11. Anna
ANNA
Call the cops!
My brain has been screaming at me to do it for the last hour, but every time I pick up the phone, I can’t bring myself to do it.
I want so badly to do what any rational person would, but I keep getting hung up on his threat.
This asshole may not know about Sebastian exactly, but he does know I don’t want to be found.
How could I cooperate with the police without blowing my cover?
Perhaps I can make a deal with them. If I can learn enough about Mr. Blue Eyes, maybe the police could put me into witsec or something.
But how do I learn more?
Hell, how did he even find me?
I may not have any answers to those questions, but I know there are only two ways he could have gotten into the apartment, both of which are vulnerable to human error.
The front door locks automatically, but if there’s any air pressure out in the hallway, you need to push the door shut.
Something Darcy has forgotten to do a couple of times.
Since the mistake was always made when she was drunk, I figured I wouldn’t need to check last night, seeing how she was at a theater that doesn’t serve alcohol.
But then he also could have gotten in from the balcony, which Darcy regularly forgets to lock after she goes outside to smoke.
So long as I’m diligent, that asshole won’t be making his way back in here.
But there is one upside to his breaking and entering.
My roommate got to see him.
When Darcy gets back from classes, I do my best to not act like I’m freaking the fuck out and even attempt to engage in a little bit of girl talk, as to not make it seem like I’m interrogating her. It also helps that I’m baking chocolate chip cookies and all too willing to share them.
Like a moth to a flame, Darcy immediately snatches up several cookies fresh from the oven and moans around a mouthful as she takes a seat on the unoccupied counter. “What brought this on?” she asks, gesturing to the baking supplies.
I can’t say I blame her for finding it weird. Since moving here, I haven’t made anything in the kitchen that wasn’t a TV dinner that I just threw in the oven.
I shrug. “Just in a good mood, I guess.”
Darcy grins. “I believe that’s called post-orgasmic bliss. And if getting laid leads to more baked goods, I’ll call up your cop myself and get his sexy ass over here to service you again, because these are heavenly.”
Bingo.
“Did you actually see his, uh…?” I try to play coy, getting exactly what I want.
She shakes her head. “He had pants on when I ran into him, but might I say, wonderful selection on your choice of body. Even with how dark it was, I could still see some damn fine definition. I haven’t seen abs that lickable since I watched Magic Mike .
” She emphasizes the point by fanning herself, wanting to know if I let him use his handcuffs on me, but I refocus the conversation in the hopes that she saw his face.
The last thing I want to think about is his body, outside of any identifiable traits.
Seriously, how messed up does a girl have to be for her body to respond in that kind of way to the psycho who broke into her home?
I shake my head, as if it has the powers of an Etch-A-Sketch and can make it go away. Fat chance.
Sadly, Darcy can only allude to a “good nose” and a “strong jaw.”
“Did you see any tattoos or scars, maybe?”
Unsurprisingly, Darcy gives me a look that may as well scream why are you asking me?
After all, I ’ m the one who was supposed to have seen him naked last night. Still, I try to play it off, biting my bottom lip. “I didn’t exactly get as good of a look at him as I should have before a blindfold may or may not have been introduced.”
Darcy perks up at this, congratulating me on my sense of “bedroom” adventures.
But more importantly, she adds, “I couldn’t see what the designs were, but he had a sleeve of tattoos on his left forearm, and when I turned the bathroom light on, I caught a glimpse of his back.
Looked like he had a couple of scars.” She indicates where, pointing to spots on my back near my right kidney and the bottom of my left shoulder.
Yahtzee.
She also mentions he has dark hair, adding to my growing list of identifiable characteristics. At this rate, I’ll have a full-body sketch available by the end of the week.
When Darcy heads out for the night, I’m actually feeling pretty damn good.
She’ll likely be crashing at Amelia’s, meaning I can rest assured once she heads out.
Double-checking the front and balcony doors, I can lie down in peace.
The Egyptian cotton of my bed sheets has never felt so delicious before.
It’s the rest of a mind and body at ease.
I don’t know how long I’m asleep when I faintly become aware of pressure against my wrists…
Or the fact that the pressure is bringing my wrists up over my head without my consent.
What the hell?
I’m far too out of it that it takes a moment too long to process what’s happening, and by the time I do, it’s too late. The mattress noticeably dips under someone else’s weight, and my eyes fling open as that weight settles on me !
I had fallen asleep with my comforter pulled up over my body, but it’s now at the end of the bed, leaving no barrier between his body and mine as an all too familiar pair of blue eyes looms over me and a hand covers my mouth.
How the hell did he get in here?
What the hell is he planning to do to me?
And why the hell can ’ t I pull my arms back down to my sides?
My instinct is to lash out at him, preferably to aim for the eyes, but metal rattles on metal as something cold and unforgiving digs into my wrists.
I look up, and even in the limited light, I can clearly see handcuffs!
The fucker locked me to the metal posts of my bed frame.
I thrust my knee up. Or at least, I try. He anticipates the move, his own knee forcing mine aside and pinning it down onto the bed. The rest of his weight settles onto my other thigh, leaving me to uselessly thrash and scream muffled expletives into his palm.
“How my little canary loves to sing,” he purrs. “I thought we had a deal, and yet, here you are, already breaking it. What am I to do with you?”
It’s alarming how quickly I run out of energy, because it only takes another minute or so struggling under his weight before my limbs grow too heavy to keep fighting, and I fall slack.
“This is never going to work, Anna, if we don’t trust each other,” he damn near chuckles in a whisper. “And you’ve proven I can’t trust you.”
I try to speak more calmly, praying he’ll let his hand up enough to let me actually talk, but he just tsks, somehow managing to make out my words when I say I haven’t spoken to anyone about him.
“Our deal also stipulated that you don’t go poking around.”
Oh fuck.
How could he possibly know that?
He clicks his tongue. “I warned you. Defying me would have consequences.”
Is it just me, or is he even bigger than he was last time?
The baggy hoodie he had been wearing is now replaced with a black, long-sleeved Henley that hugs his figure a little too well.
His waist may be narrow and his abdomen flat, but every flex of his arms showcases the muscles beneath the fabric.
Even his shoulders and chest are well-defined, leaving no mystery as to why I can’t fight back.
I consider myself to be rather shapely, yet my thighs have nothing on his.
The muscle in them alone is enough to pin my lower half to the bed, and he knows it.
Is he always erect, or does scaring the shit out of innocent people just turn him on? Because as he adjusts his weight, I can feel his hard-on, and it’s a little too close for comfort to my ladybits.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?
I was mortified after the last time, and I swore to myself that my being wet had nothing to do with him . I’ve merely been sex deprived.
And that has to be the same reason why I feel the slickness building there now…
I hope.
Just as before, my heart threatens to explode with how hard it’s jackhammering in my chest, and my breathing is shaky and shallow.
If I was petrified last time, there aren’t any words to describe what I am now.
I’m entirely at his mercy, and screaming as loudly as I can against his palm earns me nothing but a low laugh from him.
Reaching for the nightstand with his one free hand, he taps a button on my remote, and music instantly drowns me out.
“I’m almost tempted to say your defiance is cute, if not for the fact that it’s also incredibly stupid,” he says, igniting a whole new fear in me when I catch the gleam of metal as he withdraws a knife from his back pocket.
“ I ’ m sorry.” I don’t know if he can even understand me, but his eyes look as amused as the grin of the skeleton mask he’s wearing.
“I have a feeling you have more to risk here than I do,” he purrs.
“Sure, the police might be able to peg me as a suspect, but that’s all they’ll have.
Assumptions. Even if you go screaming every last detail you’ve procured about me, it’s still circumstantial.
You, on the other hand…” He drags the tip of the blade along the side of my face, using it to brush the hair from my eyes.
“If word gets out about who you are, where you are , there aren’t going to be any assumptions about what will happen to you, will there? ”
He doesn’t expect a response, and I can’t give one.
Because he’s right.
“I want to be lenient with you, but how can I be when you refuse to follow simple instructions?” he purrs. I try to tell him I won’t go against the terms of our deal, but he’s unmoved.
“ Please!”
He examines the blade, like his answer is inscribed on the hilt. “I’m afraid a deal is a deal. Unless you can offer some sort of collateral, I see a call to the biggest local news outlet in your near future.”