Chapter 6
ANDREA
Iglance around the large bedroom that the hulky man, Eli, brought me to on Hudson’s command. He looked mean as hell with his knife holster filled with three wicked blades. I might have pilfered one; so I was a little surprised when he whispered not to make Massimo angry if I know what’s good for me. Massimo? Did he mean Hudson?
I obviously don’t know the guy, or what he does, but he’s obviously not on the straight and narrow. Nobody working a blue collar job would just up and kidnap a strange woman and need fifty-five men guarding his premises. He clearly has money, and plenty of it. Maybe even more than my family. This house–mansion–is huge. I have to give kudos to whomever was in charge of the interior decor because despite how big it is, it’s not overly pretentious. It exudes class and a certain level of unattainable wealth; yet it has a comfortable, homey vibe. That must have taken a lot of work and, ironically, money.
I glance around the room, ignoring the oversized bed with black, silk sheets. Across the room is a monstrous fireplace with an equally large armchair that looks inviting; an expansive ottoman faces the mantle. On either side of the fireplace are built–in bookshelves filled to the brim with tomes of every genre. At least I won’t be bored in my cage.
There’s a shocking number of mirrors around the room, which I chock up to Hudson/Massimo being very self-absorbed. One look is proof that the man takes his appearance very seriously; now that I think about it, his suits do fit him annoyingly well.
I glance at the door and walk slowly to it. I know it won’t open; I had heard the click of a deadbolt after Eli closed it. But I put my hand on the handle and try anyway. It doesn’t budge. Okay. Don’t panic.There has to be another way out.
I scan the room again. Two single doors are side by side adjacent to the bed. I hurry toward them, pressing down on the handle of the first. The bright lights streaming from the bedroom spill inside enough to let me see that I’m staring into a walk-in closet filled with rows and rows of male clothing.
Did that bastard have me brought to his bedroom? There is a masculine air about this room, not to mention the distinct scent of musky cologne making it obvious that the room has been recently used. I inhale deeply, trying not to think about what it could mean, but my heart is pounding as I close the closet door and open the second door. An obscenely large bathroom appears. A bit much for one person, no?
The bathroom is almost the size of my entire bedroom back home, which isn’t small by any means. It’s decorated in the same monochromatic black and white shades as the entire mansion. There must be a motion sensor by the doorway because soft lighting fills the space as I walk in and bounces off the luxurious finishes.
A large bathtub–that I’m sure could comfortably fit about four people–is in the center. Across from the tub is a double sink with a large, rectangular mirror above it. Matte black hardware gives the room a distinctly harsh finish, but it contrasts with a sinfully plush rug underfoot. One glance at my toes sinking into the carpet reminds me of the filth coating my entire body after my escape attempt into the woods.
In the corner of the room is an enticingly large shower surrounded by opaque frosted glass. I open the door and poke my head inside. Black shower heads are scattered everywhere to ensure every crevice of the body gets hosed down. Tempting. But there’s no way I’m getting naked in this monster’s room. Fuck no.
I close the glass door and make my way to the vanity. Some of the light filling the room seems to be coming from behind the mirror, making the frame look like it’s floating off the wall. My reflection stares back at me as I stop in front of the sink.
My hair is escaping from the updo I had done for the ceremony, which is shocking considering the number of pins the stylist had used to secure it. There are a few dry leaves still clinging to my head that I pluck out; but otherwise, I look put-together enough. My blue dress has dark, ominous stains I’m hesitant to touch, but who do I have to impress here anyway. No. Fucking. One. That’s for sure.
I glance away from my reflection to open the cabinets under the sink. The first is filled with neatly-folded towels. I close it and open the next. I come across a bottle of mouthwash, several unopened toothbrushes, a tube of toothpaste, an unopened box of condoms…I slam the door shut at that discovery.
I make my way to the toilet where I relieve my bladder, then walk back to the sink to wash my hands. Afterward, I cautiously walk back into the bedroom. I glance around again, trying to find an open window, something I can…I gasp softly. Straight across from where I’m standing is a pair of wide French doors. How did I not notice them earlier?
I hurry to them and see a balcony on the other side…a balcony far above the ground, but there has to be a garden below it, a bush, or something I can land on safely if I decide to jump.
I hold my breath as I try to open the door. “Fuck.” I wiggle the handle fruitlessly; it’s obviously locked. A frustrated growl escapes my throat. I should’ve learned how to pick a lock from Ezra, but I genuinely never thought I would need it! I’m a shameless snoop, but my family indulges me and leaves their rooms unlocked. They know I’ll find a way in regardless; I need to implement that same level of determination here. Just pretend there is a deliciously juicy secret on the other side of these doors, one that I will only discover if I can break through them…and not the fifty-five trained men who are willing to take me down if they spot any sign of an attempted escape. I am no damsel; I will not sit around and wait for rescue, dammit.
Pep talk complete and I am still no closer to opening any of the doors or windows out of this prison. I start to grow frantic. My teeth grind as I try to keep my hysteria at bay. Panicking won’t accomplish anything but clouding my mind. Focus. I glance at the French doors with determination. I’ve never picked a lock before, but I’ve seen my brother do it several times. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?
My hand rummages through my hair. I take out a pin, holding it up triumphantly as I bend down to inspect the keyhole, but there isn’t one. No key hole or slot…just a little touch pad not dissimilar to the one in my apartment. Fuck. I punch the door angrily as I let the pin slip out of my hand. I know how impenetrable these things are; hence why I have one of my own. This bastard has thought of everything.
I stand up with a whimper, my hands fisting in my hair as I pace. What now? What do I do? I glance at the touchpad again. This one requires biometrics instead of just a password, so I can’t even try to guess the code–not that I’m confident I could, given that I know nothing about this man.
I slow to a halt as a crazy idea pops into my head. No. It wouldn’t work. But what if...My heart starts pounding as I slowly bend toward the touch pad and gently press my thumb against it. I wait breathlessly but nothing happens. No sound, no lights. Nothing. I press my thumb harder against it, and a sharp jolt of electricity zaps up my arm. I jump back breathlessly, which makes me fall on my ass, and a loud ripping sound cuts through the silence.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I gasp as I rub my thumb to dispel the numbness. Anger bumbles up inside me as I realize that I’m well and truly trapped. I knew if he got me here, it would be difficult to escape, but it’s starting to seem impossible.
I slap my palm on the smooth hardwood floor as I shove myself up. “This is just a challenge I need to puzzle out,” I mutter to myself, glancing around the room again. Daddy didn’t raise no quitter. My gaze homes in on the bookshelf and the big statues placed in empty spaces between books.
“Here’s to nothing,” I mutter as I pick up a hefty marble bust of a man that looks suspiciously like Zeus with his long hair and arrogant nose.
Sure enough, “Zeus” is carved on the plaque below the bust. I lift my hand up and down to test the weight. Satisfied, I make my way back to the balcony doors. I hit the glass door with the statue. The momentum causes a painful reverberation to travel up my arm, but the glass doesn’t so much as crack. Fueled by rage, I hurl it with all my strength at the doors. Nothing. So it’s reinforced glass. Of course.
I fall to my knees. It feels like the walls are about to close in on me. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. I sink back on my heels and dip my head into my hands, trying to calm my racing heart and stop the tears that are oh so close to spilling down my face. I refuse to let this man see me break. I’m a Beaufort, for God’s sake.
“I wouldn’t try that again if I were you. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.” My head snaps up at the sound of the rumbling voice. There he is: Hudson is leaning against the doorframe with a smug look on his face. I immediately raise my feet as gracefully as I can, refusing to let him see me in any form of distress, while convincing myself that if he saw me throw that statue a moment ago, he’ll be thoroughly impressed by my tenacity. And if I’m lucky, a touch threatened.
“All of the windows in this house are shatterproof. Bulletproof too in case you’re getting any ideas.”
The smirk on his handsome face irks me; that combined with his arrogant tone makes me forget all my strategically-laid plans, and I rush him. In hindsight, I should have just thrown Zeus at him. I make a move as if to punch his jaw.
His expression flickers to surprise; he takes a step back into the hallway to avoid the hit, but I follow him closely. But this time, I’ve lost the element of surprise; he remains still, allowing me to hit him. At the last second, I change my target to his throat. Pain vibrates through my fist from the contact.
Alex spent years drilling self-defense maneuvers into me, making me repeat them daily like an overbearing drill sergeant. I’ve become pretty confident in my skills, so I expect him to gasp and double over; but to my horror, his green eyes light up, a crazed look washing over his face.
“That”s all you got, pet?” he challenges and takes a step toward me. To his surprise, I take one of my own toward him and raise my nose in the air. “Not even close, asshole.”
At that moment, I realize he’s been calling me pet since he took me. My anger hikes up a notch. He wants to see all I’ve got? I’ll show him. My hand slips into my dress, and I pull out the knife I stole from Eli, the one I kept stashed under the band of my bra. I charge at him with every ounce of rage I’ve accumulated today.