Page 20 of Kissed By Shadows

After making me my grilled cheese sandwich—which was fucking epic and my new favourite food—Hunter left me to eat alone. There’s something calming about being alone at night, knowing that there are three men who’ve promised to protect me only a shout away. That is if I can trust their word, I’ve only just met them after all. Though Willow was always adamant that regardless of Hunter’s shady background and line of work, he never went back on his word.

Finishing up, I leave my plate on the island because I’m a petty bitch and Hunter can clean it up after all the shit he’s done, even if he did make it for me. Who makes someone a prisoner? Especially after offering their protection? I didn’t realise I’d be confined to the house when I agreed to get on my knees. Talk about fucking small print.

A part of me also relishes saying a big fuck you to my upbringing and the manners that were drilled into me these past few years to clean up after myself, or at least get my staff to clean up. Times have changed and there’s a certain freedom in not having to follow those archaic rules anymore.

Too riled up to go back to bed, I decide to wander about my new prison, discover the lay of the land, so to speak. It must be around four or five in the morning anyway, I’ll just try to catnap later. Glancing around the kitchen, I spot an industrial-style clock that tells me, yep, it’s fucking early. Four-thirty-seven to be precise.

Making a noise of disgust—I am not a morning person—I start to open cupboards and find the usual kitchen stuff, including a juicer which gives me a flare of excitement. I’ll be making some of that later with the fruit and vegetables I spied in the fridge. I even saw some ginger, and this time of the year is perfect for my carrot, orange, apple, and ginger juice. It was one of Dad’s favourites…

A pang tightens my chest at the thought that I won’t be making him anymore to help boost his immune system. He always used to complain that offices were petri dishes of hate, full of germs, and any bugs spread like wildfire. He swore by my juices, especially as he used to like getting to know all his staff personally so had lots of contact with lots of different people.

The worry for his health now I’m not there to take care of him wars with the anger that still festers like an open wound. What he did was unforgivable, but he’s still my dad and that leaves me all kinds of messed up.

Shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders to release the tension there, I huff out a breath and walk out of the kitchen into the living space. There’s no television in here, probably because they have the massive one in the cinema room. Instead, the sofas form a square with a large wooden coffee table in the middle andI can just imagine games nights, the three of them sitting around and playing cards, probably poker. I’ll have to ask them to teach me, it’s not like I have much else to do while here.

Nikolai didn’t pack my knitting needles or any books, reading and knitting being my two favourite pastimes. I’ve spent hours making scarves, hats, and gloves, as well as more complicated garments such as jumpers and cardigans. Socks are beyond me, I bow down to any who can master the art of knitting those tricky buggers.

But all of that is back at my house, my projects unfinished and my books half read, and my throat goes tight thinking of Sergi and his men rifling through them, not taking care and perhaps even throwing my precious things away.

“Why so glum, Little Lamb?” a deep voice asks out of the semi-darkness, and I jump half a fucking mile, spinning to find Rowan leaning in the doorway wearing grey sweatpants and not a single fucking thing else. Doesn’t he know it’s akin to me walking around in lacy lingerie?

The sight doesn’t calm my racing heart, though it’s thudding for an entirely different reason now. Bloody Evangeline. I can’t help studying his inked-up torso, the style similar to his twin’s, although the designs feel darker somehow. All black, there are skulls and playing cards, knives, ravens, even a grim reaper.

“Fucking hell, Rowan. You scared the shit out of me, which seems to be a common theme around here,” the last part is said in a definite grumble.

“Does part of you like being scared?” he asks, straightening up.

“Pardon?” My brows raise, my eyes flashing back up to his face, which really is too pretty. His penetrating gaze is fathomless in the predawn light. He stalks towards me like a tiger, all lethal grace and beyond stunning, but it’s the dangerouskind of beauty, the kind that will rip your throat out and then lap at your blood like it’s a delicacy.

“Do you like to be scared?” he questions again, stepping so close that his body heat radiates into me. I tilt my head back—why are they all so fucking tall—but even up close, I can’t see his eyes too clearly, they’re too dark and it’s not light enough.

“Um, I’m not sure?” It comes out like a question, because, well, who doesn’t love a man in a scary mask, his chiselled abs covered in fake blood?

“Interesting,” he muses, his fingertips lifting and tracing the side of my face. I can’t even complain about these guys being so touchy-feely, the tingles racing throughout my body would make a lie of those complaints. “So, what made you sad?”

Blinking, my brows lower. “Sad?”

“You looked like a lost little lamb before when I walked in,” he tells me, his fingers trailing down my throat to the neckline of Roman’s T-shirt, making it very hard to concentrate on keeping anything to myself.

“I realised I didn’t have any of the things I like to do here, they’re stuck back at home with those awful men,” I reply without thinking, his fingertips stilling against my skin. “And Hunter said I can’t leave, so what the fuck am I meant to do?”

He tilts his head to the side, and to be truthful, it’s a little bit psycho when he doesn’t blink but continues to stare at me. It shouldn’t be hot. Nope, it really shouldn’t. Tell that to Evangeline, crazy bitch.

“Wait here,” he orders after a long moment, swiftly stepping back the way he came, towards his room. My lungs inflate, like I can finally take a full breath as he leaves, leaving me staring after him. Suddenly feeling chilled, I cross my arms while I wait.

He returns several moments later, striding right up to me and holding out a phone and what looks like a bank card.

“What’s this?” I ask in an uncertain tone, taking them from him and shuddering when our fingertips brush. I mean, I know what they are, just not why he’s giving them to me.

“Our joint account, and my phone so you can order all the shit you need to be comfortable here,” he tells me with a shrug, spinning back around and walking into the kitchen.

“Okay,” I say aloud, a fissure of excitement lighting me up. He didn’t say how much I could spend, just to get the things I need.

A slow smile spreads across my face as I make my way over to the sofas, curling up on one and dragging a soft blanket over my bare legs.

I need a lot of things if I’m going to be spending all my time stuck in here, especially with three gorgeous guys walking around fucking topless. First stop, Honey Birdette and Tatu Couture.

“BAD BOYS” BY AZEE

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