3. Shower
Chapter three
Shower
(Nico)
T he island doesn’t match the memory I have of it.
But then again, it’s been 15 years since my father brought me here as an impressionable teenager.
It’s probably the only good memory I have of that asshole.
The last time we stayed at this inn, there wasn’t some crazy storm. Nor a stubborn innkeeper with an explosive temper and magnetic body.
That woman should be grateful she’s still breathing. I’ve ended people for much less than trying to stab me with my own knife.
But I don’t feel like being trapped inside this shithole with a rotting body. I’m here to hide out, not create more problems.
Besides, she could be useful.
Muscle Mommy’s clearly got more skills than I thought.
Plus, she’s got nice tits for an older woman—if Amazonian blondes are your thing.
She’s still wearing too much clothing for my liking. But that will be a fun present to unwrap later.
My cock thickens again at the mere thought as the hot water rains down on me in the shower.
Kiah is such a distraction.
I can’t say I usually go around jerking off on my captives.
But seeing those brown eyes flare in fury was worth it. She’s hot when she gets all flustered.
The image of her disgust is burnt onto my mind, filed for future indulgence.
But I have bigger problems to deal with than the innkeeper.
Involuntarily, my mind wanders back to the scene I’ve just escaped.
Try as I might, I can’t put the jumbled pieces together in a way that they make sense.
I’ve run through it all so many times, but I still don’t know what happened.
Who the fuck killed my father?
It wasn’t me.
Sure, I was planning on killing him.
That cunt deserved it for what he did to me.
But not like that.
I had a plan.
And my plan definitely didn’t involve waking up in my car with no memory of how I got there, covered in blood, murder weapon in hand…and my dead father beside me in the passenger seat.
Playing Nancy Drew and solving his murder wasn’t really on the cards. I had to get out of there quickly. Before the shit hit the fan. Before they blamed me for it.
Driving like a maniac, I kept looking back at my father’s lifeless body beside me, his dead eyes cocked at the roof.
But I felt nothing.
No remorse.
No sadness.
No regret.
Nothing but the urgency to get the fuck away from him.
In hindsight, I should probably have kicked his body out of the car first or driven the whole thing into the water somewhere.
But at that moment, I was acting on pure instinct. There was no time to be strategic.
I had to leave the city ASAP.
That pilot sure didn’t want to fly in this chaotic weather, but I suppose he had little choice with a gun to his head.
Pity he didn’t survive either way.
I couldn’t risk anyone knowing where I am. He had to go.
After a bumpy landing, I shot him right there on the runway before chucking the gun into the ocean on the way to the inn. I wasn’t going to keep my father’s murder weapon on me.
I have to be super careful.
Until I know who is behind this whole thing, I can’t trust anyone. Not that the list of people I trust is very long to begin with.
I should be safe here, though.
For now.
The water goes cold, pulling me back to the present.
I turn off the shower and grab the still-damp white towel off the rack. It must be the Kiah’s. I’m sure she’ll love me using it, rubbing my scent all over it. The thought amuses me, bringing a grin to my lips.
Not bothering to dry my legs, I slip into the fluffy white bathrobe hanging on a hook. It smells like coconut and something else I cannot name, a woody smell, almost musky.
I like it.
My prisoner looks up immediately as I enter, her eyes widening at the sight of me in her robe that stretches over my chest.
Although Kiah’s tall for a woman, I’m definitely bulkier than her, and the robe doesn’t reach all the way around, leaving a strip of skin in front.
Not that I give a fuck. If it were up to me, I’d spend my life naked. Clothes always feel weird on my skin. The robe is just to rile up the innkeeper.
She’s still lying on the floor where I left her, my cum drying on her cheek. I would take a picture if I didn’t break my phone before we even left the city. I’m not taking any chances.
“Look who decided to be a good girl for once.” I push Kiah over to her side with my foot, just because I can.
She makes an awful lot of noise, wiggling about.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Her eyes are wild, frantic almost. But the only sounds that escape her mouth are incoherent mumbles.
I sigh, lifting her chin with my foot. “I’m going to take out your gag, but if you scream, 1) nobody will hear you, and 2) I will fucking rip your vocal cords out with my bare hands, understood?”
Kiah nods furiously, and I reach down to untie the dishcloths.
“Jesus,” she gasps, making gagging sounds as soon as her mouth is free.
“So dramatic.” I leave her there and pick up the whiskey bottle again, pouring another glass of shitty liquid down my throat. It’s probably not going to help the headache but “ Aspirin is for weaklings ,” my mother always said.
“I need the bathroom,” Kiah says, her voice surprisingly measured for someone in her position. She wasn’t even crying yet or begging for her life like they usually did when my father sent me to collect debts.
I like her. She’s spicy.
My laughter rings through the house, but Kiah doesn’t join in. Instead, she stares daggers into my skin like it could actually affect the outcome of this situation.
“What’s so funny?” the innkeeper demands with those plump lips, her brow knitting with little wrinkles that make her even hotter. She looks a bit like that actress Charlize Theron, I decide, as I watch the woman squirm around on the floor, the chair still strapped to her like an inescapable burden.
“You thinking I’m going to cut you loose,” I answer.
“Are you deaf? I said I need to pee,” she spits, her entire face straining with tension.
“Doesn’t sound like my problem.” I take another sip of whiskey as I plunge down into one of the brown armchairs that seem more for comfort than style. Everything in this place seems that way.
It’s a far cry from the luxury I’m used to back at the Ricci mansion I usually call home. Our servants’ quarters are more equipped than this sad excuse of a home. It’s so… basic .
But it will have to do, for now at least.
At least it’s clean.
“I can’t hold it anymore.” Her voice is growing desperate, much to my amusement.
“Then don’t.”
The horror spreads on her face as she realizes I’m serious.
“You animal. Untie me!” Her measured tone is a thing of the past now.
“If you’re just going to complain, I’ll put the gag back in. Do you want that?” I ask, waving my finger at her like she’s a naughty child.
She doesn’t answer, just glares at me.
“Please,” Kiah tries again, softer this time.
“You’re pretty when you beg,” I tell her, pushing myself out of my seat again to hover over her. “But it won’t work.”
“Here, let me start you off.” Tipping the bottle, I pour the remaining whiskey onto her crotch, watching as the liquid spreads over her grey linen pants like she’s already wet herself.
She gasps loudly.
I wonder if it burns.
I hope so.
But at least it keeps her quiet.
She doesn’t bring up needing to pee again.
Whether she pisses herself or not, who knows.
I’m not interested.
It doesn’t help me fix my current predicament.
Cracking my knuckles as I speak, I stare out into the darkness beyond the window that keeps rattling in the wind. It’s irritating me. “Tomorrow, you’re going to help me get the fuck out of here. Ideally, to Mexico for now.”
I have to keep moving. Sooner or later, they’ll find me here. This was supposed to be the first stop only, just for the night.
“You can’t,” Kiah says simply.
“Wrong answer. Try again.”
The innkeeper sighs. “Trust me, I would love you gone. But nobody is getting in or out until that storm passes.”
“You better not be lying; I don’t tolerate lies.” There are enough lies in the world. Few things make my blood boil like people who aren’t truthful.
“I’m not lying.”
“Call someone.”
“The lines are dead.”
“There has to be a way.” As anger floods through me, my jaw tightens, the bones creaking under the strain—an old habit that I can’t seem to shake.
“It’s off-season. The place is deserted. There are no ferries for another month. And no plane can fly in this.” Her voice is surprisingly calm. It pisses me off even more.
“No!” Uncontrollable rage rips through me as I smash the whiskey bottle against the wall. It shatters onto the ground, followed by the unfinished canvas I pull from its easel and smash over the table.
Perfectly stacked plates.
Glasses.
Fuck ‘em all .
Everything comes tumbling to the floor, reduced to shards and splinters.
“Stop it!” Kiah calls as I destroy her things.
But what is she going to do?
“Shut up!” I rip the abstract painting from the wall, bright colors that mean nothing to me, and hold it over her, my chest heaving with rapid breaths.
“Don’t—” she doesn’t get to finish her sentence before I break the painting over her knees, sending her crying out in shock.
But the innkeeper’s the least of my worries.
I can’t stick around; they’ll find me.
And I don’t even have my gun with me to defend myself.
Cazzo!