Page 29 of My Grumpy Billionaire Protector

There’s got to be something you can do. Sure, they can technically keep you in here for a while, but there’s no food around. At least they’ll want to feed you.

Unless they plan on starving me until I am weak and compliant.

Bile rises in the back of my throat.

Abruptly, I sit up, draw my knees up to my chest, and bring my head to rest there. For a while, I stare at the window on the opposite side of the room while my mind races to fill in the blanks. I am suddenly incredibly relieved that neither Sienna nor TJ decided to crash with me at my mom’s.

I can’t even imagine having to worry about them too.

Slowly, I stretch my legs out ahead of me and pat my pockets, praying for something, anything to help me get out of here. When I come up empty-handed a short while later, I curse myself. I must have dropped my phone on the floor.

“Couldn’t you have just held onto it?”

My voice sounds hoarse and strangled, even to my own ears. So I force myself up to my feet and wander over to the bookshelf that stretches to fill an entire wall. I bend down and examine the titles. I run my fingers along the spine with a small smile hovering on the edge of my lips. If I am going to be stuck in here, at least I am in good company with a slew of good titles in good condition displayed before me. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I straighten up and march into the closet.

My breathing comes out in short, quick bursts as I yank on one article of clothing after the next. I watch them flutter to the ground, quiet and soundless. When I am done, it looks like a tornado has ripped through. I step over the cotton fabric and into the bathroom. I cast a quick look around, and my eyes stop at the small window over the toilet. After a quick exhale, I jump onto the toilet lid and tug, grunting and huffing as I do.

Sweat forms on the back of my neck and on my forehead.

Still, nothing happens.

I make a low, frustrated noise in the back of my throat and give a slight shake of my head. With trembling fingers, I stumble back into the room and make a beeline for the window. It resists slightly as I use every ounce of energy and huff. Then I give the metal bars an experimental tug, fear pooling in the pit of my stomach.

I’m not trapped here.

I can’t be.

Briefly, I wonder if I’ve fallen asleep with the TV on in my room and an empty bottle of wine by my side.

Maybe this is just a drunken dream.

As far as I am concerned, it is far more likely than being stuck in a large, airy room with early morning sunlight pouring in and guards posted outside my door. The harder I try to reconcile myself to the truth, the more ridiculous it seems.

A few armed men in hoodies and jeans have not broken into my mom’s apartment with the intent of kidnapping her and using her as leverage against my grandfather.

It sounds like the plot to some cliché movie, and I refuse to believe that I have been dragged into it through a series of unfortunate events.

Should’ve just crashed at TJ’s and endured the Larsons’ bright smiles and expectant gazes. Anything would’ve been better than this.

Has anyone even noticed I am missing?

After a quick glance at my watch, my shoulders sag and my head dips forward. Considering it’s still five in the morning, and there are birds singing somewhere in the distance, everyone is probably still asleep. In three hours, TJ and Sienna would be getting up and getting ready to start their day. Dinah is going to be out like a light until noon, and my mother is probably still smarting over the fiasco at dinner.

Fuck.

At this rate, it could be hours before anyone noticed something was wrong. Given that it is Saturday and I am religious about sleeping in and ignoring my phone until noon during weekends, it is going to be a while before anyone thinks to check-in. Worse, if TJ and Sienna don’t piece it together, then it is up to Dinah, who, in spite of her drive and curiosity, has little interest in anything to do with our family.

Those three were my only hope, and my prospects are looking dimmer and dimmer by the second. I begin to shake my head, harder and harder, as I dig my nails into the inside of my palms. Suddenly, a burst of energy erupts within me. I throw myself at the door, banging over and over, while I try but fail to find my voice.

Shortly after, the door bursts open. I fall back, inches away from hitting the floor, until a pair of arms snakes around my waist.

The female guard, a tall woman with tanned skin and dark hair, sets me back on my feet and folds her arms over her chest.

She exchanges a look with the bald man with a square jaw and piercing eyes. Then, the two of them close ranks, blocking off the door with their frames, and give me a disapproving look.

“That’s it?” I throw my hands up in the air and straighten my back. “You’re not going to say anything? You’re just going to stand there and glare at me like I’m a child having a temper tantrum?”

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Would you prefer something else?”

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