Page 9 of Wicked Games of Desire

I blink back at him. “Pardon me?” I whisper. What the hell is he talking about?

He cocks a cheeky brow. “Pain meds? I can give you a pill or injection. What do you prefer?”

Slowly, I shake my head from side to side. “I have no interest in taking anything from you,” I snap back, knowing how irrational I sound when I’ve just been shot. But right now, I don’t care. I just want to get out of here.

His lip twitches. “Okay, but you’re going to regret that decision majorly when the last dose completely wears off.” Withdrawing his hand, he makes his way to the door.

A sense of panic engulfs me at the prospect of being left alone here in this strange room. “Wait, please. Where am I?” I ask, desperately needing answers before he leaves me.

“Somewhere safe.”

Safe. Safe from who? Definitely not him. He has me wounded and tied up, his prisoner. I attempt to lift myself up in the bed by utilizing the bars for support. My left side throbs with pain so terrible it makes my eyes water. When I glance down, I notice I’m not wearing the pink waitress uniform I was dressed in when I blacked out. My blood-stained attire has been replaced with an oversized white T-shirt. With my free hand, I touch the worn fabric, not really believing it. This is my shirt, one I used to sleep in before… It was left at my father’s house before the fire engulfed it. And that’s not the creepiest thing going on here. Who the hell changed me? Ricky? The thought is more horrifying than being trapped in some random bed, unable to walk. “Where are my clothes?”

He stops, then turns back toward me, his brow raised. “You came close to death last night, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

My glare goes ice-cold. I might be powerless and locked up here like a fucking dog, but I want answers, and he’s damn well going to give them to me.

“You destroyed your uniform trying to run from me,” he finally says.

I wince, trying to move. “Your guard shot me,” I remind him. They destroyed my clothes and now he stands there all casual about it, like none of this is a big deal. I suck in a sharp breath as I shuffle my body up the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position, but it’s no use. With the aching in my leg, I’m not going to find comfort any time soon.

His hand rests on the door handle but he doesn’t turn it and leave. Instead, he watches me, his face softening. “Harley, you’re in a lot of pain. I can see it in your face. Let me fetch you something for it. I don’t enjoy seeing you hurt.”

“Ha,” I scoff. That’s bullshit. I want to say no, tell him to shove his meds where the sun doesn’t shine, no matter what they are, but I need to get out of here more. And I can’t do it while the ache in my leg is all I can think about. Reluctantly, I nod then watch as he leaves the room, pleased I have agreed to accept his drugs.

What does he even mean, he doesn’t enjoy seeing me in pain? I’m hurt because of him, quite literally. Scanning my prison, I look for clues to where he’s brought me, but I don’t recognize a thing. The room is adorned with creamy off-white walls, luxurious carpeting, a window on the opposite side, and an additional entrance. Sheer drapes sway gently in the breeze of the open window, the slight salty scent of the ocean lingering in the air. In the sky, the sun is glowing; it must be close to midday. Hopefully, I was only out of it for a day, but when Ricky has been shooting me up with pain meds, who knows how long I have been in here like this? The open window showcases heavy metal bars. The kind you would expect to see in an actual prison. This place may seem extravagant, but the bars on the window hint at a different reality. And I’m not dumb enough to assume they put them on after I arrived on their doorstep. Nope, this room was already set up like this. I would bet my life on it.

Shortly, he comes back holding a glass of water and two white tablets. I follow him around the room, watching as he places them both on the bedside table, then goes back to lock the door with a key. He moves over to the window, pulling the curtains back further so more light floods into the room. He’s wearing tailor-made black pants that fit him perfectly, showcasing his ass, paired with a dark button-upshirt rolled up at the sleeves, which reveals double sleeves of tattoos. In my head he appeared so terrifying, but watching him move about now, he hardly seems as scary in the light of day. But that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to think he’s not going to hurt me.

His eyes find mine. I probably shouldn’t make it so obvious I’m watching his every move, but I can’t drag my eyes away from him either. Who the fuck is this guy and what does he and his monster-tattoo-wearing brother want with me?

“Tramadol,” he tells me when I keep my eyes locked with his. “It’s safe, take it.”

“Safe,” I huff. Nothing about this place or him is safe. How dense does he think I am?

“I’m a doctor. Well, kind of.” Something flashes in his expression. Hurt, maybe? “I know how to administer the correct dose of pain meds, Harley, take them.”

I gaze at him with a perplexed expression. Is he really a doctor? He doesn’t look old enough to have done eight years of medical school or however many you would have to do. Either way, I don’t have many other options right now. The throb of pain is taking over, and I don’t want to push it any longer.

Tossing the pills into my mouth, I wash them down with icy-cold water, praying they take effect quickly because I have another problem. My bladder is protesting louder by the minute. And right now, I’m not sure how I will walk, let alone make it to a bathroom to wee. I wriggle my toes in my injured leg, testing them out. There is some movement, it’s just laced with a ton of pain.

“What is it?” Ricky asks, studying me with an expression I don’t quite understand. It appears to be concern, but this asshole couldn’tactually care.

I scowl, not wanting to ask him for anything, but in my current situation, he’s left me with no choice but to have to rely on him. Bet the disgusting human he is gets off on this shit. The thought is disturbing, but now is no time for modesty. “I need the bathroom.”

He moves closer. “I’ll take you.”

My eyes go wide. I don’t want him anywhere near me. “No. Just show me where it is, and I can go alone.”

His lips turn up at the side in that grin again. “Sorry, baby doll, but I’m under strict instructions not to let you out of my sight for anything. You also won’t be able to get there alone.” He motions to the other side of the room. “Have you forgotten about your leg?”

“How could I forget that some asshole shot me?” I snap back at him. He’s pissing me off now.

“I’ve sent Maddox to get you crutches, along with some other supplies, but until he gets back from town, I will have to help you around this place,” he says, ignoring my comment.

He comes closer, running his fingers delicately up my arm like he can’t help but touch me to make sure I’m real. I watch him, not sure what to do. He’s so gentle with me and watches me with a warmth I don’t understand, like he knows me, like I’m someone to him. When he finally unlocks the chain, freeing my hand, he massages my wrist. Having his hands on me feels way too normal. Too comfortable. Why am I enjoying his obvious attempt to throw me off balance. I should shove him away, but instead, I keep gazing up at him, enjoying the way his fingers slide over my skin.

Finally, he extends his hand, waiting for me to grasp it. “You need to be careful; you could be lightheaded after losing so much blood yesterday.”

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