Page 8 of Grit & Glamour

Chapter Five

The floor is never an ideal place to sleep, but sleeping on the floor while cuffed to the bottom of a bed with an assassin in it? Even less so. I'd tried to plead with him to untie my hands to sleep, but he'd immediately dismissed the idea and accused me of plotting to escape. When I'd complained about the ropes chafing me, he'd laughed and offered to switch them out for handcuffs. I'd accepted, only to soon regret it when I realised, one—how cold it is on my wrist. Two—how much noise its clinking makes every time I move.

He's worried I'd escape?I snort. The idea is laughable. How would I be able to get both me and my brother out of here with three, highly-trained, professional killers watching us?

I roll over on the ground again, the cuffs chinking loudly as I move, before leaning towards the bed with my hands resting on the cold floor. I try to keep the cuffed hand steady to avoid the noise, but it's not exactly comfortable to be handcuffed to a bed. A loud sigh comes from the bed.

“If I let you sleep without the cuffs, you'll have to sleep on the bed. I'm a light sleeper, so if you try to escape or attack, you'll wake me. Don't even try it.”

“Wait, you're not really suggesting that I share the bed with you? Are you insane?” I blurt out, convinced the masked man has either lost his mind, or he intends to try something.

“How does the floor feel? Getting your full eight hours in?” he asks, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

“I'm not getting into a bed with an assassin. Hell, I'm not getting into a bed with any strange man, period,” I retort stubbornly, shifting again on the floor and causing another clang to sound. I glare at the cuffs through the darkness as if it's their fault I'm in this predicament and not my own. I mean, just because I hired assassins to kill my own mother doesn't mean I deserve this, right?

“Suit yourself, but stop making so much fucking noise. I told you, I'm a very light sleeper,” he orders before lapsing back into silence.

Staring up above me, I try to stay as still and quiet as possible, but no matter how I adjust my body, it proves uncomfortable or awkward with my hand cuffed. I curse quietly in frustration. This is impossible. I’m never going to sleep. I’ll be here rattling my cuffs and twisting and turning all night.

I jerk back suddenly as a hand grabs mine. Before I can blink, my wrist has been released from the cuffs and my hand dropped. I stare for a second at my now-freed hand, then look up at my masked captor. “Why did you do that?” I ask softly, feeling unsure of myself and the situation.

“Because you're making too much noise. I'm sure it's going to be a long day tomorrow, and I'd like to get some rest.” He grabs my arm and yanks me up onto the bed. Once I'm deposited there, he quickly retreats to the other side of the large bed. The bed is more comfortable than I expected given the state of this place, and I can't help but relax a little into the mattress and sigh from relief.

“You try to escape, you get cuffed. You move, you get cuffed. You try and touch me or remove my mask, you get cuffed. Do you understand me?” he commands.

“If I try to touch you?” I echo indignantly. “You're dreaming.”

“I'd be dreaming if you stopped making so much fucking noise. You get to sleep on a mattress, and I get to sleep. It's a win-win, so long as you don't snore,” he responds.

I dare a look towards him, noting how much space he's left between the two of us, I assume to make me feel more comfortable. He may be a paid killer, but it seems he’s not an abuser of women. A guy that's happy to abuse a woman wouldn't have cared enough for my comfort, and they especially wouldn’t have cared for my personal space. Figures that I hired the assassins with morals.

I wonder if those same morals may have interfered in the job? Maybe I hired terrible assassins? It's not as if I have much experience in this sort of thing. They could be inept amateurs, and I would never know.

“I swear I can practically hear your thoughts churning from that stare. Close your damn eyes and go to sleep,” he mutters.

My eyes slam shut in alarm, and I turn my head away before opening them again, staring at the wall instead. I expect to feel panic, fear, adrenaline, but it's as if the second I'm resting on a comfortable bed, even above the covers, my body calms and begins to relax. All of my roiling emotions ease, whooshing out like an exhale, and I melt into the mattress, finding myself cuddling my pillow like a life preserver.

Thoughts of terrible assassins with Stormtrooper-like aim whirl around in my head as I slowly drift off, losing myself to the blackness of sleep.

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