Page 27 of Savage Sin

“Consider yourself showered.”

Seven

Persephone

Hours pass and I haven’t seen or heard anything. Sunlight gradually fades to moonlight. I’ve fallen in and out of sleep, but for a while now, all I can do is worry. Planning and plotting my escape is the best use of my energy, but my heart aches as deeply as my body does. I try my wrists again, but the knots slip a fraction tighter.

I latch onto details in the fading light. Chandelier, large flat screen TV and a decadent four poster bed are the highlights of the room. From the position of the trees, I can tell he has me on the second floor. Jumping off the balcony will hurt like a bitch, but if I land right, I could make it without breaking an ankle or ripping my stitches.

Err…probably.IfI can get loose. I will go for the front door route first.

I’m spread out on cotton sheets with a high thread count and an ivory-colored duvet covers my lower half. It speaks of money and taste. Not exactly something my captor is guilty of. Someone else decked this place out. I could be wrong, but I don’t think he cares about the quality of sheets or the color of a wall. Everything is either matte black, or subtle silver. No dead ducks or paintings of mountains on the walls. Thank God for that small mercy.

I take handfuls of the sheet and shift my weight to the side. Lying here for endless hours has me sore all over. The bed is enormous. Too large, in fact. Stretched out like a sacrifice makes loosening a knot with my teeth impossible. Carpet covers everything and the large sliding door does little to shut out the sounds of nature. There’s no blaring horns or traffic.

He meant it when he said we are all alone out here. Wherever here is. I don’t exactly know where the cargo ship was headed, so I don’t know what port he took me from.

Heavy footsteps pound on the bare wood and then my door pushes open. Soft lighting clicks on. I blink and when my eyes adjust, I get a good look at the man. Tattered black jeans, leather belt, boots. No shirt. That’s all the same. He’s shaved in the last few hours, making his rugged Scott Eastwood vibe softer. He’s still got hard lines and a brutish way about him I shouldn’t lose sight of.

He has a bowl in one hand and a few items in the other. Judging by the somber look on his face, he’s had about as much sleep as I have.

I look on as he places a porcelain bowl on the nightstand and tosses in a sponge. He has a brush, too. Conditioner. He puts those on the small table too.

“Are you letting me go?” Stupid question, but I have to ask. It’s that or call him a million different insults and probably get a smack in the face. Not that he’s shown an inkling of violence toward me.

Piercing blue eyes catch mine. My chin lifts, our equal amounts of stubbornness pitting for dominance. He runs the tip of a thumb over the edge of his bottom lip. If he wanted me to shift my attention away from my restraints and the fact he doesn’t have a knife in his hand to cut them from me, it’s working. I’m only human and he’s every shade of forbidden…everything.

The look on his face is pensive before he tosses a black baggie onto my chest. “Let’s start over. Where did you get that?”

And the second I look at the black baggie, my brain screams flash drive. How could I have forgotten? How high was my fever?

I run over the details and figure this one I can answer. “My step-father’s desk.” But what I’m really thinking is, where the hell did that drive fall? Did I drop it on our ascent from the bowels of that ship? Or when I passed out over his shoulder? It could literally be anywhere. And it’s not like I can ask this madman. The drive ismykey to freedom. Not his weapon to use as blackmail or whatever else he would do to see Joaquin dead.

“The baggie is nearly empty.”

It’s not a question and there’s no judgment in his tone.

He steps closer and traces the line of my jaw with a single finger. “How long ago did you take this from his desk?”

I ignore the chills rushing over me. My fists clench so hard I can feel the bite of pain from my nails digging into my palms. I focus on that and not the weird wave of adrenaline shooting through me.

“Nope, madman. Now you answer one of mine.”

“Madman, huh?” A thick, dark brow cranks high. “I don’t remember offering an answer for an answer.” Two hundred pounds of man compresses the side of the bed. With one tug at the edge of the blanket and I’m no longer covered. Cold air rushes over me.

Jesus Christ!

I’m fully exposed from the waist down. Panties didn’t make it on the boat with me, so I don’t have any on now.

My panicked eyes swing to his. A warm tear escapes the corner of my eye. I try to brush it away, but that’s not happening. There’s nothing I can do to fight back when his large hand settles over my thigh.

Muscles from my toes to my fingers stiffen.

“Please,” I beg.

The way Joaquin spoke to methatnight comes back in a wave of nausea.

“Easy, Persi,” he coaxes, like what he is about to do won’t shatter my soul. Ruin me.

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