Page 55 of Queen Of Dark Money

“Idon’tsnore.”

“Dotoo.”

“Donot.”

Myeyes rolled into the back of my head, and ifItried hard enough,Imight be able to see behind me. “Yousound like a child.”

Hissmile widened as those arms wound behind his head to form a pillow. “Ahh, but you’re merely mimicking me, so does that make you a child as well?”

“Ooooh!”Mylegs tucked underneath me,Irose from the floor, irritated and absolutely done with his shit. “Ihate everything about this.”

“Thatmakes two of us,” he sassed, slipping sideways on the couch. “Nowbe a good girl and lock yourself in your room untilIcome for you.Daddyneeds a fucking nap.”

Icouldn’t help it–Isnorted like a fucking pig at his choice of words. “Daddy?Ibet you tell all the girls to call you that.”

“Onlythe ones who piss me off and test my patience,” he replied, mumbling into the cushions. “Nowdo asIsay.Ifthe security team has to fix a mess you created,I’llhave to pay them extra, andIhate parting with excess money.”

Thesound of his soft snores filled the room asIstopped at the doorway, sagging against the wall.Sure,Icould try to fuck around again, wait a few minutes and lift the phone–or at least attempt to.Or,Icould do as he said, behave for a little while, and maybe he’d be in a better mood for me to plead my case to when he woke up.

Idecided on a middle ground of sorts.Ireturned to the bedroom, slipped on some shorts, and sat beside the couch, leaning against a space where he wasn’t sprawled out.Itilted my head back now and took advantage of the quiet–Icould use another couple of hours of sleep in my condition.

Captive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RIVER

Sleepwas fitful and not at all restful.Butit was more thanI’dhad before, soIcouldn’t exactly complain.

TheSinclairgirl had tried to lift my phone while hers sat right there under her ass.Shemust not have noticed it, though, because she went for the more challenging target, thinkingIwas gone to sleep and wouldn’t notice.

Ormaybe that was her angle.

Maybeshe knew her phone stood no chance of being charged if she’d noticed it.Whatif she’d already snuck her phone off and hid it somewhere whileIwas out?Shecould just be playing me.

Thesethoughts and more circled in my brain asIdrifted through fitful, broken sleep.Atone point,Ieven thoughtIwoke up and felt her brushing the hair from my face.

Butthat couldn’t be.Shewasn’t tender–not to me.AndIcouldn’t blame her.Wehad kidnapped her, tormented her, and mentally unsettled her.Meanwhile, she was on the cusp of a mental breakdown, insisting she was someone she wasn’t and demanding to be returned to a man who didn’t seem all that interested in retrieving her.

Negotiationsweren’t somethingEddySinclairwas known for.

Itossed and turned on the couch, hating the way my body refused to get comfortable.Eventhe sofaI’dspent many a night on before now was now an unforgiving, unwelcoming captor for the man who’d had everything at one point in time.

Witha low groan,Istretched out, resigned to a sleepless night, and rose from the leather sofa.Ialmost missed the feminine form curled up against the side of the couch, lying on the floor like she was chained there.

Inearly stepped on her.

Shit.

Herhands wrapped around her middle, almost like she was falling apart and had to hold herself together.Icould understand, in her situation, the urge to have some semblance of control.Butthere was no way she’d get any sympathy from me.Iwasn’t here to pity her or offer her any comfort.I’dasked her–no,Itoldher–to go to her room and lock the door.Andyet, here she lay on my living room floor, her soft breathing the only other sound in the room besides my own.

“Stupidgirl,”Iwhispered to myself, frustrated and annoyed–but honestly, impressed.Shewas tough, to sleep on that floor all morning.Andwhat had compelled her to stay with me?Wasthere some sort ofStockholmsyndrome shit going on hereIdidn’t know about?

Maybeshe was touched in the head.

OrmaybeIwas cracking under pressure.

Whoknew?

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