Chapter 6 #2
After I eat half of my burger and most of my fries, I check if the water is still going in the shower before I dig out a pair of boxers and a T-shirt to change into. As I’m shoving my clothes back into my backpack the bathroom door opens, drawing my attention.
Oh fuck.
Rurik steps out in a pair of black boxers.
His black hair, still wet from his shower, drips water onto his bare chest. His bare, muscular chest that leads the way down to the hardest stomach I’ve ever seen on a man.
I’ve heard of six packs, and seen pictures in magazines, but I thought they were just airbrushed masterpieces.
Rurik is not a product of photoshop; he’s real and right in front of me. He’s rubbing the back of his head with a small towel, giving him a boyish look.
This man is nowhere close to being a boy, though .
“Did you eat?” he asks in that hard tone.
“What? Oh, yeah. I ate.” I drop my backpack back onto the floor beside the bed. “I put a tip on the bill. You were very generous.”
He inspects my plate with a speculative look. “You didn’t finish the burger.”
“It’s huge. And I ate the fries. I’m saving the cake for breakfast.” I try to ignore him as he moves around the room. Him and all those muscles.
He takes a fry from my plate and bites into it.
“There’s a note on the tray, I think it’s the pharmacy number the front desk lady said she’d get. But I don’t remember the doctor prescribing anything.”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “If you’d stuck around, he would have.”
He drops the note back onto the tray.
“You just didn’t want her to think you’re a wife beater. That’s why you said you needed a pharmacy. To make yourself look like the concerned husband.”
“I didn’t want any reason for her to get any further involved.”
“If you wanted to fly under the radar, you shouldn’t have brought us here. One of those travel motels would have been better.” I line up my shoes in front of the nightstand and move my bag to the side.
The room is too nice not to be extra careful about how I take care of it.
“So we can get bedbugs and sleep under a scratchy blanket?” He scoffs as he eats a handful more of fries .
“Didn’t see you as being such a snob.” I pull back the thick, heavy blankets and get ready to climb up into the massive of the bed.
It’s not that I haven’t slept on good beds before, but this one looks it was made for royalty.
“Come here,” he says, crooking his finger at me.
“Why?” I already have one knee on the mattress, ready to hoist myself up, when he makes his demand.
He blinks, like he’s never been asked that question before.
“Because I said to come here.” Maybe he hasn’t been asked before; his tone definitely suggests he’s not happy with the question.
“You can come here.” I finish climbing up onto the bed and plop onto the softest mattress I’ve ever touched.
I may not leave with him in the morning and just take my chances of being found by Marco or the determined detective right here.
Without another word, he marches over to my side of the bed and snaps me up from the bed as though I’m nothing more than a toddler. He carries me over to the lamp on the table where the food is laid out and stands me next to it.
“You can’t just pick me up like that.” I shove his hands away when he puts me on my feet.
His jaw clenches. I’m on borrowed time, I think, from seeing his actual temper.
“I want to see the cut on your forehead.” He grabs hold of my chin, gentling his touch when I wince, and turns my face toward the light .
“It’s bruised pretty nasty, right?” I hit my face on a headboard once when I was a kid having a pillow fight at a slumber party. It was all green and yellow and gross for a week.
“Does it hurt much?” He prods it with a soft touch.
“Only when big, neanderthal men manhandle my face.” I push his hand away when he keeps poking.
He frowns then lifts his hands up to the bandage.
“I don’t think you should take it off.” I try to turn away, but he grabs my face again, careful not to touch the bruise, and holds me steady while he peels the bandage away.
“In the morning, we’ll wash it and put some ointment on it,” he says, as if he’s some concerned second party and not my kidnapper.
Lightly he touches the skin around the wound. It’s tender, but what’s more unsettling is the warm current that runs just below my skin, rushing straight to my core. When I move my eyes to his mouth, the warmth kicks up to full heat. He hasn’t shaved today, and dark scruff covers his jawline.
A jaw that’s chiseled and tenses the longer he stares at my wound.
Once he puts the bandage back down and presses the tape back in place, I step back from him. I definitely need space. Apparently, Stockholm’s syndrome starts fast with me.
Not surprising considering how fast I seem to jump into relationships. But that ended with Nico.
You date enough dumbasses, eventually you see the light .
Unfortunately, it took my boyfriend getting shot and dragging me into this mess with a mob boss for me to get a glimmer of it.
“That asshole got off easy,” Rurik mutters, hooking his hands on his hips while glaring down at me. “You should have left the fight to Charlie, though. Getting in the middle was dangerous.”
“Are you mad at me for getting punched and knocked out?” I can’t be hearing him right.
“You need to watch your surroundings better.” He nods.
My jaw drops.
“Considering you’ve been watching me for two days, I suppose you’d know.”
“A week,” he corrects. “I’ve been watching you for a week. And you had no idea.”
“You’ve been stalking me?” That explains all the times the hair on my neck stood on end.
I wasn’t going crazy. There was a lunatic watching me.
“Watching. It’s different.” He jerks his head toward the bed. “You should get some sleep.”
“Oh shit!” I hurry back to my bag and start digging for the burner phone. “I need to let Barbara know I’m not coming for my shift in the morning.”
“I already took care of that.” Reaching over my head, he snatches the phone from my hands. “Get in bed.”
Something inside snaps. Maybe it’s the exhaustion of having been working so much this past week. Maybe my full stomach is giving me the energy to finally find some bravery. Whatever it is, I’m on my feet and spinning around to face him in a heartbeat.
“Stop telling me what to do!” I slap my hand against his chest.
Pain shoots up my wrist, thanks to the stone he has for muscles, but I’m too worked up to care.
“I’m done with you!” I round the bed to the nightstand on the other side where the phone is.
After hearing the dial tone, I hit the front desk button.
“You kidnapped me, you tied my arms with your belt, you’ve threatened me?—”
Before the first ring sounds on the other side of the line, he rips the phone from my grip and slams it down.
“And now I’m going to show you what happens to little hostages who don’t do what they’re told.”