Yes, I was usually drunk at bars, but that didn’t mean I was so wasted that I didn’t remember them. I did.

“Yeah?” he asked, head cocked to the side.

“Yeah,” I said. “It sounds like it was special to us.”

“It was,” he agreed, puffing up. As if I could ever want this freaking lunatic. “Come on. I’ll show you,” he said, holding out an arm, but waiting for me to get to my own feet.

I did it carefully, trying not to flash him, then moved slowly across the floor, praying he would turn forward before I got past the counter.

I tried to relax my features, but I felt the tension building until, finally, he turned.

My hand shot out, scooping up the knife, and tucking it into the material of the towel in my hand.

I’d never had to do anything violent before.

But I knew down to my marrow that I could hurt someone if I needed to, if it came down to my life or theirs. Especially if the other life belonged to a stalker, kidnapping creep.

Gene pushed open the swinging door, and I walked into a slightly brighter room, thanks to some of the paper that was plastered on the windows of the bar had fallen down.

There would be people out there.

Within screaming distance, maybe.

But every girl knew better than to scream. People rarely ever came. Better to break away. To find someone and beg them for help.

“Well?” Gene asked, voice like a whip.

I guess I’d pissed him off by not immediately gushing about my fond memories of the place.

“Sorry, it’s so dark,” I said, slow blinking like I was trying to make my eyes adjust. “Oh!” I gasped, turning in a slow circle.

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