6. Chloe
CHAPTER SIX
CHLOE
NOW
It’s been hours since Kingston left me with more questions than I had when I woke up here.
At first I thought I could wait him out, that eventually he would come back and answer the million and one questions I have, but it’s been hours, and I’ve drained the bottle of water he left beside the bed and devoured the protein bar I found in the drawer.
It’s been days since I’ve eaten anything with substance, and my stomach grows louder each time it growls, giving me no choice other than leaving the safety of this room.
It’s not familiar, which makes me think we’re not in Atlanta, where he brought me ten years ago, but maybe he’s moved since then.
Slipping from between the sheets, I pad toward the window where soft light peeks through the drawn curtains.
The soft gray fabric beneath my fingers pulls easily along the rail, but when I find myself staring out at a large garden with what looks like a forest beyond, I realize I’m not in a city at all.
I could be anywhere in the country or beyond, and I would have no idea.
Pressing my eyes closed when a wave of nausea rolls over me, I slide the curtains shut and move toward the bathroom.
I do my business as quickly as I can and avoid the mirror at all costs, instead spending the time it takes to brush my teeth looking around at the solid marble surfaces and luxury products in the shower, ignoring the fact that each one of them is exactly what I had at the De Marco estate.
It has to be a coincidence.
Once I’m finished, I move toward the door and drag in an unsteady breath. I can do this.
One of the things I’ve refused to acknowledge since I woke up is that I’m no longer wearing the hospital gown Camilla helped dress me in. Because that would mean Kingston, or his doctor, changed me while I was unconscious, and after Ralph’s assault, my fragile mind can’t handle that possibility.
One thing at a time.
I pad out of the room and down a long hallway before I reach a grand staircase.
Where the hell are we?
The last time I saw Kingston, he had a penthouse in the heart of a major city. But this is a mansion in the middle of nowhere if the view outside my window is anything to go by.
Ten years is a long time, I remind myself.
I clutch onto the railing and take my time on my way down the stairs. I’m still a little dizzy, from the drugs or the concussion, I’m not sure, but I don’t need to add falling down these steps to my list of problems.
When I make it to the bottom step, I close the distance between me and the window beside the front door, where I find another garden and more dense forest.
Yep, definitely in the middle of nowhere, which means it’s going to be difficult, if not impossible, to run.
Biting down on my bottom lip, I turn left in my search for the kitchen but stop dead when I find Kingston standing at a bay window, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit.
His shoulders are relaxed, and for a moment I wonder if he knows I’m here, but then he glances over at me, intense brown eyes meeting mine.
Once upon a time, those eyes were what held me together through the worst days of my life, but they seem harder now. Like the years since I’ve seen him have changed him.
“Did you get some more rest?” he asks.
I nod.
“Are you hungry?”
I don’t get a chance to answer before my stomach grumbles loudly, causing a smirk to tug at his lips.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He tilts his head toward a wide doorway I didn’t notice before, a grand kitchen on the other side.
I follow him into the huge space that must be a chef’s wet dream and pause at the edge of the island as he rummages through the fridge. The tiles are cool beneath my bare feet, and I curse myself for not finding socks before I came downstairs.
There’s a chill coming off the wall of windows on the other side of the kitchen and dining room, which makes me think we’re somewhere north, but that’s nothing but a guess.
“Do you still like grilled cheese?” he asks, holding up a block of cheddar.
“I can make it,” I murmur.
“No, you won’t,” he replies, dropping the cheese and butter on the counter before disappearing into what I assume is the pantry.
Kingston returns a moment later with a loaf of bread and a pan.
He moves around the kitchen with ease, never opening the wrong drawer or cupboard when he’s searching for something.
I bite down on my bottom lip to hide the hiss of pain as I climb onto the stool across from him, earning me a worried look.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed.” He frowns.
“I’m fine.” I shake my head. “I know you said it’s not safe for anyone to know where I am, but could you just let Camilla know I’m okay? She’s probably going out of her mind.”
“I’ve already told them that you’re fine and safe with me.”
“You have?” I blurt before I can think better of it. Something I learned about Kingston during my time with him all those years ago is that there’s a limit on how many questions he’s willing to answer and that I should choose them wisely.
“Yes. I believe they’re on their way back to New York as we speak, and Ryker will have a new assignment shortly.”
The reminder of my bodyguard makes my chest ache. I miss him. More than I should. More than I have any right to. But something I’m realizing about myself is that it takes very little for me to grow attached to people, and in just a matter of days, Ryker came to mean so much to me.
“He’s being sent to guard someone else?”
“Not exactly.”
I sigh, pressing my eyes closed. I forgot how frustrating his non-answers are. Everything is so cryptic with him.
“Ryker isn’t actually a bodyguard,” he tells me as he adds butter to the pan and waits for it to melt.
“He isn’t?”
“No. He normally investigates missing women and children and then takes care of those responsible for their pain.”
I stare at him for long seconds, trying to make sense of the words he’s saying. Is he saying that Ryker is some kind of private investigator? And what does he mean he takes care of those responsible? “Why was he guarding me if that’s not normally what he does?”
“Because I told him to.”
I swallow heavily around the lump in my throat, my chest tightening with the realization that not only does Ryker know Kingston, but he also must work for him.
Was everything between us a lie? A way to get close to me for his boss?
Was any of it even real?
Or was I just a job to the first man I’ve allowed to touch me in ten years?