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“In here.”
He comes to lean in the door and Natasha turns to look at him, her eyes going wide as she recognizes him from this afternoon.
“I’m going to my regular,” I say as I pick a black shirt from my cupboard. “You know the drill.”
“Sure thing. Enjoy.” Burley beckons Natasha with his hand and when she doesn’t move, I groan inwardly.
“Unless you want to watch me strip and shower, kitten, now’s the time to leave.”
That gets her going. For some fucked-up reason I can’t help the twitch of my lips when she zips through the door and Burley closes it with a wink.
8
TASHA
It’s the same guy that held me this afternoon when I got injected and kidnapped. He is massive. Probably over three hundred pounds of muscle and flesh, ready to rip my limbs off one by one. His bald head shines and his thick neck folds at the base of his skull where tattoos disappear under his collar. I gauge him to be in his late forties by the wrinkles on his brow and eyes. He strips his jacket off, revealing two guns on his body, and underneath his white shirt I spot the edges of a bulletproof vest. He tosses his jacket on the leather sectional and eyes the mess on the coffee table.
“Did they feed you?” he asks, his voice gruff.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Are you going to behave, or do I tie you up?”
My eyes flit over the room, but I already know there’s no easy way out of this apartment.
“Bulletproof, soundproof, security all over, everything managed electronically. Don’t even think about it, luv,” he says as he stacks the boxes and finds one with two slices of pizza in it. “Fancy some Frutti di Mare?”
I can’t eat but I must. “Thank you.”
He nods with his head towards the kitchen island where Matteo’s phone did some gymnastics earlier on. “Sit. And put your hands where I can see them.”
I clamber onto a stool, relieved that my shaky legs don’t have to hold me up anymore. I place my hands on the counter, in awe that my fingers are still trembling. This is more than a blood sugar drop. The interaction with Matteo, the heat of his hard body against mine did one thing, while his words did the exact opposite. And then he said the last thing I ever expected: If you were mine, I wouldn’t be eating fucking dinner if you’d been kidnapped. I’d be tearing the fucking world down to find you and make sure you were safe.
The mere thought of those words makes my heart rate surge again but… Dad. That video footage he showed me couldn't have been live. It must have been staged. How else? Since Mom and Kevin’s car wreck, we have been each other’s lifelines. Now it’s been severed and I’m afloat in a world where he won’t find me. Trafficked.
I watch as Egg Head microwaves the pizza and switches on the electric kettle. The kitchen is state of the art, quiet drawers, empty counters, slick in black marble and stainless steel. Egg Head opens the fridge and it’s fully stocked with what looks like home-prepped ready meals, milk, yogurt, and fruit. Seems my keeper eats at home most of the time.
“What’s your name?” I ask as he takes out some orange juice and milk and pushes it in my direction.
“Burley.” The microwave pings and he takes out the plate, his palm the size of it. God, those fingers.
“We’ll be spending a lot of time together?” I ask, knowing I’m probably not allowed to fish for info.
“Better me than someone else.” He puts a glass in front of me. “Now shut up and eat up.”
I bow my head at the reprimand and focus on tearing the pizza into bitesize pieces, my stomach still too hyped to take food.
Burley goes around the kitchen island to the living room area behind me to gather beer bottles and cans. I’ve shadowed in the ER. I know how much damage you can inflict with a broken bottle. Or a knife.
I don’t need a gun to off my kidnappers, but I don’t know if I have it in me to kill someone. My whole career is based on saving lives, not taking them. I’ve never anticipated being in a situation where I’d need to fight for my own life, but now… I’m going up for auction, whatever that means. I don’t allow my imagination to run wild yet. It’s been a crazy day as it is.
Burley is back in the kitchen and tossing the cans and bottles into the recycling bin, which I can’t see from where I’m sitting. Once he’s done, he leans on the counter and watches me.
“Just one bite, luv, to get things going.”
I squash my reluctance and take a bite and as soon as the juicy richness of the tomato base hits my tongue, I realize I’m famished. And this pizza is delicious. Nothing like the thick-based American slice I sometimes get for a hasty lunch. Delicate and fresh and the sweet seafood balances the tang of the tomato perfectly.
For a moment it’s quiet as I eat, and even quieter when I take a break. Burley’s eyes are on me, and then his gaze shifts to over my shoulder.
