Page 59 of Captured Heart

In one swift motion, he tosses me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing and carries me back inside. I go wild, kicking and pounding his back, but he doesn’t let up.

When we’re back inside that God-forsaken room, he kicks the door shut but doesn’t lock it. He shoves the bathroom door open with his elbow, slamming the faucet shut before roughly setting me down on the floor.

“Do you know where you are?” he rasps, his chest heaving, his jaw tight as he spits out the words. “You’re not in some fancy suburb. Do you know what kind of people you’re surrounded by? You’re out here with the dregs of humanity, pieces of shit like me. Do you know what they woulddoto you...especially with you looking like that?”

His heated gaze rakes over me, dark and dangerous. It zones in on my lips then moves lower, over my breasts, and down to my thighs. His perusal of me is slow and thorough, so overt I have to fight the urge to cover myself up, so lascivious my thighs involuntarily clench together.

He looks like he’s about to pounce on me, and for one deliciously delirious moment...I want him to.

But then he shuts his eyes as if he can’t take the sight of me for one more second. He unzips his black hoodie, yanks it off, and chucks it at me.

“Put this on,” he orders.

I slip it on, the fabric warm and heavy with his cologne. Inhaling deeply, I once again feel the safety of his presence, and I chastise myself because I keep falling for the same stupid thing. I need to stop getting lost in his scent and devouring his chiseled chest with my eyes. This man is not who I think he is, who I keep wishing he could be. He’s a threat to my very existence, and I need to get as far away from him and this place as possible.

I know he left the door unlocked, and I bolt for it again.

He grabs me almost immediately, slamming me against the wall. His movements are fast, calculated, his breath hot on my skin as he whips out a gun. The cool metal presses against my forehead the next second.

“I swear,” he hisses, his voice low and acerbic, “if you try to run from me again, I’ll put a bullet in you myself.”

My blood runs cold, tremors racking my whole body. “Your boss...” I manage to choke out. “Your boss said no one’s allowed to touch me.”

“He’s not myboss,” Alex grinds out through gritted teeth, each word laced with venom. “And I already got more than I need. I shouldn’t even be here.”

His eyes burn into mine. The fiery tension between us sucks all the oxygen out of the room. My breaths are so shallow it feels like I’m barely taking in air. My rising temperature mixes with the cold from the tiles against my shoulder blades, culminating in a wave of apprehension that prickles down my spine.

“Then...” My voice catches in my throat, lodged behind the ball of nervousness in my larynx. “Then why are you here?”

I know I’ve asked him this question a few times already, and it’s probably stupid to keep holding out for another answer. Buta part of me is simply refusing to believe that everything that happened between us was a lie.

“Take a wild guess.”

“You want the other half of your cut?” I say when I can finally formulate a coherent sentence.

“Not even close.”

His hand drops slightly, and I swallow hard when the gun faintly catches my lower lip as it descends. His eyes follow every movement as he hooks the barrel into the zipper of the hoodie and slowly drags it down.

I’m shaking now, but I try my best to remain perfectly still. “Victor coerced you? Blackmailed you with something?”

“Try again.”

The cool metal grazes the sensitive skin between my breasts every time I take a breath. My head is spinning. I can’t think straight.

My last guess seems utterly preposterous, yet I’m silently hoping it’s true. “Is it because of me?”

He releases a loaded breath and slowly lowers the gun, tucking it back into his holster. He turns away from me, as if he’s feeling the full weight of that decision for the first time. A minute ticks by, and he still says nothing. He’s so tense. I can feel it. I can see it in the taut muscles on his back, and I don’t know how to de-escalate the situation.

Eventually, I step forward and cautiously reach out to touch his shoulder.

He immediately spins around, lightly smacking my hand away before his fingers curl into a tight fist. “Don’t touch me.”

The warning comes as a shock, a reminder that I still don’t know who I’m dealing with. I’m trying to gauge where I stand with him, and he’s not giving me any clarification.

I lift both hands in surrender. “Sorry.”

He diverts his gaze, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m barely hanging on by a thread here, and I’m trying really hard not to...”

---