Page 16 of Wanted

The word doesn’t come out but I try again. To beg for my life. Nothing comes out of my lips because his hand is still there.

I feel him lower his head over my shoulder. Something brushes against my earlobe and I shiver.

“Shhh,” he hushes. “I won’t hurt you.”

My heartbeat is wild in my chest. The sound reaches my eardrums, almost drowning out his voice. But I hear it.

“You’re not safe here. I’ll keep you safe.” He doesn’t say the words but I swear I can hear the ‘I promise’ in his tone.

Something inside of me relaxes. The fear and hesitation don’t completely disappear, but the panic that started to well up a few minutes ago diminishes. I give him a slight nod.

When I do, the hand covering my mouth falls away. For a few beats neither of us move. It’s as if he’s testing to see whether or not I’m going to scream.

I don’t.

Despite common sense telling me this is dangerous and a smarter woman would scream for her life, I keep quiet.

“Okay,” he says in a voice so low I barely hear it. He takes a step back. All of a sudden, I’m cold. It has to be from the loss of his body heat coupled with the thin layer of the negligee.

I turn around to face him and immediately I still. His eyes are planted on me, scanning my body from head to toe. It’s silly, though, because I’m sure he can hardly see me.

I’ve always had excellent eyesight but now that we’re out of the light streaming in from the window, I can’t make out his features as well as I could. Yet he’s looking me up and down like he can identify every contour and shape of my body.

I cover the front side of my body with my arms, feeling exposed. This must snap him back to attention because his head lifts.

“Let’s go.” He grabs my arm again.

“Wait, where are we going? I’m not dressed to go anywhere.”

He doesn’t stop as he pulls us toward the door.

“I’m not wearing any shoes.”

Still, he continues. It’s not until I yank my hand, hard with enough force to get his attention, but apparently not enough to get him to release me, that he pauses.

“I can’t go outside in this,” I gesture with my free hand up and down the length of my body. “Oh gosh, and my hair.” I pat my head, realizing I’m still wearing the nighttime bonnet I sleep in to make sure my pressed hair remains untangled during the night.

The hold he has on my wrist loosens. “Do you need to change?” he asks, as if needing to ascertain if that’s why I’m detaining us.

“Yes, and for you to tell me where we’re going? Why am I in danger?”

He doesn’t answer. But he does open my suitcase and pulls out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I grab my suitcase from him.

“I can find something,” I insist, not wanting him to touch my undergarments.

“We don’t have much time.” His voice is calm and steady, but I swear I pick up on a note of worry in it. A million questions rush through my mind. But at the top of them is a question to myself: Why do I believe him?

It’s a question I don’t have an answer for. Not even as I stumble into the bathroom, close the door behind me and start changing out of the negligee into the clothes in my arms. I peer at myself in the mirror and blink in horror at how disheveled I look.

My skin is puffy and there are small bags under my eyes from a lack of sleep over the past week due to worrying about Ashley. I quickly remove the bonnet and pluck my comb and brush from the countertop. I style my hair into another bun for now.

I look over my array of facial cleansers, toner, and makeup trying to decide which I have time to apply.

“We have to go,” a deep voice sounds through the door at the same time he beats on it with his fist.

It startles me, and I grab what I can from the counter and toss them into my makeup bag. When I open the bathroom door, he’s right there. I don’t miss the way his eyes scan my face before he grabs my arm again.

“We need to—” He stops so abruptly that I bump up against his back. “They’re here.”

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