Page 12 of Assassin's Mark
Chapter Seven
I shut down then. It was a survival mechanism I used with my father, presenting the perfect emotionless doll to please him, to escape the pain and frustration I couldn’t seem to avoid. A small protection in this world gone mad.
Levi seemed to sense the withdrawal. His growl—of frustration or anger; I wasn’t sure which—signaled my victory, but it wouldn’t last long.
It didwin me a reprieve, however. Levi spun away, left me lying there on the desk, alone and aching. I stayed still through his retreat, only moving when I heard heavy footsteps coming my way.
He carried a duffel bag. Where it came from, I had no idea. Levi dropped it at my feet, his intimidating expression denying my instinct to pick it up, open it, see what he’d brought me.
More rope? Sex toys?I shuddered, half in fear and half… I wasn’t ready to admit that half. The crazy half.
“I’ll get us some breakfast. Clean up while I’m gone.”
He was leaving?Yes!
I obviously didn’t hide that well enough, because Levi smirked. He knew exactly what I was thinking, and that I’d never succeed.
Everything in me ached to somehow, in some way, prove him wrong.
Without another word he stalked towardthe door. A pause while his broad back blocked whatever he was doing at the key pad, and then he was outside, theclickof the latch loud as it locked firmly in place. I tried it anyway, to no avail.
The duffel beckoned, and I investigated. Soap and shampoo and clean clothes—nothing I could use as a weapon. I left the bag where it lay. If the bastard didn’t want to look at me dirty, he couldlock me in the bedroom. This might be the only chance I got to escape. I had to do it fast. Just imagining him catching me in the act, going against his commands made my mouth dry up and my heart race. He didn’t need rope to restrain me; his mere presence was paralyzing. Too bad he hadn’t had that effect on me last night too, or I wouldn’t be in this mess. Levi was the consummate actor. I had to rememberthat, protect myself no matter what happened. Of course, if the Levi that just left was the real Levi, I’d have no trouble remembering.
That wasn’t what you were thinking when his hands were on your body.
I flipped off my conscience, then set about exploring. There wasn’t a lot to search. The warehouse was mostly empty, as if Levi hadn’t wanted to clutter up the openness. Or maybe like he didn’tspend much time here.
Or maybe he captive-proofed the place before you arrived.
That too.
This main room was open, sections divided by furniture defining each space—living room, kitchen, office. Not a lot of necessities—the living area held a couch and TV on a stand, a remote, and a rug. I could smash the TV, use the broken shards or the cord, maybe?
Right. Who was I kidding? I knew absolutelynothing about defending myself. That’s what bodyguards were for, according to my dad. Still, I couldn’t give up hope. The kitchen seemed the most likely place to find a weapon, but a search found no silverware, plastic dishes, definitely no knives. Pretty much no food either. I hoped takeout was a possibility, because cooking here would be a challenge.
Only if you don’t get out.
And I couldn’tcount on my father to rescue me—not that Levi had offered him that option. No ransom demand, noif this, then that. Dad wouldn’t want that anyway. Hard as it was to imagine my father hiring an assassin, I had no illusions when it came to Derrick Roslyn’s mercenary outlook. Having your daughter kidnapped could play well on the public’s sympathies, and he would do anything to advance his politicalcareer, including selling his daughter to the candidate with the highest pedigree. I shuddered, memories of his anger last night playing through my head.
The office area was the last to be searched. Basic desktop setup, again with the cords… I squeezed out a sigh. Not even drawers to hide pens. I’d seen that in a movie once. The antihero had killed an attacker with an uncapped pen. My stomachchurned, imagining doing the same to Levi, but I couldn’t fool myself; it might come to that.
Unfortunately, no pen. What else?
I went into the bedroom.
An empty vista greeted me under the bed, free even of dust bunnies, so I tried the dresser. The top drawer held boxer briefs—why couldn’t he be an old-fashioned, less attractive tighty-whities guy?—socks, and plastic zip ties. Like those weren’tsuspicious at all. Second drawer: T-shirts. Black and white. Levi obviously wasn’t a fan of variety, except when it came to his ink. Those had surged with almost painful color beneath my hands last night.
I shook the memory away and moved to the third drawer. Fatigues. No shorts, sweatpants, nothing comfortable. I guess assassins didn’t curl up on the couch in comfy clothes and watch a movie.He probably never got the flu either.
The last drawer wouldn’t open. A surge of excitement hit me, almost painful after a half hour of worry and hopelessness. But how to get it open? This wasn’t some discount-store particleboard dresser; it was solid wood, and the lock would be strong—Levi had been meticulous so far, and that wouldn’t change now. Maybe the third drawer…
But no matter how muchI pulled and jiggled, I couldn’t get the pants drawer to come out. Some kind of catch in the runner refused to release it at its full extension. I tried lifting and even yanking, pounding the base of the drawer with my fists, but…nothing.
And there was no more time to waste. Levi had gone to get food; he could be back any moment. I swallowed my sigh of defeat and began moving each neat pile ofclothing from the floor back to the drawer. If I couldn’t find a weapon—and if I wanted a chance to try again later—it was better that Levi never know I’d looked.
The last stack was farther away than the others. I reached, wavered, only to knock the fatigues out of their tidy pile. With a curse I gathered the stack back into its original neat column, but when I lifted the pants into my arms totransfer to the drawer, a small frame fell from the folds of the bottom pair.
It was one of those old-fashioned frames, the metal kind that weighed a few ounces despite only being big enough for a wallet-sized photo. Three boys stared out at me, young ones with stair-stacked heights, sitting on white-painted steps situated before a gray studio backdrop. The oldest child looked like Levi aroundthe eyes and had his black hair. The other two were dark blond, resembling him in every other way so closely they could’ve been twins if not for the hair and heights. His brother, Eli? Did Levi have two brothers? Where was the third?
