Page 26 of Oh, Hell No

Winslet

The morning sun filled the room when I opened the drapes. I hadn’t moved a muscle all night, it seemed. Sleep had come fast, and I was glad it had.

Part of me had worried that my conversation and time with Oz would replay over in my head and keep me awake. Especially the image of him masturbating, which he’d put there unknowingly. It had heated my body instantly, and it’d taken me a moment to get my composure.

Wrapping my arms around my waist, I stood in just the oversize T-shirt, having discarded the leggings before getting into bed. The sunshine filtered through the trees as I watched a robin perch on the railing of the balcony. This was rather magical. The silence and beauty combined. The apartment building I lived in was never this peaceful, and the view looked nothing like this.

What a difference from the last two—or wait, maybe it had been three—mornings I’d woken up here. This was far superior to the dark, damp basement. I wasn’t sure I had much more information I could give him, and the thought that they could have found Perry with the information I had given them slowly sank in, ruining my brief moment of bliss. Here I was, enjoying my morning, while my brother could be hurting or—no. I would not think about that.

The man I had spent time with last night wouldn’t let them kill my brother. If Perry was involved in the counterfeit money, then the man who had gotten him into it was that Samson guy. He had a private plane. He had money. He could give them back the four million, and Perry would get to live. Possibly in federal prison for many years. How many years did one get for that?

Letting out a heavy sigh at the thought of visiting Perry while he sat behind bars made me feel ill. He was a brilliant man, a genius, according to his IQ of 189, but he was also five foot six and weighed one hundred twenty pounds. He’d never had a defined muscle in his life. How could he survive prison?

I had to find out this morning if they’d found him. If they had…what would I do? Would Oz take me home? Perry had given me enough birthday money that I could get a plane ticket and go to Morocco, but he wouldn’t be there if they let me go. That was a stupid plan. I was his sister. Perhaps I could file a missing person report. If he had been arrested then they would know.

“Perry,” I muttered in frustration, “what have you gotten yourself into?”

I went to the bathroom and began taking off my clothing. In case my brother was still on the run, I would need a good, long shower because I wasn’t sure if I was going to remain in this room or be taken back to the basement. I knew I wasn’t going to give Oz any more information. I’d done enough damage yesterday. Selling my brother out for another night of luxurywasn’t happening. I could survive the basement. He might not survive prison or…the Mafia.

Folding the shirt and leggings that Oz had given me to wear, I went to place them on the counter when I noticed a pair of blue yoga pants and another large T-shirt hanging beside the clean towels, along with a pair of white lace panties draped over the hanger.

Where had those and the clean, fluffy towels come from?

I took a step back and looked out into the bedroom at the door. Oz had to have brought them in here, but when? Last night, while I had been asleep? I had always been a very deep sleeper. Perry always said I’d sleep through a bomb going off. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Oz being in here when I slept. Sure, he’d come in here and woken me up yesterday, but having him walk in and put things in the bathroom while I was sleeping made me feel vulnerable. What if I’d snored? Or my mouth had been hanging open?

Shaking my head at my train of thought, I went to slip off my panties and get in the shower. It didn’t matter what I was doing or looked like. Oz wasn’t some hot guy I was trying to impress. He was a hot guy I was trying to survive. I might have been given clean clothing and slept on the best mattress I’d ever laid on, but I was still a prisoner. I still had no phone. I was locked in this bedroom.

Last night, having dinner with him and sitting to talk, had felt…well, for a moment, I had enjoyed myself. I’d forgotten just what all he had done to me. Most likely due to his ridiculously attractive face and that freaking metal bar in his tongue. He smelled nice too. The few times he had walked by me, I’d gotten a whiff and wanted more. The scent was spicy liquor, tobacco, and a rich, dense forest. Masculine and assertive.

And there I go again. Stop it, Winslet. STOP IT. Don’t think about his appearance, pierced tongue, or scent. Think about thefact that he’s intent on finding Perry.

The maim-and-kill thing had kept slipping my mind. I had to remember the man I had faced when I woke up in the basement. Not the one from last night. Being grateful to him for my current accommodations was ridiculous. I would be at my home right now if it wasn’t for him.

The yoga pants fit and felt great. The shirt, however, smelled like Oz. So much so that I considered putting back on the one from yesterday. If I had this scent in my nostrils all day, I would continue to struggle to remember who the bad guy was. After several minutes of debate, I gave in and put it on. Mostly because it was a delicious scent and I didn’t want him asking me why I wasn’t wearing it. I’d turn bright red, and he’d notice.

While brushing through my towel-dried hair, I heard the lock in the door click, and I walked over to look into the bedroom. Oz walked inside, his gaze going from the bed, then swinging in my direction.

“You could have knocked,” I informed him, thinking about how I had been naked minutes ago.

“Why would I do that? You couldn’t have opened the door for me,” he replied with an amused expression on his face.

I waved a hand at the shower. “Because I might have been in the shower or indecent.”

There was a brief flash of something dark and seductive in his eyes that sent a shiver through me before he smirked.

“I’d have heard the water running when I entered and left.”

Would he have though?

The warmth radiating through my body needed to go the eff away. Was this Stockholm syndrome?

“I came to tell you breakfast is ready,” he said.

He had made breakfast. He was going to let me eat again. I wondered what he looked like when he was standing over a stove.

“Thank you,” I replied before my imagination took flight. “I’ll be down after I make the bed.”

Without another word, he left and closed the door. No click of the lock this time.

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