Chapter 9
Sophia
The Psycho Avenger
It was dark outside when I woke up the second time, my head noticeably less foggy, but my throat drier than sand. I coughed, stretching my arms above my head, breathing in a masculine, calming scent—
Wait.
I tried the same stretch with my legs, smiling as I realized I was no longer bound.
I should’ve been ashamed at the sounds my body was making from being both hungry and stiff, the growling of my stomach almost louder than the pops of my joints.
I finished stretching and swung my legs over the side of the bed, rubbing my eyes and blinking around the dimly lit room.
“Mornin’ round number two, Peach.”
My cheeks flushed at the nickname I’d heard him use before, but then I remembered I was in his room because he fuckin’ drugged me and stole me away in his truck.
“Oh, great. You’re still here.”
“I do live here.” Grant leaned against the doorframe, not caring to hide the smug look on his face as his chin gestured past me. “Get dressed. We leave in ten.”
“Excuse me? Leave where? And what makes you think I’ll go?”
He rubbed his jaw, his face hardening as he glanced at my legs. “I wasn’t askin’, darlin’.” He tapped the doorframe. “Put those clothes on, or I’ll do it for you.”
I hesitated to steal a look at the clothes he’d set out for me—a pair of light jeans and a white tank top, both looking a little small for my size, but with some effort, I’d fit. Still, I scowled as I turned to face him, only to find the doorway empty.
“Ten minutes,” he called out from somewhere in the house.
I grunted as I forced myself from the bed and started undressing. I was quick to pull on the shirt, but just as I’d suspected, the jeans were a snug fit. I had to lay on the bed and work them up my thighs, but mid hip-thrust I felt eyes on me like the scorching sun.
Knuckles rasped on the doorframe. “Need help?”
“Not from you,” I quipped, working harder to pull up the jeans past my cotton thong. “Whose even are these? You like to dress like a woman from time to time?” Not like they would fit him any better.
He chuckled. “Those would be Tallulah’s, and while I’m not against those who do like to wear whatever they want, that isn’t quite what I do in my spare time.”
I ignored how calm he was about the jab, because if I thought more on it, it would just prove how different he was from Walton, and I had no reason, nor interest, in comparing the two.
Walton was my fiancé who never laughed and never accepted any smart remarks, and that wasn’t changing.
He’d been like that since birth. “What do you do in your spare time, then?” I asked, intending to sound more spiteful.
Instead, it came out like I was interested—which I wasn’t.
Grant circled around the bed and stepped between my parted legs. I mentally scorned myself as I frowned, noticing his torso was covered with a clean white t-shirt.
“If you really wanna know, I’d be happy to show you.
” He leaned over me, one hand pressed to the mattress by my head while his other hand pushed away a few blonde strands from my cheek.
“But you’ll have to stay a little longer…
” My lips parted with a sharp inhale of air as his cheek brushed mine. “For the full experience.”
Just as quick as my sanity had shifted with him above me, I slammed my palms into his chest, but as much as I’d love to believe I was strong enough to move him, I wasn’t na?ve. Yet, he actually moved, because…because why? Wasn’t this what he wanted—a piece of me before I went back to my life?
“I like it when you get that little scrunch on your face.” He straightened and held out his hand for me to take. “C’mon, then. We’ve gotta get goin’.”
I scowled and smacked his hand away as I got up by myself. Fixing my borrowed, skin-tight top, I asked, “Where’re you taking me?”
“Does that mean you’ll come?”
I folded my arms over my chest, trying to cover how exposed I felt.
I hadn’t worn a bra last night, and Grant hadn’t provided one to shield what the tank had no hope to cover.
“What choice do I have? If I say no, you’ll just throw me over your shoulder and force me inside your truck.
At least by sayin’ ‘yes’ I have a choice in how I get there. ”
His lips turned down, a slight divot popping along his jaw. “You always have a choice, Sophia.”
“Don’t really feel that way, Grant.” Didn’t he just say he wasn’t askin’? Ergo—no choice.
He stepped around me, pausing as our arms brushed. “Is that my fault, or yours?” What the hell? My teeth ground together as he gestured for me to follow. “Seems like you don’t try hard enough to get what you really want.”
“And you think what I really want deep down is to go with you?”
“I think if you didn’t, you’d have slapped me, stormed out of my room, and left.” He smirked as he added, “But instead, you got dressed and asked where we are goin’. Sounds like you already made up your mind, darlin’.”
I scoffed and shoved my way past him, being sure to dig my shoulder into his bicep, which was a move I regretted.
Running on empty left my body weak, and his bicep was hard as stone.
Refraining from reaching for my arm, I muttered, “Quit callin’ me darlin’ and”—I stopped myself, swallowing past the lump his other nickname lodged in my throat.
“And?” he said from behind me, making me jump.
Instead of answering, I groaned and stomped through his home.
I’d been right in assuming his house was small, but for all I tried, I hadn’t pictured his living space to be so…
charming. It had a woman’s touch, with fake, but tasteful, pink flowers and golden picture frames surrounding photos of Grant and his sister, all placed on a distressed, farmhouse-style TV table.
The curtains over each window were cream and tied back, the colors matching the loveseat and chairs in the dining room right behind it.
More pink and red flowers sat in a tall, glass vase in the center of the table, only this time, I believed they were real and fairly new.
I managed to catch a scent too—somethin’ like vanilla, but not too overpowering.
Subtle, like…like it was comin’ from behind me.
From Grant.
I wasn’t sure why, but takin’ it all in made me slam the front door harder than I’d intended. Weren’t kidnappers supposed to be dirty, filthy, and more…I don’t know, chaotic? Yet, Grant didn’t seem like any of those qualities fit him.
Footfalls followed closely behind me as I walked down the few steps from the small front porch.
I followed the lights lining his driveway, staked in the grass, as I made my way to his truck.
Right as I wondered how the fuck I’d get myself inside, his truck lit up and a running board shifted down along the side.
“Let me help you,” Grant offered.
I could feel my forehead scrunch, and as it did, I tried to wipe it right from my face. But it was too late. No amount of darkness could hide his smile.
“Hell no,” I answered, reaching for the lip of the trunk to swing myself up onto the running board.
That’s when I noticed that sliding on my heels instead of going barefoot had been a terrible idea.
I steadied myself using the ledge, and before I could reach for the handle, Grant was already there, opening it for me.
“I said no,” I reiterated as I fought my way inside, then grabbed the handle and yanked the door shut.
His laughter was visible across his chest as he walked around the front and hopped inside with an ease that made my attempt seem even more ridiculous.
Of course, he got in so much easier than me.
He was an entire foot taller than I was, and my heels hadn’t helped in that department, they’d only made it more challenging to climb.
I buckled my seatbelt and rested my head on the shoulder strap. “Tell me where we’re going.”
“You like tacos?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah, really. Unless you’re too rich for that kind of thing. Wouldn’t want to make you feel poor, like me.”
My stomach clenched as I shifted to look out the window. “Tacos are fine.”
“Good.”
I kicked off my heels and crossed my legs, checking the time on the dash.
“You takin’ me to the airport after? I—shit.
Do you have my phone?” I started searching around the truck thinking I’d dropped it on the floor last night.
But just like Grant’s house, his truck was spotless.
His silence aggravated me. “Hello?! I need my phone. I have to call—”
“Your fiancé?” His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. “Don’t worry, I handled it.”
“Handled it?” A swell of panic clawed into my throat. “Handled it how, Grant? You talked to Walton?”
“No,” he said, his tone not caring to hide how angry Walton’s name seemed to make him. “I might not have a law degree from Stanford like Walton does, but I’m not dumb. Callin’ him would only bring him here to fetch you, or one of his two assistants would do it for him.”
He really did stalk me to a T.
“I’m bettin’ it would be the boy assistant, unless he suspected I’d slept with you once he sees what house you’re at and decides to come himself. All that might enrage him more, and make him want to put his hands on you again.”
He wasn’t exactly right, yet not completely wrong, either. But telling him otherwise was pointless. He had his mind set.
“I had Lyra text you and ask you to stay a few more days to help her with a home project.”
My brows pinched together. “A home project?”
“Yep. One you’re eager to help with.”
“One that doesn’t fucking exist, you mean.” I scoffed. “Pulling strings with your friend to pull strings with my friend won’t do anythin’ in this situation.”
“It gives you a reason to stay,” he countered, his eyes darting to mine. “One that your fiancé might be okay with since it’s a female askin’ you to stay awhile longer.”
“And how would Walton know any of that unless I call him and tell him?”