Page 9 of The Chief's Captive

When the voices fade and I hear the door click shut, I wrap the towel around my body and open the bathroom door. The man who came in here took my nightgown and robe. I have nothing else to wear, so the towel is it for me. I can't very well hide in the bathroom all day, so I step into the cool bedroom and bristle as Ronan's eyes drink me in.

"Who was that?" I ask, my eyes flicking at the door. He sits on the edge of the bed casually, as if he wasn't just having some sinister meeting in this very room.

"It was my brother, Finn. He brought you some clothing. We weren't exactly sure of your size, and now that garda are all over your home, we couldn’t go back to get yours. There are a few sizes here." He gestures to three piles of clothing on the bed, and I purse my lips. As kind as this may seem to anyone in a normal relationship, this is anything but normal, and our relationship is that of captive and captor.

I walk over, clutching the towel around my body tightly, and look down at the piles of clothing. Three pairs of jeans and three identical cream-colored sweaters. There are also panties and socks, but no bras. These guys are cavemen. Haven't they heard of undergarments?

"Do you like them?" he asks, but I know he doesn’t really care what I think. If he did, he'd let me go home.

"They'll do," I tell him, and I look over the sizes and see they've actually done a decent job. There is a size four, a five, and a six in jeans. I'm a five, which is perfect, so I select that pair. The sweaters are extra small, small, and medium, but since I have no bra, I choose the medium. It won't hug my body as closely, and I'll have a bit more modesty. The panties are small and medium. I take the smalls, and I turn to go back in the bathroom to dress. I fully expect him to stop me like some pervert wanting to watch me, but he leaves me alone.

I dress and then use the towel to wring out my hair as best as I can. There is no brush, so I have to leave it hang around my shoulders wet, but it feels good to be in real clothing again. It's also good because when I leave this place and have to run, I need to be wearing more than just a nightgown, especially a blood-soaked one.

When I step back into the room, Ronan has the gauze and tape out. He's ready for me to bandage his wounds again, so I walk over and sit on the edge of the bed next to where he leans against the headboard. He's put a shirt on, a button-down, but the front is open. He also has socks and slacks on now too, like he's intending to go somewhere. I know he is feeling better, but after being that sick with infection and after that much blood loss, I'd tell any patient to stay in bed.

"Thank you," I say softly as I take gauze pads and apply antibiotic cream on them and fix them to his chest. Even if he's a savage, it doesn't mean I have to be. I might want to escape him, but I won't let him turn me into a monster too.

He winces as I press the gauze into place and tape it down, but this pain is nothing compared to what he's already lived through. He's a very lucky man.

"Don't thank me. It's not like you had a choice." His eyes are stern. I take it that's his way of saying I'm welcome, but even that part of his moral compass is broken.

"It looks like you're healing well, but I wouldn’t get too comfortable being up and around. Your body still needs rest. You went septic for three days, and you lost too much blood." I finish the first bandage and move on to the second one. These two are easier, but I'll have to check his back too, where those exit wounds are.

"I have the best surgeon in the city." I want to take his comment as a compliment, but I can't help but think of how he told me he owns me now.

My eyes focus on my work, though I feel like something between us is shifting. He's speaking to me like I’m human now, not a slab of meat. Maybe now that he sees how I'm concerned for his wellbeing, he'll reconsider my departure. I'm not actually concerned for his wellbeing in the normal regard, but he is a patient, nonetheless. I work with precision and care as I finish bandaging him, and as I collect the bits of tape and gauze that are left over, he buttons up his shirt.

"So, when do you think I can go home?" I ask again, this time more timidly. I know what he's said in the past, but he trusts all of these men to have their own homes and lives. They follow him loyally. Surely, he can grow to trust that I won't tell a soul about him. And if he does, I can use that window to vanish and be safe.

"I'm not back to one hundred percent. I need someone watching over me in case the infection returns." He nudges my thigh with his leg, and I stand up as he drapes his legs over the edge of the bed. He really thinks he's going somewhere. He's insane.

"Well, with the antibiotics in your system, all you really need are fresh bandages every day. But even still, in two more days, I'll expect the wounds to air out and not be covered. None of them are seeping. If you were my patient at my practice, I'd tell you to check back in one week." I bite my lip as he stands and his stormy eyes look down at me.

My hands tremble with fright at his towering presence. He's taller than I really thought, though he's mostly been lying in bed or hunched over. And his tattoos and the other random scars on his body have spoken volumes about his demeanor and personality this whole time. Still, I feel very intimidated by him right now.

"You'll stay," he says calmly, "until I say you can leave."

"But I'm not needed, and you have all these other people working for you who know your secrets and don't say a thing. Surely, you can trust me to?—"

"I pay them to keep my secrets." His gruff interruption annoys me. I feel the calm leaving my body and being replaced with anxious anger. He can't really think he can keep me here. This is kidnapping.

"Then pay me, and I'll keep your fucking secret. I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed."

He tucks his shirt into his pants and brushes past me, moving for his closet. I think about dashing out the door, but with his men in the home, I’d never get past the hallway outside his door. Soinstead I stomp after him, walking into his large closet behind him.

"I'm keeping you here for your protection, Ms. Walsh, not to be petty."

"Well, you don't have to protect me. I don't need it. I'm fine on my own," I spit out, and I taste the venom on my tongue. I hate this man with his ego and control. He might be powerful and good-looking, but it doesn't faze me. Only the idea of freedom moves me now.

"Unfortunately, you belong to me, and I protect what is mine. Excuse me," he says, but he doesn't wait for me to move. Ronan walks out of the closet, and his right shoulder slams into mine, jarring me. He strides right to the door and opens it, and I follow on his heels.

"You can't do this! You will never get away with this." I feel fury in my body and my hands ball into fists.

"Watch me," he says with malice in his tone. Then he walks out the door, and before I can even reach for the knob, the door shuts and I hear the lock click. I'm left banging on it and screaming until my throat is sore and my voice is hoarse.

I have to get out of here.

7

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