Page 16 of Lord of Debauchery

Boogeymen were everywhere.

“There we go. Not too tight?” he asked, as if he really gave a damn. I resisted laughing.

“It’s fine. You can use the bathroom in my room to shower if you’d prefer.”

“Maybe I’ll do that. You don’t happen to have a spare tee shirt, do you?”

Was he kidding me? “Didn’t you bring clothes with you on your glorious trip?”

“I didn’t expect I’d be here all night long.”

I lifted my head, doubting the entire scenario. Maybe I had an excellent and befitting source for sharing my cheating ex’s clothes. “In the bottom box in my walk-in closet in the room at the end of the hall you’ll find some men’s clothes. Have whatever you’d like. My son of a bitch ex doesn’t need them any longer.”

His upper lip curled. “I feel there’s a story there, one that would likely interest me.”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say there are assholes in every walk of life.” Yes, in addition to stealing some of Daniel’s priceless works of art and his record collection, what clothing I hadn’t cut up I’d taken with me. However, the reason I’d brought the items with me all this way was beyond me.

Maybe it was my crutch to the past, a reminder that I could do better. Or maybe I was silly enough to miss what limited intimacy we’d experienced. Groaning, I did what I could to keep from reacting any further.

“Well, I truly appreciate all you’re done for us. I’ll be back in a little while.” Before he left the room, the bastard turned off the light. Fortunately, I’d installed fairy bright nightlights for the guests, hoping they wouldn’t kill themselves by going to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

I took several deep breaths, hating the dark more than I could admit to anyone. He certainly didn’t need to know that: a weakness he could use. I wanted to laugh. I struggled with the tight bindings, fighting the feeling of claustrophobia rushing into my system.

Now wasn’t the time to have a panic attack, for God’s sake.

I tried to catch my breath, finally closing my eyes and counting. I heard that was a calming exercise for some people. All it did for me was allow fantasy demons to crawl into my mind, poking at me about how handsome the guy was. How polite, for a criminal. I didn’t care what the man had told me; he was obviously a white-collar criminal, the only time he managed to get dirt under his fingernails when he was killing someone.

Great. The ugly thought wasn’t doing my psyche or my anxiety any good. I forced myself to concentrate on how sexy he was instead, which only made my mouth water. This was ridiculous.

I counted off another two minutes then couldn’t stand it any longer, turning over so I could untie the shackle with my free hand. It took me a little longer than I expected, Beckham’s rope skills a bit more advanced than I’d realized, but I was finally free. I took a deep breath before swinging my legs off. I had to be very careful or one of the men would hear me. Tiptoeing toward the door, I opened it a crack, peering out into the darkened hallway. Other than leaving the light on above the stove, everything was pitch black.

After listening for any sounds, I slipped into the hallway, taking my time to creep down the stairs. I knew the exact locations where two of them squeaked, narrowly avoiding them. When I was on the first floor, I glanced up the stairs, fearful he’d be standing right there with that shit-eating grin.

Thankfully, he wasn’t. With no time to waste, I headed into the kitchen, yanking my purse from the floor. While I’d been stupid enough to put on floppy shoes that I could stumble in, there was no chance of getting another pair. I also might freeze to death considering he’d waited until I’d changed into my nighttime PJs, which consisted of boy shorts and little more than a tank top. I was no fool. I know exactly why he’d insisted I do so, escape impossible on foot while wearing next to nothing in April in Maine.

While we were experiencing a May-like warmth, it was still chilly outside since the sun had gone down. I refused to allow that to be a deterrent. All I had to do was to get back to my little house, which the bastard had no clue about and couldn’t find in the middle of the night, and I could put on warm clothes.

And I could call the police.

The plan seemed perfectly acceptable to me.

I moved to the back door, searching the deck. I had a feeling the soldiers would concentrate on the front of the house given the boat access was still difficult for those who didn’t know the area, and impossible at high tide, which it was currently.

Seeing no one, I headed outside, staying close to the building until I was at the corner, the garage a straight shot away. After taking several deep breaths, I crouched over and rushed toward the building. When I made it there, I took another series of deep breaths, doing what I could to keep myself on track.

There was a small door on the side, but I’d still need to open the garage door in order to leave. I had to risk it. There was no other choice. Still in stealth mode, I moved around to the side, taking another quick look before heading in through the door.

I was panting by that point, my pulse racing but I moved toward my Camaro, opening the passenger door so I could toss my bag. When I reached inside searching for the keys, my heart sank.

“Oh, shit.” They weren’t there.

Suddenly, the light was flicked on overhead and I froze, taking a few seconds before I could turn around.

There stood the chocolate-haired god under the light. In his hand were my keys. “Looking for these, princess?”

CHAPTER 6

Beckham

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