Page 31 of Queen Of Dark Money

Snoring.

Slowly,Ipried an eyeball open and lifted one side of the pillow, searching for the source of the sound that gave me pause.

Sureenough, laying on his side, facing me, eyes closed and brow furrowed, was none other than my fucking captor.

Myeyes darted beneath the covers asIfreaked out, pleased to find all my clothes still on my body.Well,hisclothes, but still.WhenIglanced back up, his eyes were wide open, and the snoring had stopped.

Andwhen those piercing blue eyes met mine,Icouldn’t look away.

Itwas like he’d frozen me in my tracks with a single flutter of his long lashes.

Iforgot how to breathe as he studied me.Neitherof us moved, a single breath shared between us every few seconds the only sign of life from either side.

Iwasn’t sureIremembered how to speak, to even think about breaking the silence.Soit was sheer luck that he spoke first, his voice husky and rough from the night of drunkenness and restless sleep he’d no doubt collected while on the floor.

“Youare more trouble than you’re worth,MissSinclair,” he growled out, his voice crawling over me like a fucking caress, making my whole body shiver in reaction.

“I’mnot trouble enough,”Iwhispered back, unsure what else to say.Itwasn’t the best comeback by any stretch of the imagination, but in my sleep-addled state of mind, it was allIhad.

Thecorner of his lips twitched as he watched me, the only sign he found amusement in my shit attempt at sass.Itwas the first sign of human emotionI’dseen from the man since being dropped on his doorstep, or rather, his couch, andIcounted it as a small victory.

AndthenIremembered where the fuckIwas, and scrambled backward so fastIfell out of the bed and on my ass on the floor.

“Fuck.”

Ilay there, eyes closed, teeth clenched, chewing the inside of my cheek in annoyance as he shuffled around on the bed.

Ipopped one eye open whenIheard him laughing down at me.

Sureenough, hanging over the edge of the bed, a half-assed, lopsided grin on his stupid face, was the bastard who’dapparently decided laying beside me was a grand idea in his drunken stupor.Andhe was fucking grinning at my misfortune.

Hardee har har.

“How’sthe weather up there?”Isnapped, rolling onto my side with a hiss as pain flared in my tailbone.Ilanded pretty hard, and that shit was no joke.

“Itcould be better,” he clapped back, rolling his eyes at my disheveled state. “Youlook rough.”

Iquirked a brow; clearly, he hadn’t had the chance to look in a mirror yet.Boy, wouldn’t he get a shock when he did. “You’reone to talk, buddy.IthinkI’veseen roadkill that looked more alive than you do right now.”

Hisslight humor instantly tanked as he rolled off the bed and disappeared into the hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts.Ididn’t give two shits where he vanished to, just that he was gone long enough for me to get off the floor and make a contingency plan.

Ihad to figure out what the plan was for me.Whatthey intended to do with me, and for how long.Theydidn’t seem like the kind of men to rape a woman, but then again, whatdida rapist look like?Werethey always skeezy dudes with too-big clothes wearing a ski mask and following you down a dark alley at night?

No.

Rapistsdidn’t always look like rapists.Sometimes, they looked like your boyfriend after one too many drinks at the bar, refusing to understand that no means no, no matter how drunk you are.Sometimes, it looked like your mom’s boyfriend after your mother passed out for the night or went to work, sneaking into your room and insisting that it was ‘your little secret’.Othertimes, it looked like a person in a position of power exploiting you for whatever his own reasons were.

No, rapists didn’t always look like rapists, butIwas pretty convinced these men were not the type.

AndIwas a halfway decent judge of character.

Idusted off the hoodieIwas wearing, pulled the waistband of the sweats up an inch, and cleared my throat, wishingIhad some of my own clothes to wear instead of him waking up next to me with me in his shit.

Talkabout awkward.

“Youcan’t stay here,” he grumbled from the hallway door, already put together in a button-down sky-blue shirt and some very expensive-looking, perfectly pressed slacks.Hefiddled with the button on his cuff as he watched me warily, likeImight lash out and bite him.

Imean,Idid act a little wild the night before, butstill.Iwasn’t feral.

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