Page 33 of Twisted Revelations

“I think they may have put a bug on her,” Dax stated. His words sent a quick stream of panic through me. D’s eyes turned on me, joining Dax’s. There was no way I had a bug on me. How? When?

“That’s the quickest way they could have found us. You wouldn’t happen to have packed a bug detector?” Dax asked D, finally turning his gaze from me and releasing the hold he’d had on me.

“Yep,” D replied nonchalantly, like packing a device that detects bugs was as normal as packing an extra set of underwear. Their words and scanning eyes had me patting down my body although I was sure I hadn’t been bugged.

“Are you saying they put a bug on me from when I was abducted? That was five, no, six days ago. Why didn’t they come sooner? Where could they have possibly put a bug?” I questioned. My words were choppy because Bev had started to help me with the pat down.

“Besides, when they took me, I didn’t give them a chance to put a bug on me. They were too busy keeping me from kicking their asses.”

“As I witnessed,” came Dax’s confirmation. “It likely took them days to figure out a way into the penthouse once they located the tracker. We need to see if there is one, so we can eliminate the possibility and prevent them from finding us again.”

“I’ve changed clothes every day since the night I was taken, and the clothes I wore that night were washed by the hotel’s laundry service,” I added while continuing to pat myself down.

“Where do you think the idea for waterproof phones came from?” D asked, his words had my eyes creeping up to his face.

“You were in contact with them too. How do you know it’s not you who was bugged?” I questioned Dax.

“I burned everything I wore that night with the body. I need to check you,” Dax insisted, and it wasn’t a request. “D, would you get the detector please?”

Dax opened my door and waited, but my gaze followed D as he exited the car and walked back to the trunk before he met Dax at my door. They stared at me like I was a specimen under a microscope before Dax was handed a piece of equipment that could have been borrowed from the Ghostbusters.

“Grab your backpack and let’s go,” Dax urged as he headed toward the rest stop bathroom that a minimum of ten people had no doubt been killed in. Dirt fought the spray-painted walls for dominance as cigarette butts littered the path. Reluctantly, I yanked my backpack from the trunk D had left open and followed Dax.

My nose wrinkled as soon as I crossed the threshold into the smelly den of shit and sin. The light above the single sink buzzed as its brightness glimmered between dim and light, making our dreadful surroundings pulse like a packed club. The single leaky toilet had a stream of water flowing toward the dirty, clogged drain in the middle of the floor.

Dax locked us inside as he strolled past me and stood with his back to the sink. Not a stranger to the criminal world, I dropped my bag, lifted my hands at my side, and spread my legs shoulder width apart.

His brow lifted at my action as he flicked a button on the device. It emitted a low squall that competed with the hum of the flickering light.

Dax took his time passing the device along my body, eyeing me as he did so. He liked this. I believed he sensed his closeness made me nervous. I didn’t like it, yet it was strangely comforting in a way. I hated what I didn’t understand, and this was one of the reasons I didn’t like Dax.

My eyes rolled when he slapped the back of his hand to the inside of my calf to widen my stance. My tight jeans stretched taut against my body. I’d been trying for years and had finally started to gain weight, so most of my clothes were tight as hell. My bank account needed a money transfusion, so I’d been slow to catch my wardrobe up with my body.

The instrument’s squeak started to elongate when he passed it above my shoe. The sound drew our attention and caused our bodies to go still.

When Dax stood fully upright, my gaze lifted with him as his eyes held mine hostage. I struggled to keep my face impassive, but the strange connection we shared had the hairs on the back of my neck standing and my muscles tensing tighter. The intensity of the energy between us increased and my brows twitched and gave him a glimpse of what his presence had the ability to do to me.

He broke our trance when he flipped the machine off before turning and placing it on the nasty cement floor. His fingers clamped around my wrist before he directed me to the sink.

“What is it? Is there something on me?” I questioned, my anticipation of what he may have found hardened my anxious tone. I was so busy staring down at my shoes, where the instrument had beeped the loudest, I was thrown off guard when Dax placed his hands under my shoulders and lifted me.

He sat me on the sink and took my left foot in his hand, leaving me no choice but to swallow my surprise and grip his sturdy shoulders for support.

“You could have asked me to hop up here.” Venom dripped from my hissing voice. “You couldn’t help showing off your ego by manhandling me, huh?” I gave him an evil side-eye he ignored.

“Yes,” he answered with no shame as he searched my lower leg and shoe. How could he already be so adept at handling my attitude? Warmth radiated from his strong hand that was wrapped around my leg as he thumbed and fingered my calf before he lowered his movements. He bent for a closer look at the area, which caused my grip on his shoulders to tighten.

My fingers dipped into the hard cords of his muscles, pulling my attention from his inspection. My examining gaze was aimed at my hand clawing into his shoulders. Why the hell did I enjoy the way his hard muscles glided under my fingertips? Strange. I ignored my odd behavior and eyed him closer.

Dax was one of those men who was used to getting his way with women. I could tell as much the moment I’d met him. His dark brown hair was cut low on the side with a few inches on top that he’d styled with a gel that probably cost more than everything I wore. It smelled pricy, like something I couldn’t afford to sniff. He looked expensive. Everything about him was always neat, and he’d never dressed in anything less than the best.

He wasn’t pale white, but he wasn’t darkly tanned either. His light complexion was fresh and natural versus the artificial look from a tanning bed.

Although I’d never kissed a man’s lips, his were enticing, not too plump or thin, but with a noticeable succulence like he’d just been thoroughly kissed. They were pale pink, wet, and seductive in a way that enticed me to want to test their suppleness with my own.

He fingered my shoe, and his brows knitted with curiosity and drew my attention from my up-close assessment of him.

He picked at something that made the sound of a button being tapped. He continued to pick and tug until he detached a clear white disk the size of a dime from my shoe. The bug had a thin strip of metal in the center, the part that must have kept it clamped to my shoe.

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