Chapter 11
June
That was close. I almost told Ryker about the time when my father and I were still living in the suburbs, where we would spend hours and days outside, tending to our kitchen garden and rosebushes. I cherish those memories, but Ryker can’t know about them.
Grace’s father has been in prison for most of her life. I doubt she ever spent much time with him, and from what I’ve heard, they don’t have the best relationship. Grace doesn’t have the same fond memories of her father that I have of mine, and I need to remember that.
I spent the entire day out in the garden, after Ryker gave me permission to work on it. He led me to a shed around the corner of the house and showed me where I could find some gardening tools to get started. When we walked around the corner of the house, I also saw a pool on the right side of the property that I hadn’t noticed before. Unlike the garden, it looks well maintained and very inviting, especially now that the temperatures are going up.
I’m sweating as I get up from knees, wiping my forehead with one hand while I smile into the sunset. For a moment, I’m able to forget why I’m here, while the setting sun warms my face and my eyes trail across the landscape before me. It’s so beautiful out here, so tranquil and peaceful. I never imagined someone like him to be living in a place like this. When I prepared myself for this mission, I imagined his home to be a murky downtown penthouse with dark leather seats and a smell of cigarettes and bourbon. This mansion feels more like the home of a happy and very wealthy family, not that of a criminal with blood on his hands.
“You hungry?” I hear his voice behind my back.
I turn around and find him standing right in front of the French doors, one hand over his eyes to block the last rays of sunshine.
“Um, yes,” I respond, suddenly self conscious about my appearance. I put on a simple shirt and the pair of jeans from yesterday to work on the garden, and both are now covered in mud and old leaves, sticking to the dampened fabric.
I feel sticky and disgusting, and that feeling only gets worse when he approaches me. He looks impeccable in a black shirt that tightens around his muscular upper arms and a pair of dark jeans. His hair is combed and there’s not a single drop of sweat on him.
“I was thinking of pizza for tonight,” he says, and the corner of his mouth turns up for a tiny smile, when he adds: “Maybe with a bottle of wine.”
He scans me from head to toe, only worsening my embarrassment.
“I’m going to take a shower first,” I announce, before he gets to say anything. “You don’t happen to have any shower gel for me now, do you?”
The smirk on his face darkens. “I do, in my bathroom. You need a hand?”
Startled, I stare up at him. Did he really just say that? And what does he mean by that?
“What… what do you—”
“I mean, I could draw you a proper bath and scrub you down. Your bathroom only has a shower, but there’s a big and comfortable tub in mine.”
I continue to stare at him, dumbfounded by his suggestion. Is he serious about this? Would I get in trouble if I decline? Should I just go along to appease him?
“I don’t think my brothers would like to hear about that,” I say, remembering the only life belt at my disposal. I’m not sure if he’s afraid of the Reids, but he knows how much they care for their sister — and how important it is for them she remains unharmed.
His expression darkens, and for a moment I worry he might just grab me by the arm and drag me up to his bathroom, before he strips me down naked and does whatever he wants with me. There’s a flutter inside my belly that betrays the terror that should overcome me at that thought.
“Just take your fucking shower then,” he simply says, before he turns around and walks back into the house.
I stay behind, solidified on the spot, jaw dropped and my eyes wide. What just happened? Did I say something wrong? Or did I say just the right thing to get him to stay away from me? Is he really afraid enough of the Reid brothers to never lay a hand on me? Or was he just trying to taunt me?
Either way, I really need that shower, even if I have to do it with no soap or shower gel. I will not ask for it again, not tonight at least. If this is a way for him to exert his power over me, then fine. I can go a few days, even weeks, without soap.
Slowly, I make my way back into the house. I thought he would be in the kitchen to take care of dinner as he said he would, but he’s not there when I walk past it, and I don’t see him in the living room either, as I continue my way to the stairs. I see him coming out of my room just as I reach the second floor.
“What were you doing in my room?” I ask, but he just shakes his head.
“This is my house. I can be where ever I want, whenever I want,” he says.
He walks past me in hurried steps and runs down the stairs as if he was running away from me, pointedly avoiding my eyes.
I stare after him in confusion for a few moments before I enter my bedroom. I close the door behind myself and search the room for anything unusual. It doesn’t look like he touched my bag and my clothes, and everything I own is still there — except for the things he already took from me in the car. What was he doing in here?
An uncomfortable idea presents itself, and I search the room again, more thoroughly this time, as I look for any signs of cameras that he may have installed. But unless they are cleverly hidden inside the bed frame or behind the walls, there is nothing.
The bathroom! Maybe he installed some cameras there to spy on me. He would certainly get a better show, especially if he wants to see me naked without me knowing. I run over to the door that leads into the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom.
And then I see it. I know what he was doing up here.
There’s a little shelf above the sink that was empty when I was last in here, but now there’s a large array of hygiene products — soap, shampoo, facial creme, body lotion, and even hair conditioner and a pink razor. He really thought of everything.
And he ran up here to give these things to me. He wants me to be more comfortable.
But why?