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As Dominic would say, “Party’s starting.”
10
TASHA
Now that I’ve eaten something and Matteo has left—and has been gone for a solid half hour, thank God—my body settles. I’m still hyped but drained from the hours-long adrenaline rush. Burley made me some super sweet tea and I couldn’t help the smile when he pushed it in my direction with a “Drink up, luv, me Nan’s solution to every problem.”
He’s been watching me like a hawk, but somehow I don’t feel threatened under his watchful eye. I want to ask him so many things, because a man this size who recalls his Nan with such affection can’t be all bad, can he? He might not give anything away, but it’s worth a shot. “What are the chances you guys brought some of my clothes from my house?”
Burley shrugs. “Zero?”
Okay. “Any chance we can fetch some?”
“Don’t get cheeky, luv. The boss will sort you out.”
Okay. I get the feeling I’m so low on the boss’s to-do list, I might fall off the edge of the page. “And… and my laptop… and so on?” Like my phone? Anything that could actually get me out of here with just one call.
Burley shakes his head. “You don’t need any of that where you’re going.” He takes the cup from where I’m clutching it for support and places it in the dishwasher. “Now you’re going to be a good girl and take a shower, and then I’m going to tuck you in for the night.”
Coming from Burley, the words make me feel like I’m five years old. If Matteo said them, they would have played in my head laced with innuendo… and what’s up with that? Honestly. Ever since he touched me, ever since he guided my arms into his T-shirt with such care, I’ve been nurturing a quiet but rather annoying tension there where I need it least.
“This way. Take the stairs and then to the left.”
He makes me walk in front, and I lead the way up the glass stairs to the second floor, grateful that Matteo’s T-shirt is huge and hangs lower than mid-thigh. It’s soft and wash-worn and as soon as I’m alone, I’m taking this stupid bikini off with its straps that cut into my skin.
As we ascend, I take in the vast expanse of the apartment. It is an architectural masterpiece straight out of some design magazine. There’s no clutter, and I realize with a shiver there’s no place to hide either.
“Last door,” Burley says as he herds me down the landing.
I walk into a room with a king-size mattress and views over the city. I’m still in Boston, but I’ll have to look closer to figure out where I am. Burley comes up to me and presses a button to roll down blackout shutters.
“In here.” He holds the door to the bathroom for me. There’s only a shower, a toilet, and a hand basin. A bar of soap. No towels. About five squares of toilet paper on the roll. “Hand me your bikini. Too many strings on that one. And leave the door open. Shirt only.”
The tension is back, shooting cramps into my shoulders and stomach. “Okay.” Burley is playing ‘nice,’ but not really.
I fiddle with the ties of the bikini under the shirt and manage to take the top off without having to reveal anything. I step out of the bottoms and hand the lot to him, red hot with embarrassment.
“Better get used to it, luv. Be glad he gave you a shirt.” He gives me a nod and sits down on the mattress. “Get on with it and make it quick.”
My future is so uncertain, there’s no way of knowing when I’ll be able to shower or use the toilet again, so I make the most of it, conscious that Burley is listening to every sound coming from the bathroom. Once I’m done, I wipe the water from my body and squeeze it out of my hair as much as possible. I’m going to look a picture at this rate with nothing but my fingers to comb through my hair.
When I walk out, the T-shirt wet in patches, Burley is just where I left him, not even a phone to keep him entertained. He gives a reluctant sigh as he stands. “Best put you back in the safe room. You can’t get into any mischief there.”
I follow him to the door, but when sounds come from the lower floor, Burley freezes. He puts up a hand to stop me as he pulls out his gun. He pads over to the door and peers out. There’s more of a commotion now, and he lowers his gun with a shake of his head. “Stay here. Don’t fucking move. And whatever you do, don’t watch.”
11
TASHA
Burley closes the door but doesn’t lock it, although I can see the door’s lock is on the outside. It’s almost like an invitation. If he didn’t want me to look, he would have locked me in.
I put my ear to the door and listen. Male voices, one of them that I recognize. Matteo. And his brothers? One or two others that make comments to his commands. I can’t hear what they’re saying.
My fingers tremble but I touch the doorknob, twisting it slowly. It turns smoothly and soundlessly, so I twist it all the way and give the door a quarter-inch push, waiting for the click. I’m so deliberately slow that the click doesn’t come, and I manage to open the door until I can peek outside.
Beyond the glass and steel railing, I can’t see anything except the double volume windows and the top of one man’s head. I’ll need to get closer, so I slowly sink to my haunches and open the door just wide enough to crawl out on my stomach. I try to hide as much of my face as I can behind a steel balustrade, but it won’t do much if someone bothers to look up.
Not that they would. I bite down on my lip when I register the scene in front of me, my pulse all over the place again. Matteo is standing in front of a man who has sunk to his knees, a black plastic bag over his head. Two of his brothers flank him. Burley is down there too, on standby, with two other guys who look like bodyguards. The kneeling man, who is already suffocating, has his hands bound behind his back with cable ties.
