Chapter 6 - Gela
This is crazy. This whole damn situation is crazy.
I barely slept last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way those men dropped to the ground, and I’d jolt up like it was happening again.
I couldn’t stay in bed, so I did the next best thing—trying to pry open windows and air vents.
I needed to get away from this house and Valentin, who seems to be way too comfortable around guns.
But the windows were all shut tight. When I wasn’t trying to escape, I tossed and turned, replaying every horrific image from that shoot-out. At one point, I ended up crying into my pillow, after which I finally got some shut-eye.
Needless to say, I wake up utterly exhausted.
But the first thing I do when I step out of bed is try the door, which, of course, is locked.
In twenty-four hours, I’ve gone from hoping to get a call for that date to seeing a man get shot in the head to now being married to the shooter, who I so wanted to go on a date with…once.
Now I just want to get the hell out of here before I end up on some true crime TV.
I shower and put on the same clothes I came in, the anger at that indignity riling me up even further. Then, I head to the door and start to bang mercilessly. Let it crack, for all I care. Hell, that would be a solid outcome.
“Hello? Anyone there? I’m being kept PRISONER HERE!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “Hello???”
How the hell did I end up here? When no one responds, I slide with my back to the door and drop to the floor, shoving my face in my hands in frustration.
Okay, Gela, I comfort myself. This could be worse. Much, much worse.
At least I have a nice bedroom. It’s nicer than most hotel rooms I’ve seen, to be honest.
But still…this is crazy. I can’t just resign myself to this fate.
With renewed energy, I’m about to pound that door again when I hear the door click. My heart races as I scramble back on my hands and feet, afraid of getting smacked in my face.
Valentin enters, and for a second, looks around before his eyes land on me, on the floor. Mortified, I jump to my feet.
“Like the view down there?” He smirks, eyeing the carpet where I sat.
I just glare at him. He shrugs and walks over to my bedside table, laying out a tray. “I’ve got you breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.” I cross my arms.
“You should eat. It’s been a while.” He eyes me.
“I want to leave,” I say through gritted teeth.
“God, you signed willingly, remember?” he argues back.
“You told me I had to!” I protest. “I was shaken up…I was scared, and you made it sound like I’d be dead or something if I didn’t. Look, I have work to get back to!”
Lies. I’m still shaken up and scared, but I can’t give in to those feelings or I’ll freeze.
I need to keep a clear head so I can get the hell out of here.
I make a run for the door, trying to pry it open, but of course, it auto-locked.
That darned keypad. I turn back to Valentin. “Give me the password.”
“No way in hell, sweetheart. Until you learn to accept what’s best for you, you stay right here.” He shakes his head and motions to the tray. “Eat.”
“No!” I stand by the door, shaking my head. “Let me out, you bastard.”
“Didn’t your mama ever wash your mouth out with soap?” he growls in a timber that gallops through my heart. He then walks across the room like thunder, getting so damn close that I back up against the door.
My heart races as he glares down at me, my knees turning a little too soft. God, he’s so close…for a second, I forget this new version of him. I think back to the guy before, buying avocados, and the hopes I had for him.
He places his hands on my shoulders, and when he does, sparks shoot down my arms. Sparks that have no business being there, and I’m so furious at the effect I let him have on me, that from the shock alone, I let him drag me away from the door.
“Eat,” he says, one last time, before stepping out and slamming it shut behind him.
He comes back that night with dinner and fresh clothes.
I must have fallen asleep at some point because a sharp knock jolts me awake. I sit up, disoriented, as the door opens and Valentin appears with a tray and a suitcase in hand.
“Brought you dinner.”
I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes. “I’m bored in here. Let me out.”
“In a couple of days, I might,” he shrugs, walking away.
“A couple of days?” I screech, jumping out of bed. “Listen here, you annoying, annoying man, I’m telling you, if you don’t let me out, I’ll scream.”
“Oh yeah?” He whirls at the door, not opening it just yet, and I know it’s so I don’t run. “It’s not like you haven’t been shrieking your lungs out all day and scaring the hell out of my staff. For that itself, I might add an extra day.”
“You bastard!” I clench my fists.
“Love a girl with a filthy mouth,” he grins, in a way that makes all thoughts fly out the window. Then, he turns, like he didn’t just call my mouth filthy with a devilish smile of his own, and slams the door shut behind him.
My heart still races, an unexpected heat slicking up my spine as I go back to my bed and glare at the tray. My stomach growls, but I'm too stubborn to give in. If he won’t open the door, then I’ll set my own terms.
In a fit of rage, I dump the food into the trash can.
There. That'll show him.
***
By the next morning, I'm starving and regretting my little act of defiance. The door opens again, and Valentin returns with breakfast.
“Sleep well?” he asks, setting the tray down. Then, he notices last night’s food in the trash can. “Seriously?”
“Guess what?” I snap. “Being held against my will isn’t optimum for appetite or sleep.”
He ignores my sarcasm and checks my watch, suddenly acting like a rock. “I have meetings today. I'll be back with lunch.”
“Don't hurry on my account,” I mumble. I think he pauses at the door, but I must have imagined it, because it closes just as fast.
I immediately start to eat. I might be furious, but I'm not stupid enough to starve myself to death in here. The next morning, I once again bang on the door.
“Hello? Is anyone out there? Can you hear MEEE?” I scream loudly.
“Oh, I can hear you all right,” Valentin’s voice comes bellowing down the hallway. “And if you keep that up, I’ll make sure to forget that coffee you love so much!”
From that point on, the door banging ceased. Not because his threat scared me, but because I grew tired of screaming anyway.
Two more days pass, and the pattern stays the same. Valentin brings me meals, and I keep arguing, but he remains infuriatingly calm, which only frustrates me further.
On the fourth day, when he brings lunch, I try a different tactic.
“Valentin. I need to head to work, please. My clients will be wondering where I am, and if my employees don’t hear from me, they might call the cops or something. You don’t want that kind of trouble, do you?”
He turns to me, and his lip turns into that half-smile he uses with me when he’s utterly annoyed. “Don’t worry. None of that will be a problem.”
“What do you mean?” I frown. “How would you know what will and won’t be a problem at my workplace?”
“Everything's being taken care of, Gela,” he sighs, running his hands through his hair in a motion so soft that I find myself momentarily distracted by how long and graceful his fingers are for a man as hard as he is.
I blink away the distracting thoughts, shaking my head when I notice him turn around to walk away. “Wait…” I run up and touch his shoulder, feeling a current as I make contact with his muscles and immediately pull away. I clear my throat.
“Explain what you mean by everything’s taken care of,” I ask, avoiding his gaze.
“Eat your lunch, Gela.” He turns around.
In frustration, I throw my hair scrunchie at him. It bounces off his back, and he turns with his eyebrows shot up.
“Seriously?”
“Let me out of this room, Valentin!”
“Maybe I will, tomorrow,” he grins, and walks right out.
***
The next day, when Valentin enters, he comes in empty-handed.
I watch him skeptically, not bothering to put down the book I’m reading in bed.
“What do you want?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
“I noticed you didn’t call me a bastard when I brought in your breakfast this morning,” he grins, leaning against the door, which I notice remains unlocked.
I put aside the book and get out of bed, now perched on the side of it, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, well, I’m thinking it’s time to come up with something more creative.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe we can brainstorm together. Over lunch?”
“What?” I ask, shaking my head. “This seems like some kind of trick.”
“No trick.” He clicks his tongue and beckons with his head at the hallway outside. “Join me for lunch?”
I stand, still confused. “You mean…I can leave this room?”
“For lunch, yes,” he shrugs.
I approach slowly, half expecting him to change his mind. When I reach the doorway, he steps aside to give me space.
I glare at him suspiciously, then look out at the hallway beyond. “Are you serious?”
“It’s just lunch, Gela Jones,” he whispers, standing dangerously close. So close, in fact, that my hands go clammy at how his voice echoes in my head. “Though if you hate the idea so much, I can have your meal sent up.”
If I say no, I stay locked in here. But if I say yes, I might just learn something about him and this house, maybe even a way to get out.
“No,” I say quickly. “I…I’ll join you for lunch.”
“Great.” He breaks into a smile and brushes past me, his body firm against mine. My heart flips in my chest, and I find myself suck in a gasp of air. If he notices, he doesn’t say. He simply looks over his shoulder and tilts his head. “You coming or what?”
***
We reach the dining table, and I try not to gawk. The ceiling is like forty feet high, and a massive crystal chandelier the size of a small studio apartment hangs from the center of it. Valentin leads me to the table and pulls out a chair for me.
“Sit, please.”