Willing Captive (Captive)

Chapter 1

Leo

The wild adventure I thought I was getting has been pretty dull.

I fight a yawn, knowing if I let one go, I’ll be doing it for the rest of the day.

I could use a nap after staying up way too late reading.

It’s kind of ridiculous because I read most of the day, but I always promise myself just one more chapter.

There’s only so much I can do at a laundromat, and it doesn’t exactly take a lot of time.

I check the machines and empty out the change.

Then I sweep a few times and take the trash out.

It’s tedious, especially when I built a whole scenario on how this would go in my head.

Doing that is normal for me. I’ve been told more than a few times I live too much inside of my own imagination.

That in itself sounds silly, but I understand the sentiment.

When a man in a swanky suit knocked on my door and informed me that I had a long-lost uncle on my mother’s side who left me a laundromat, I was excited for a new journey.

Not that I was on a journey to begin with, but I had to start somewhere.

That’s what life’s about, and I wanted to get out there and live it.

Ignoring all the times my mom told me that her family was bad news, I was focused on getting out of the small town I lived in. Sure, she wasn’t in contact with any of them, but I never agreed to that. Besides, the uncle that left it to me is dead, so I’m not sure it fully counts.

Either way, I wasn’t telling my mom about it. She would have told me to turn them down and send them away, but there’s no adventure in that. That’s how I ended up living a state away in my very own laundromat. Thankfully it came with the apartment above it.

The entire laundromat reminds me of something out of a mob movie.

Maybe it has to do with all of my mother’s warnings about her family and not being involved with them.

Or it could be that I saw my uncle’s name, Antonio Rossi, and that made me pause.

It sounds like the name a gangster would have.

Not that I know a ton about the mob outside of movies and books.

In the few weeks since I’ve been here, there hasn’t been any mob activity, and no one has asked me to launder money. Although once I googled what laundering money means and that it has nothing to do with actually washing it, I was disappointed.

I strum my fingers on the small counter that I spend most of my day sitting behind and debate if I should heat up leftover Chinese food for dinner or toss a pizza in the oven.

The bell over the door chimes, and I glance up as a man in his mid-twenties comes rushing in.

He pauses when our eyes meet and raises his chin before slowing his steps.

He heads for the other side of the laundromat, but he doesn’t have any laundry with him.

My guess is he’s meeting the person bringing it here.

When another yawn almost hits me, I grab some quarters and go over to the vending machine. I’ve never had an energy drink, but that might do the trick. After I key the number in and it drops down, I crack it open for a taste.

“Ew,” I mutter to myself before I take another sip. It’s just as bad the second time, but I keep drinking it. I already paid for it, and I won’t let it go to waste.

I take my seat behind the counter again and watch as the man lingers in the corner.

I debate if I should tell him that the washer he’s at isn’t the best out of the bunch when another man comes striding in.

All the words on my lips evaporate at the sight of the new guy.

Not because he clearly doesn’t belong but at how incredibly attractive he is.

He’s got dark hair with striking blue eyes that are hard to miss. His broad shoulders are encased in a dark gray suit that was made to fit him like a second skin. He isn’t paying any attention to me as he zeroes in on the other guy.

I brace for an argument of some kind, thinking I should probably go ahead and start calling the police, but this is free reality TV right in front of me.

It’s exciting until the man in the suit pulls out a gun and pistol-whips the other guy.

It happens so fast, I have no time to react.

All I can do is stand there and watch it happen.

Blood splatter goes everywhere before the man in the suit slams the other guy into the washing machine behind him. Well, at least he did it against the bad one.

“Can you guys take this outside,” I yell and then gag. The sight of blood makes me sick.

“Lock that door and pull the blinds,” the suit orders.

There’s a fierceness and finality in his voice that allows no room for argument. My legs are already moving before I can fully process everything.

When I get to the door, I engage the lock that prevents anyone else from entering but can still be used as an exit. It’s the one I use when it gets close to closing time. That way people can still leave without me having to unlock the doors to let them out.

“Get up,” the suit says. His tone is low and filled with warning. He’s so intense he even has me swallowing hard and wanting to do what he says.

“Mattia, I swear I’ll get you the money.” The guy stands but has to hold himself against the wall so he doesn’t fall.

“This isn’t about the money,” Mattia says and hits him again.

The guy goes back to the floor as more blood splashes around him. I try to ignore it as I slowly creep back to my desk.

“I’m sorry,” the guy whimpers. “It was a mix-up.”

“Get up,” Mattia orders again.

“Why? You’ll just knock him back down,” I say, then slam my hand over my mouth. Mattia glances my way like he’s surprised I’m still here before turning his attention to the man on the floor.

Clearly I’m not a threat or anything close to something he should be worried about.

His look felt dismissive, but shouldn’t I want that?

I want this man to forget all about me because I don’t want to be next on his list. If I was smart, I would be inching toward the back to escape to my apartment or the rear exit.

Instead I’m reaching into my pocket to grab my pepper spray.

The two men continue to go back and forth as I step out from behind the counter, but I don’t understand half of what they mean. When I’m close enough, I raise my mace and point it at Mattia.

“Freeze!” I shout, but Mattia barely turns his head toward me. His eyes flick up and down my body and then at the can of pepper spray in my hand.

“Get out,” he says dismissively.

“I own the place,” I snap back.

“Not you. Tommy.”

Oh, he’s talking about the man on the floor. That’s embarrassing. It’s like when someone waves at you so you wave back, but the person was waving at someone behind you.

Tommy gets to his feet a whole lot faster than before and rushes to the door. He pushes it open and takes off running without a backwards glance.

“I thought I told you to lock that,” Mattia says.

“It is. No one can come in.” Shit, why did I tell him that?

“Is that so?” He smirks, and it’s devastatingly handsome.

“Your charms won’t work in here. Put the gun down.” I keep my tone firm and tilt my chin with authority.

He stands there for a long moment, not speaking, before I hear a click, and then he places the gun on top of the washing machine next to him.

“Charm,” he says, and it makes his smirk grow.

“Hey, I’m the one with the pepper spray here,” I remind him.

“Turn it around, sweetheart.”

“What?”

“The container. Turn it around so you don’t spray yourself.”

“Oh shit,” I whisper to myself when I see the arrow pointing at me. That would have super sucked.

I turn it around and then with my free hand I reach over and pick up the gun. I’m not crazy about guns, so I pick it up by the handle with my thumb and forefinger and carry it over to the trash. After I drop it inside, he raises an eyebrow.

“Now what?” he asks. “Do you need me to call the cops for you?”

“Wait, you want to call them?” I ask, confused.

“It’s not a problem for me. The cops and I have an understanding.”

What does that mean? “Oh my god, is the laundromat actually part of the mob? I knew it!”

His name is Mattia. That sounds like a mafia name, right?

“Mob?” His bright blue eyes narrow like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying.

“Oh, I get it. You’re like Fight Club, and we’re not supposed to talk about it.” As soon as I say it, Mattia barks out a laugh. “That wasn’t that funny,” I mutter. I was being dead serious.

“Let’s get back to what happens next. You still haven’t told me what you want to do.”

Well, shit. If he’s in with the police, I can’t exactly call them. My mind begins to spin, and then I panic.

“I guess this means you’re my hostage now,” I tell him, surprising myself with this conclusion.

“If you say so,” he agrees with a shrug.

Maybe now he’s going to see that I’m a serious threat, or maybe I’ve just gotten in way over my head.