Page 8 of Wicked Games of Desire

“I can’t believe we found her alive.” Maddox’s murderous expression morphs into a grin of satisfaction I don’t like. Why is he so pleased to see me?

“She found us,” blue eyes corrects him, matching his grin.

Their joy makes my stomach twist. My body trembles, feeling overwhelmingly cold, but I know I’m not because at the same time, beads of sweat drip from my forehead. I close my eyes, trying to block them out. How do they know who I am? And what do they mean by they found me? Are they the ones plastering flyers of me all over town?

One of them brushes my hair again softly, almost sweetly moving it off my sweaty forehead. He moves my body so I’m on my side. “This will only sting for a second, baby doll,” he says quietly. “Hold her legs so she can’t move,” he tells the guy he called Maddox, more directly.

Then I feel a motherfucking jab straight to my thigh. “Ahh,” I whimper.

“Sorry, sweetheart, we need to get this bullet out and get you stitched up before you bleed to death.”

My eyes fly open to find him packing away a needle. What the hell? “This isn’t some torture chamber?” I whisper, too weak to get much else out. They’re going to help me? I must be dead or hallucinating. That’s the only explanation for what’s going on here.

“Anesthetic.” He studies me with a hint of apprehension, and I’m not sure if it’s because of my current condition or because I’m accusing him of having a torture chamber back here. “Harley, maybe I should introduce myself. I’m Ricky, and this is my brother Maddox. We will perform a minor surgery to remove the bullet you seem to have lodged in your thigh,” he explains cooly like this shit happens every day. “If you can try to stay nice and still for me, like a good girl, this will be over in no time.” His smile is gentle, but I stare back at him, too scared to do anythingelse.

Adjusting me so I’m lying on my front, he takes a pair of scissors and carefully cuts round the leg of my stockings, removing the blood-soaked fabric and discarding it in the trash. He clicks his fingers. “Maddox, get me the swabs.” Still watching me, he brings them over and cleans the wound with warm water.

I wince, trying to stay still like he asked me to, but the sting is almost too much, even with the anesthetic.

“Now I need to remove the bullet. If you can just stay still for me, baby doll. This is important if you don’t want muscle damage. You’re so fast, and I wouldn’t want to take that from you.” He smirks, all charming, making sure he has my attention, but his pretty-boy face is all blurry.

I blink back at him, trying to make my eyes focus. I’ve been shot and forced into some other dimension. One where this guy, Ricky, is a doctor saving me? What the hell is going on? One of his guards shot me, and now he’s fixing me up? Maybe I’m dead and this is some fucked-up delusion. An uneasy sickness washes over me, making me feel like I’m melting into the gurney below. His face blurs completely as the room spins. “Ricky,” I whisper in panic.

He returns to my side, the back of his hand lightly touching my cheek as his face fades out.

“Shit, Maddox, I need help. Get Alex and bring me towels, clean ones, and something to elevate her leg. I think we’re losing her,” his voice goes foggy and sounds far away. “She’s not dying on me now. Not when we finally found her,” is the last thing I hear before it all goes black.

Chapter 6

I utter a painedgroan as I attempt to open my eyes, but they’re heavy.

“You’ll be fine, baby doll,” he whispers gently, his voice a soothing comfort. “You’re out of danger.”

My skin breaks into goosebumps all over, coldness taking over me. The heaviness of a cotton blanket is pulled up high and wrapped around my arms, but it’s no help. Blinking my eyes open to see his gorgeous face, for a second, I think I must still be dreaming. I’ve dreamt of his face so many times over the last six months, it feels unusual for him to be real in the flesh, sitting by my bed.

My gut tells me to run, a surge of adrenaline filling my veins, but when I try to move, I realize my body feels like it’s been injected with lead. I couldn’t sit up, let alone make a run for it.

His hand takes mine, squeezing lightly as something is stabbed into the side of my other leg.

“Ricky,” I murmur his name, staring up at him. I’m scared. He takes my hand and laces our fingers together. I’m too weak to fight thestrange kind gesture, so I let him. Confusion overwhelms me, making me feel washed out again, and my heavy eyelids shut. They flicker open and closed as I try to fight it. Another figure comes into view. I can’t quite make him out, but he’s vaguely familiar in a way I don’t understand. I try to focus my eyes on his face, but the need for sleep is too overwhelming.

“Rest now, my princess. You’re going to need it,” comes a familiar voice as he strokes my hair tenderly until sleep takes over my weary body.

“Marco!” my brother’s name escapes my lips in a blood-curdling scream, but I can’t get to him. I am confined by a pair of incredibly strong arms. Struggling against him, I try calling for my brother again, tears blurring my vision. I need to help him. “Marco,” I cry.

As I shove against my captor, a sharp stabbing pain shoots through my side. Reaching for the source of pain, I realize I’m trapped, with large arms wrapped around me tightly. Panic overwhelms me, and fear snaps me back to reality.

From a chair at my side, piercing blue eyes find mine, his full lips turning up at the sides when he notices I’m awake. “Morning, baby doll.”

Morning? My heart races wildly. Frantically, I scan my environment. Gripping at the soft sheets under me, I realize I’m not in my own bed, or the place where I passed out, but a lavish bedroom, twice the size of my room back in my papa’s house, in a large bed with a decorative iron headboard. That’s what my wrist is attached to. As Ricky moves closer to the bed, I hurriedlytry to move toward the opposite wall to escape from him, but the agony shooting down my leg won’t let me. An aggrieved groan flies from my lips.

“Shh, Harley, you’re alright. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says with a soothing voice that confuses me. “Do you need something for the pain?”

I meet his eyes, my heart racing out of my chest. What kind of twisted hellhole is this? First, his guard shoots me for trying to escape him, then he performs surgery to fix me. Now I’m being held captive by him, and he talks to me like this is all a normal Tuesday.

Tenderly, he touches my cheek and gently strokes my face. I’m completely paralyzed, unable to move or barely speak. Staring back, watching him, I wait for him to enlighten me on why I’m being held against my will. I should feel scared. This man is capable of terrible things, but something in the way he looks at me and touches me so lightly makes me feel safe with him, even though I know I’m not.

“Can you swallow?” he asks, his eyes lingering on my mouth longer than they should.

---