Page 6 of Bleeding Blackheart

My legs still ache from my trek and bruises, and my ass burns from its punishment, but the warm water bringsme the slightest bit of relief, and I bask in it, not knowing when my next shower will be after this one.

I want to wash my hair, but it’s not an ideal time to do so with the front of my head wrapped and no products fit for my hair, so I just turn my back to the water, trying to rinse the grime from my strands that got there during my struggle with the man I don’t know and the musty bed he tied me to.

I try not to focus on his presence, but I can feel him watching me. I don’t look at him, but his eyeballs are still there.

Turning back around, I face the water again, letting it rinse me off once more before I start to scrub my skin slowly. The cloth is soft, clean, and delicate, but the suds are torturous in my wounds. No longer able to fight my curiosity, I allow myself to look at the mystery man again, and his eyes are as sharp as daggers.

His jaw tightens, and his throat bobs when he swallows while I clutch the soaked cloth to my chest that’s now stained with blood. I want to let my eyes travel lower to see if he’s getting off on this, but I’m scared to. He might take that as an invitation to get in here with me, and I don’t want that.

I could use a few more minutes in here, but my confidence is starting to wear off under the microscope I’m being observed through. “I’m ready for my bath now.”

The man stands up, taking a step closer to the glass. “You’ll get your bath when you wash behind your ears and between your ass.”

He licks his pink lips while he grimaces at me. Avoiding his gaze, I focus on his tan shoulders while I raise the cloth to my neck, sliding it over my skin softly while I work it around the sides of my face.

Now for my ass.

I slide the cloth lower and hold it over my pubic area that he’s already got a good look at. I don’t keep it bare, but my bush is a little bushier than I prefer. Luckily, it gives me the slightest bit of privacy, but it brings me embarrassment too.

He crosses his arms, causing his thick strands to slide off his shoulders and behind his back. “Ass. Do it, or I’ll do it for you.”

Okay, that’s too much. “Fine.” Turning to the side, I slip the cloth between my cheeks, cleaning myself where I desperately need it. Before I can pull the cloth back out, he goes back to the sink, digging under the drawers while he takes things out.

“Stay in there until I tell you to come out.”

I glance at the shotgun, not willing to test him, and once I’ve rinsed off for the millionth time, I wait patiently while he runs me a bath.

He doesn’t use soap, but I’m grateful because I’m clean now, and it hurts like a bitch. I ring my hair out that clings to my neck and collarbones at the same time he looks at me again, taking his seat by the sink. “Come here.”

Pulling the glass door back, I step onto the wicker bath mat before tracking my wet feet across the glossy tile floor. The stranger holds out his hand for me, but I ignore it, stepping into the tub.

I wince as soon as my feet touch the water, and I jump out, nearly falling flat on my face when I do. “Jesus!”

He wrangles me, shoving me back in the water. “I know. It’s freezing cold. Don’t fucking complain. I hate complainers.”

Letting him have control, I grit my teeth while my body sinks below the surface with just my head floating on top.

I wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them close to try and warm myself up and bring myself comfort. “What’s your name?”

He flares his nostrils and turns his face away from me.

I’ve put up with enough of his shit. Not caring about the gun in my face, I splash water at him, making him look at me. “What’s your fucking name? If you’re gonnaspank me, shove needles in me, and force me to wash my ass in front of you, I think I have the right to know your goddamn name.”

At that, he looks at me with a raised brow and laughs. “Not very ladylike, are you?”

My mouth flies open, and I clench my fists that are going numb under my ice plunge. “Nope. I’m only a lady around gentlemen.”

Gripping the barrel of his weapon with his left hand, he looks me in the eyes again. “Blackheart.”

I would’ve guessed Hunter. Or Garret. He looks like he could be a Garret. “That your last name?”

He scratches his chin, shaking his head. “Nickname.”

My kidnapper is nicknamed Blackheart. He’s speaking to me, and he hasn’t shot me. He might be able to help me after all if I can keep this going. “What’s your real name? Your first name?”

He puffs out his chest and rests his elbows on his knees. “None of your goddamn business.”

My heart rate starts to slow while my body adjusts to the cool liquid that soothes me. “Are you always this much of an asshole?”

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