Chapter 3
Tatum
My head feels like someone is jack hammering it from the inside of my brain. My throat is drier than a nun’s pussy and I don’t have enough spit to swallow and moisten the fucking thing. I gather my willpower and slowly blink my eyes open, only to slam them closed again when a sharp pain starts making itself known in the back of my skull. I take another minute to breathe through the pain and slowly blink my eyes open again. The pain is still present but it's more of a dull ache now. I look around and frown. Where the fuck am I?
I sit up and swallow my gasp, I’m lying on a fucking bed!
I leap off the thing and instantly regret it when my head begins to spin and the ache starts pounding again. I clasp my head between my hands and grit my teeth through the wave of pain. When it finally subsides enough I search through my memory of what the hell happened.
Alexander!
“Son of a bitch!” I snarl.
“Don’t call my mother a bitch.” I whirl around and fight the haze of dizziness that washes over me from the sudden movement. I sway on my feet and have to reach out to steady myself on the edge of the bed. When I gather myself, I turn my head and glare at the infuriating Aztec god standing in the doorway. His hair is loose and sits around his shoulders, the top pushed back, no doubt from him combing his fingers through it. He’s changed. He’s wearing a pair of black sweats and a gray cotton shirt that is pulled taut over his chest. “Here,” he says as he walks toward me with a glass of water. My mouth waters at the sight of it. I want to smack the glass out of his hand but I bite back my pride and snatch it from him.
“Asshole,” I bite out as I bring the glass to my lips.
“Wait, take these.” He extends his other hand to show me two white pills sitting in the palm of his hand.
“No.”
“They’ll help with the side effects,” he grits out through clenched teeth.
Rather than answering him I keep my eyes locked on his as I greedily drain the glass. When I’m done, I make a show of sighing just to be a brat. “Only one glass?” I taunt.
His eyes narrow into slits. “You’ll be the one in pain now,” he snaps.
“Pain is a reminder of what you have survived.” He cocks his head to the side, studying me for a moment. His gaze is unnerving but it's more than that. I don’t know what it is but when Alexander looks at you, it's like he’s trying to peel back the layers of your armor. Almost like he is trying to see through the bullshit to analyze the real person beneath the persona we all put on for the world to judge us by.
It’s fucking creepy, to say the least!
“Who hurt you?” His question floors me and has my knees so weak to the point I have no choice but to plop my ass on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t move or try to fill the charged silence, he just stands staring down at me expectantly like I owe him an answer.
“Where am I?” I counter.
He pinches his lips to the side and hardens his gaze but allows the change of topic. “You’re in my house.”
Swallowing razor blades would have gone smoother than his answer. “Why?” I dart my gaze around the room and take in the minimal furniture and decorations. The walls are bare of any pictures, the paint a dull gray color. The sheets I sit on now are an emerald green, and aside from the bed and two dressers there isn’t much in here, not even a rug.
“You know why you’re here.” His tone is hard and unyielding.
“Why drug me and not just force me to tell you on the plane?” I snarl as my anger begins to simmer inside me.
“Because you aren’t the type to respond to pain. Unlike most people, you seem like you can take a fuck load of hurt and still keep your mouth shut.” His assessment of me is astounding.
“Did you learn that from stalking me?” I sass.
“If you’re looking for me to feel some type of guilt for the events that led us to this moment, then don’t hold your fucking breath.” I bristle at the bastard.
“You’re a real prick, aren’t you?”
“You know, I’ve killed people for a lot less so if I was you, I would watch that vulgar fucking mouth of yours.”
“You going to kill me, Alex?” I press. His nostrils flare and it’s clear he’s battling within himself to control his anger. I do nothing to try and help ease his torment because fuck him, he kidnapped me. “How the fuck did you get me off the plane unconscious with no one noticing?” I blurt out.
He ignores my first question. “When you have the right amount of money, anyone can be bought.” I gape up at him, utterly speechless.
“You can’t just drug women and fucking kidnap them!” I shout and instantly regret it when my head begins to pound again. I grind my teeth and breathe through the wave of pressure.
“Take the pills, it will help.” He almost sounds sincere.
“Fuck off, Alex,” I exclaim as I continue to ride the wave of pain.
“Suit yourself. Shower is through there, clothes are on the counter. Welcome to your new home, Miss Lawson.” The smug bastard strides out of the room without another word or even a backward glance. When he closes the door behind himself, I wait to hear the sound of a lock engaging. I keep waiting but the sound never comes. All I hear is the sound of his retreating footsteps. I know without a doubt this is a trap of some kind. Given the state I’m in, I decide to take him up on the offer of a shower and pray that the water helps wash away some of the after effects of whatever drugs he used on me.
I’ll kill him for drugging me!
Have you ever tried standing under the shower head and keeping your eyes open? I don’t fucking recommend it, that shit is harder than I would like to admit. But there was no fucking way I was going to close my eyes for even a second while I’m standing here naked. I did a quick sweep of the bathroom and tried to spot any cameras. I know that these days they can be the size of a pin but a part of me is hoping Alexander isn’t some creep and watching me shower while stroking one out.
The clothes he left out for me are huge!
I’m not exaggerating! You know how girls wear their boyfriends clothes and they look cute in the oversized shirt? Not me. I look like one of Snow White's dwarfs in Shrek's clothes. This is so not fucking hot. I’ve rolled the sweats’ waistband so many times that I have a fucking camel toe and they still drag along the ground. The shirt, oh God, don’t even get me started on that. Then there is the hoodie he left that swallows my entire body the way I wish I could swallow a dick whole.
I growl in frustration, then storm out of there with a billow of steam following me out. I don’t have a brush so the best my hair is getting is a finger comb. Do I feel better after a shower? Yes, I do, but that isn’t the point. I had bags with me, could he not have stolen those as well like he fucking stole me? Like if you want to hold me hostage he could have at least had the decency to make me comfortable.
“That fucker is so going to regret this,” I bite out as I grip the door handle and turn it. To my surprise it is actually unlocked. I slowly pull it open and stick my head out. I look both ways and frown, there are no guards standing outside. I quietly slip out of the room and plaster my back against the wall. I feel like a knock off of Rambo right now as I slide against the wall, trying to find the fucking exit.
Including the bedroom I just escaped from, there are four rooms. The doors are open so I take a quick look inside. All of them are clearly lived in if the mess is anything to go by. The room I was just in was clean and bare, unlike the others. I approach the end of the hallway and freeze at the sound of voices.
“We had a tail, Alex,” a guy says.
“I know. Thomas sending those fucking heads to Vivian brought heat on us.” Alexander sounds troubled and that brings a smile to my face.
“They think it was you, don’t they?” another guy asks.
“Yeah. It didn’t help that I was released around the same time. She won’t believe us, she’ll want to see the remains to prove her point but it’s a bit fucking hard when Vivian had them all cremated.” They’re talking about the severed heads that were sent to Vivian by my sperm donor, but who the hell is the woman they are referring to?
“What’s our next move?” This guy’s voice is deep and holds a dark edge to it.
“Well, that depends on our guest, why don’t you ask her?” I still, my breaths turning shallow. “Why don’t you come join us instead of hiding, Miss Lawson?” My brows leap to my hairline. I dart my gaze back toward the way I came and debate if I should make a run for it or face these assholes head on. The decision is made for me when that snarky bastard speaks again. “We don’t have all night.” I grit my teeth, square my shoulders and hold my head high as I round the corner. I spot Alexander immediately, leaning against the wall and staring directly at me, the intense look in those green eyes has my skin breaking out in gooseflesh.
I tear my gaze from his, not wanting to try and decipher what that look is about and scan the living room. Two of the guys I recall from the plane sit on a leather sofa, one is looking directly at me while the other sits there with a laptop on his knees and his eyes glued to the screen. Another guy from the plane is leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest. I nearly shriek when someone brushes up against me. I jump away from him gasping in shock. He smiles softly and there is something about his soft brown eyes that has my anxiety easing.
“I’m Vatican.” His voice is deep and husky, his crooked smile makes him seem youthful and easy going.
“Tate,” I rasp out. He nods, then holds out a bottle of water. I stare at it but don’t make a move to grab it even though my mind is screaming at me to take the cold liquid that will soothe my throat.
“It’s sealed,” he offers. I purse my lips and tentatively take it from him. He doesn’t wait for a thank you as he moves to join the others and plops down onto the vacant loveseat. I uncap the water and ignore them as I guzzle it down greedily. I nearly drain the entire bottle in one go, then sigh in contentment as I recap it and face Alexander again.
“What is it gonna take for you to let me go?” I ask. If he’s surprised by my question he doesn’t show it.
“The truth,” he answers.
“About?” I throw back at him.
“The whereabouts of your brother,” he says without missing a beat.
I keep my composure as I fire back. “If you let me strap a dildo on and fuck your ass, I’ll tell you where he is.” It takes a whopping three seconds before all five sets of eyes are on me, then laughter breaks free from the four guys, bringing a winning smirk to my face. Alexander on the other hand looks like he is plotting ways to disembowel me.
“You think this is a fucking joke?” he roars. The room falls silent and suddenly for the first time since meeting him on the plane I feel it, terror. I gulp and try to appear unaffected by his outburst but the instant he pushes off the wall and stalks toward me, I lose the fight. My fight or flight instincts kick in and this time, I choose flight. I turn and run through the house not knowing where the fuck I’m going but the sound of his thundering footsteps chasing me spurs me on to find the nearest exit.
When I spot the entryway up ahead, I almost weep at the sight of it. I hear him getting closer but I don’t dare look over my shoulder, knowing that will cost me precious seconds of time I don’t have. I extend my free hand that isn’t carrying the stupid bottle of water ready to rip the door open, but then a scream of shock and pain tears from me when he grabs my hair and yanks me back. My feet slide out from under me, I’m about to land on my ass until an arm bands around my waist, securing me to his front. I barely have time to process what happened before he pushes me forward. I manage to turn my head to the side at the last second before I headbutt the front door. I push back but the asshole uses his body to hold me in place, his hands landing on either side of my head, caging me in.
For a solid minute all that can be heard is the sound of our ragged breaths. I don’t know what the fuck came over me. Rationally I know I would never be able to escape but the fighter within me refuses to give up and roll over and show this wannabe alpha my belly.
“I’ve never wanted to slaughter a woman so badly before,” he pants out. The sick twisted bitch inside me preens like what he just said is a compliment. I have no idea why I have the urge to push this man until I find his breaking point. I know who he is and what he has done, yet… I’m not afraid.
“Well, I guess I should be proud that I get to pop your cherry then, huh?” His answer is to growl and I can’t keep the satisfied smirk from my face.
“This isn’t a game.”
“Then what is it?” I fire back.
He grabs my arms, then spins me around and slams me back against the door. I grunt and glare up at the fucker. I hate the significant height difference between us. I may be little in stature but not in fight. I have faced hellhounds that wanted to rip me apart and survived. Alexander Denver is a fucking puppy compared to those monsters. When he bends down so we are eye level my breath hitches. Our breaths intermingle and the scent of mint and smoke hits me, I should be repulsed but… I’m not.
“This is your life on the line.” His voice is hard and firm but it's the look in those green eyes that has me tensing.
“Why do you sound so concerned about what happens to me?” I find myself asking. His eyes harden as his hands grip my waist in a bruising hold. He pulls me forward until I’m plastered against his front. I drop the water bottle and place my hands flat against his chest.