Page 37 of Unorthodox
“You’re a mess, love.”
I keep my head against the cement wall, my throat arched up as I stare at him, pleading without words for him to take me out of here.
He squats down in front of me and my desperation to leave turns to fear at what he might do before I’m allowed to. His eyes rake over me, a smile pulling on the corner of his lips. My stomach flips and my hands start to shake, the shackles clanking against the wall as they do.
His smile widens.
He reaches into his pocket and I hold my breath, wondering what fresh hell he has in store for me.
But it’s just a key.
A key.
Elation warms me in this cold room as he carefully undoes each cuff, physically lowering my arms down one at a time, as if he knows what it feels like to be chained.
His thumb brushes against the raw skin of my wrists and he shakes his head as my arms begin to tingle, coming awake again.
“You shouldn’t always fight so hard, Addison,” he says quietly, staring at me as he pockets the key, one hand still around my sore wrist. “It’s almost as if youenjoybeing tortured.”
Before I can think of a response, before I can breathe, he’s picking me up, one arm under my shoulders, the other beneath my knees.
A strangled hiss escapes my mouth as my stiff body adjusts to being against something that isn’t a cement wall. He straightens, pulling me close to him as I lie limp in his arms, closing my eyes tight, trying to adjust to the pain.
“Put your arms around me,” he says against my ear.
The sensation of his warm breath on me makes my skin crawl, but I do as he says. Slowly, with stiff movements, but still. I do it, my fingertips only grazing one another because I can’t quite put my hands together around his neck, not without risking more pain lighting up my shoulders.
He pulls me even closer, presses a kiss to my temple.
“If you obey me, I’ll take care of you. Despite what you might believe, I don’t enjoy hurting you.”
Anger rolls through my body with his words, making my limbs stiff and more pain course through me. Idon’tbelieve him. He’s a fucking sadist.
I say nothing as he stares down at me, as if waiting for my response.
If I could form one, it wouldn’t be a good one. And I do not want to stay in this room.
“Addison, I’m going to need you to say something.” His words are mild, but my anger is quickly replaced with panic as I think about another night in here. Another day.
I shift my gaze to his again to find him watching me carefully. Patiently.
I open my mouth, my throat raw like sandpaper. Still, I won’t be left in here again. “Okay,” I manage to say, although my voice doesn’t sound like my own.
It seems to please him, because he smiles. “You learn so quickly, baby girl.”
Then he carries me out of there.
My landline rings,and I stare at the caller ID for a moment, contemplating letting it go. Letting Christopher London panic, or simmer in his rage, the more likely response for a man like him.
There’s no love lost between Addison and her father, I can tell that much. She might have said she wanted to go home two nights ago, but what she really meant is she wanted to get away from me.
I answer the call, holding the corded receiver to my ear as I lean back in my chair. I don’t say a word.
“Max?” Christopher’s voice is full of fury.
“You dialed my number,” I tell him, staring at the ceiling. “I hope you’d know who would be on the other end of the line.”
A brief moment of silence, and I can imagine the string of expletives Christopher is throwing my way in his head. But wisely, he says none of them.
