Chapter Nineteen
Addison
Calling this a mini vacation is my way of coping with being drugged and kidnapped.
Since waking up, my mind has been running a mile a minute, but sitting down with Rowan really helped to quiet some of the noise.
There’s just something magnetic about him that smooths over all of the what-ifs and reminds me that everything will be okay.
I shouldn’t be finding comfort in my captor, but he’s all I have.
Stockholm syndrome at its finest.
Part of me knows this is intentional. He wants me to cling to him and depend on him. Another part of me is starting to see that this is who he is. He’s the fixer. He dedicates his life to those around him without considering the mental toll it takes on him.
He could really use a therapist. It’s pretty obvious that he has unresolved trauma, and I hate that it makes a twinge of sadness uncurl in my chest. When he tried to reason not killing his mother after years of abuse, it lit a fire under me.
I’m a fixer too, and in my fucked up head, Rowan is close to me now.
Oh, god.
I sound just as insane as he does.
I can’t deny the attraction or pull I feel for him, but thinking about it is making it all far too real.
I don’t know what we are. I’m still upset with everything that happened, but talking to him has helped me to understand a little.
I was in danger, and he helped rescue me.
Did he go about it the wrong way? Yes. Am I still thankful for him being there despite our fucked up circumstances? One hundred percent.
It’s all so confusing. One minute, I find I’m seething with rage. Next, he’s offering to help teach me how to cook, and that wrath dies a quick death.
I feel like I’m playing right into his hands, but can anyone blame me?
I saw past that hard exterior and brought out a playful side of him that’s addictive.
I like pushing him, and he likes pushing me back.
I’ve never been challenged in this way, and it’s unlocking something strange and excitingly new in me.
And I hate to admit it, but the sex we had was unreal. No man has ever looked at me the way Rowan does, and I’ve definitely never come twice in one night. Much less while I was sleeping. He slammed me into bliss without hesitation, and it makes my body crave more.
How can I want so much from a complete stranger? Is this normal?
Am I clinging to him because he’s kept me safe?
I bite my lower lip, not liking the last thought. He killed people! I shouldn’t think of him as a safe space. He’s a cold-blooded killer and I’m…confused.
I groan in frustration, burying my face in my hands.
The sofa beneath me is comfortable enough, but the show playing softly on the massive flat screen is only background noise to the chaos unfolding in my head.
After a thorough search of the house, I made the painful discovery that my captor had thought of every possible way I could escape.
The back sliding door wouldn’t budge, the front door is locked from the outside, and the windows won't open, no matter if I unlock them or not.
I spent ten minutes flipping the locks and tugging on them until I broke a nail, and my shoulders hunched in resignation.
Then I tried one of the upstairs windows and celebrated when it slid open. Only for my joy to wither away when I saw the drop below, and I weighed my options of breaking both of my legs to escape. I can’t run if I’m useless.
Rowan watched me from his office situated across the hall, his brows lifted and his fingers thrumming as if he was ready to catch me if I tried it.
I grumbled at him as I retired to the living room and flicked on some drama that’s gotten popular over the years.
I watched one episode, cursing my captor in my head.
I’m bored.
Watching shows I’ve been meaning to catch up on is something I like to do on my off days, but it has no appeal to me. Not when there’s a whole man I could be terrorizing upstairs.
He deserves it. Letting him off easy isn’t the Addison way, and I want to make him regret his decision to keep me locked up.
I stand from the couch, stretching out my limbs before I pad up the stairs. I can hear the clicking of keys as I near the office and stop in the doorway.
It’s pretty standard and looks like something an Oxford professor would utilize.
There’s a shelf of untouched encyclopedias, a vintage rug, and two uncomfortable chairs positioned across from the man who frowns at the desktop.
There’s a deep furrow between Rowan’s brows, and it’s strange to see this massive, tattooed man behind such a dainty and elegant desk.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, not looking up from his work.
I hang on the door, squeaking the hinges as I rock back and forth. “I’m bored.”
He pauses his typing for a brief moment before resuming. “I thought you were watching TV?”
I roll my eyes, stepping into the room as I ghost my fingers over the spines of the encyclopedias. “There was nothing good on. What’s the fun in being your captive if you don’t give me anything to do?”
“You’re not my captive,” he says absently.
“Could have fooled me,” I whisper, stepping behind his desk.
He doesn’t stop me as I peer over his shoulder at the spreadsheet open on the screen.
The file is saved as ‘Expense Log,’ and I grow curious as my eyes scan the rows of numbers.
It’s organized and neat, but I notice the inconsistencies immediately.
“You didn’t carry the one on that line,” I point to the second row, placing my hand on his shoulder.
He sighs deeply, resting his elbow on the desk as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is aggravating. I’m gone for a few days, and Thalia lets the books go to shit.”
He sounds stressed. I shouldn’t feel bad for him, but the part of me that loves numbers and fixing people is preening as I bump him with my hip. “Move, Assassin Man. I got this.”
Rowan sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Be my guest. I’ve been staring at it for an hour.”
I take over, my mind humming as the numbers float around me. “You’re paying people, right? Do you know how much per hit?”
He tilts his head. “I have an algorithm attached that’s meant to work out the numbers for me. A portion goes to the syndicate shared account, and the rest goes to whoever completed the hit.”
I see what he’s talking about, but the algorithm is so messed up and outdated that it isn’t running properly.
I click a few buttons before adding a touch I learned over my years of working in the field.
When it finally updates, everything changes.
The numbers correct themselves, and satisfaction bursts in my chest.
Rowan’s eyes widen. “Holy shit. What did you do?”
“It will take some time to explain, but I can write some notes for you.” I shrug, the corners of my lips lifting.
He pats his knee. “Sit and explain it to me.”
Heat uncurls in my lower stomach, and I feel the blush painting over my cheeks. I shouldn’t accept the invitation, but as I see him lift a brow, I know he would expect that. And I don’t want to lose at this little game.
I perch on the end of his knee, painfully aware of our size difference. As he places his big hand next to mine, my cheeks flame even brighter as I remember the way those hands gripped my hips and finger fucked me to completion on his face.
I shift, and Rowan groans from behind me. The sound is deep and shoots straight to my clit. He palms my hip, his fingers burying under my shirt as he holds me still.
“Keep moving and I’ll fuck you over this desk, Sunshine,” he growls.
The rush of arousal that soaks my panties is embarrassing. I worry that I’ll leave a wet spot on his jeans if I don’t show him this quickly. “Right,” my voice sounds unsure and meek, but I pull up everything I programmed. “Um, this is the new algorithm.”
“I know that,” he whispers, his breath fanning my ear before I feel the first touch of his gentle lips where my shoulder meets my throat. He brushes my hair aside, giving him more access as goosebumps break out on my arms. I bite back my moan as he trails over my skin. “Explain it to me.”
“I…” I fight with my will, closing my eyes as my breathing becomes deep. “I put the percentage of what goes into the shared account into the processor, and then added something that would deduct the money automatically from the payment…”
“Mhm,” he hums against my flesh. The vibration travels through me as his nose brushes me. He’s tasting me, and I don’t want him to stop. “You’re so fucking smart, Sunshine. I’m proud of you.”
His praise does something primal to me. My core begins to ache, and I feel like I’m burning alive under his lips.
Get a hold of yourself!
His fingers brush the collar, and the cold metal shifts on my neck.
It slams me back to reality as I process the predicament I’m in.
I’m seated on my captor’s lap as he gives me gentle love bites dangerously close to the bruise he inflicted, and I’m letting him touch me.
I’m making this easy for him, but that’s not me.
He didn’t sign up for a docile fuck toy. He signed up for Addison Bright, and he’s going to get her.
Our future is murky, but one thing is for certain. His attention isn’t unwanted, but he needs to earn me. Maybe I’ll regret this in the long run, but while I’m stuck here, I might as well have fun.
I slap his hand away and push him back into the chair. “We’re done here.” I stand, keeping my head held high as I saunter to the office door.
“I think I need another lesson,” Rowan calls after me.
“You should have been paying attention.” I smart, a triumphant smirk on my face.
He sighs. “I’m going on a grocery run later. Make a list of anything you would like me to pick up while I’m out.”
Oh, he’s making this far too fun.
“Anything?” I ask.
He gets that adorable little wrinkle between his brows. “Within reason.”
I wink, humming as I skip from the office to enact the first part of my plan. This man has no idea what I’m capable of. By the end of my time here, I’m going to make Rowan Kingsley regret ever taking me.
I’ll be the fucking bane of his existence.