20. Kim
20
KIM
Kim
I can't help but notice the change in Sam's demeanor. The once-cocky hockey star now paces the marble floors of his mansion like a caged animal. His anger is palpable, and I swear I've never seen anyone seem more deadly…
Or hot.
Yeah. I've accepted there is something is fucking wrong with me if I'm attracted him like this.
His mother's sleek Bentley has become a fixture in the circular driveway, and men in crisp suits file in and out of his study daily. But no one has sought me out at least.
"Fucking vultures," Sam mutters, slamming down his phone as I creep up to the open door of his office. He's been letting me out of my room some with Kelsey's supervision, and for some reason, I came to find him.
I pause, my curiosity getting the better of me. "Everything okay?"
His steel-gray eyes lock onto mine, a storm brewing behind them. "Just peachy, little dancer. Come here."
I hesitate, but step inside. The tension in the air is palpable.
"You see this?" He shoves a tablet in my face, displaying a gossip site's homepage. The headline screams: NHL Star Sam Warwick: From Ice to Ice?
"Jesus," I breathe, scanning the article. It's a mess of accusations and blurry photos.
Sam runs a hand through his disheveled hair. "It's all bullshit. But try telling that to the league, or my sponsors, or-"
A sharp knock interrupts him. "Sam?" His mother's voice drips with false sweetness. "The lawyers are here."
Sam's jaw clenches. "Send them in, Mother."
Three men in expensive suits file in, followed by Sam's mother. Her eyes narrow when she sees me.
"Perhaps the help should leave," she says, her smile not reaching her eyes.
Sam's eyes lock onto mine, a mix of frustration and something else I can't quite place. "Go get ready for dinner, little dancer. I'll see you in a bit."
I nod, and instead of arguing with him like I used to, I turn to leave obediently. As I reach the doorway, I can't help but glance back. There's a glint of pride in Sam's eye, and for a moment, I forget he's my captor. I want to make him proud. I want to make this shitty situation better for him.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I shake my head, trying to clear these confusing thoughts as I make my way back to my room.
Kelsey's waiting when I get there, expression neutral. "I heard Mr. Warwick say it's time to get you ready for dinner."
I roll my eyes. "I can dress myself, you know."
She nods. "It's easier if I help."
I want to argue, but she's right. So I let Kelsey guide me through the process, rifling through the closet full of designer clothes I never asked for.
"This one," she says, pulling out a deep green dress that probably costs more than my old apartment's rent. "It'll bring out your eyes."
I slip it on, the silk cool against my skin. Kelsey works on my hair while I do my makeup. It takes the better part of an hour, but we finally finish.
"There," she says, stepping back. "You look nice. "
I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing myself. The dress hugs my curves in all the right places, and I realize that I am trying to make myself look good. Not just to appease Sam but because I want to.
"Why am I doing this?" I whisper, more to myself than Kelsey.
She shrugs. "Because sometimes, looking good is the only power we have."
I nod, taking a deep breath. As I head towards the dining room, I think over what Kelsey said. But I know she's wrong. That's not why I'm doing this for Sam, not why I sought him out or think about what it was like to share his bed.
But the real reason is too terrifying to even acknowledge yet.
I'm barely seated when Sam strides in, his presence filling the room. He loosens his tie, a faint scowl on his face as he takes the chair opposite me.
"Rough day?" I ask, reaching for my water glass.
He grunts, signaling the staff to begin serving. "Nothing I can't handle."
The first course arrives – some fancy soup I can't pronounce. We eat in silence for a few moments before I work up the courage to ask, "How'd it go with the lawyers?"
Sam's spoon clatters against the bowl. He looks up, steel-gray eyes locking onto mine. "You really wanna know?"
I nod, surprising myself with how much I do want to know.
He leans back, running a hand through his hair. "It's a clusterfuck. But we'll sort it out." And his eyes look up at me. "I didn't do anything wrong."
And the way he says it, like he needs me to know…
"I believe you," I say softly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His eyebrows shoot up. "You do?"
"Yeah. I mean, I've seen you play. You're..." I struggle to find the right words. "You're too proud to cheat like that."
A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. "Damn straight."
As the main course arrives, Sam mutters, "Can't believe this whole shitstorm started because of those pictures at your place."
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. "What?"
He sighs, setting down his knife. "After you called your family, I went to check on things. I told you I'd fix it, and well, your brother had turned the place into a goddamn drug den."
My stomach churns. "Nathan," I whisper.
Sam nods. "I dealt with him, but some paparazzi caught me leaving. Now everyone thinks I'm mixed up in this drug bullshit on top of the steroid accusations."
I set my fork down, appetite gone. "You went there? For me?"
His jaw clenches. "Couldn't let that little shit drag you down with him."
A warmth spreads through my chest, battling with the guilt and fear. "Sam, I... thank you."
He shrugs, but I catch the pleased glint in his eye. "Don't mention it, little dancer."
We fall into silence again, but it's different now. Charged. I can't shake the image of Sam confronting Nathan, putting himself at risk for me. It's confusing, terrifying, and... oddly touching.
I clear my throat. "So, what happens now?"
Sam takes a long sip of his wine. "Now? We fight back. Clear my name, deal with your brother's mess, and make sure you come out of this clean."
And for some reason, I want to make sure that happens, make sure that we do make it out of this. Fuck, I've been so mixed up these last few days.
Before I can respond to Sam, a thunderous pounding echoes through the mansion. My heart leaps into my throat, and I lock eyes with Sam. His expression hardens, transforming from the almost gentle look he'd been giving me to something dangerous.
Kelsey's heels click rapidly across the marble floor. I hear muffled voices, urgent and demanding. Then, Kelsey bursts into the dining room, her usually composed face etched with panic.
"Mr. Warwick, I couldn't—" she starts, but it's too late.
A flood of uniformed officers pour in behind her. My breath catches as I recognize the insignia on their jackets. Police. Oh god.
"Kimberly Daniels?" One of them steps forward, his voice gruff. "You're under arrest for drug trafficking and conspiracy to distribute narcotics."
Sam's chair screeches across the floor as he stands abruptly. "What the fuck is this?" he snarls, moving to put himself between me and the officers.
I'm frozen, my mind reeling. This can't be happening. Nathan. It has to be because of Nathan.
"Step aside, Mr. Warwick," another officer orders, reaching for my arm.
Sam's hand shoots out, gripping the officer's wrist. "Don't you fucking touch her."
Everything happens so fast. Two more officers rush forward, grabbing Sam's arms. He yanks against them, his face contorted with rage as he pulls out of their grasp, and another two have to step forward just to restrain him.
"Sam!" I cry out as rough hands close around my biceps, yanking me to my feet.
"It's okay, little dancer," Sam growls, still fighting against the officers restraining him. "I'll fix this. Don't say a fucking word until I get you a lawyer, you hear me?"
I nod, tears stinging my eyes as cold metal bites into my wrists. The officer behind me starts reciting my rights, but it's all white noise. All I can focus on is Sam's face as they drag me away.
"I'll get you out!" he shouts. "Just hold on, Kim. I promise I'll make this right!"
The cool night air hits me as they lead me outside. Flashing lights paint the manicured lawn in surreal shades of red and blue. I'm shoved unceremoniously into the back of a squad car, the door slamming shut with a finality that makes my stomach drop.
As we pull away, my mind races. This is it. My chance. I could tell them everything – about Sam kidnapping me, holding me against my will. It could all be over.
But as I open my mouth, the words die in my throat. I think of Sam's face, the raw determination in his eyes as he promised to fix this. The way he went to confront Nathan, putting himself at risk for me.
I close my eyes and lean back against the seat.
I say nothing.