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I didn’t know how much time passed. It was definitely longer than my allotted ten minutes. My arm fell asleep by the time Mr. Black’s massive frame filled the doorway again. He had to have known I didn’t shower, considering he left the door open and I hadn’t turned on the water. Still, his dark brows furrowed as he stepped into the bathroom.
Wordlessly, he closed the distance between us and stepped one foot into the tub. I caught more than a whiff of cigarette smoke. Did he smoke a whole pack? Jesus. Well, good. Maybe he’d have a fucking heart attack.
I should have been worried he was coming back to actually kill me, or at least beat me some more, but I didn’t care. The numbness in my arm spread through the rest of me as well. It was better than feeling any sort of real emotion.
He unlocked the handcuff from the plastic rod without a word. I waited for the vicious tug upward, or another punch. Neither of them came. Instead, he took the cuff from my wrist and let my arm fall to my lap.
By the time I had the energy to lift my head, he was gone, closing the bathroom door behind him.
I stayed sitting for a minute, unsure if it was a trick or not. Although, on some level I knew it wasn’t. The one thing I could say for my warden was thus far he hadn’t been manipulative. On the contrary, he’d been direct and to the point, brutally so. He, himself, may have been a mystery but his likes and dislikes were pretty clear.
Forcing myself to my feet, I stripped out of the rest of my clothes and turned on the shower. It was the least I could do to feel normal right now. Since there wasn’t a razor in the little kit, the shower was quick, even with the added time it took to brush my teeth and try to wrangle my wavy hair into submission. At least I had it cut right before the showcase, so it wasn’t terrible, just long and messy on top, as usual.
The real problem came after the shower was over.
There was no way I putting dirty clothes back on when the whole point had been to get clean. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I scooped up the clothes and dumped them in the tub. Like a washerwoman at the river, I did my best to scrub the soap through the dirty fabric and rinse it all out.
I’d just finished wringing out my jeans when the bathroom door opened. I tossed them over the curtain rod and threw a questioning glance over my shoulder. I mean, I knew who it was. It was what he wanted that remained to be seen.
He froze in the doorway, which was very unlike him. Over the past few days, I’d seen him barge into a variety of spaces without hesitation. So what was his deal now?
I leaned down and snagged my t-shirt from the tub, wringing it out too. If he wanted silence, I’d give him fucking silence. Besides, knowing he was waiting on a payout that was never coming made me less inclined to humanize him. I didn’t want to get too comfortable with the man who was ultimately going to murder me.
With my clothes taken care of, I turned to face the mountain in the doorway. He hadn’t moved an inch, nor had he taken his eyes off of me. The blazing awareness I felt on my back was now focused on my front, traversing from my face to my chest and down my abs.
Self-consciously, my hand drifted to the knot in the towel, holding it securely in place. The last thing I needed was to be completely naked in front of this guy after getting smacked around for even mentioning his dick.
His narrowed gaze leapt back to my face. He held up another grocery bag before tossing it into the sink. “Get dressed.”
“Da, comrade.”
His dark brows slanted as he gave me another once-over, his mouth twisting into a deeper scowl. Shaking his head, he snapped himself out of whatever he was thinking and closed the door.
Padding over to the sink, I pawed through the bag, surprised to actually see clothes. New clothes. Suddenly the pants thing from earlier made sense, although he could have fuckingaskedwhat my size was instead of mauling me. Then again, he probably didn’taskfor anything. Someone like him made demands or took what they wanted. He and my dad would get along swimmingly.
Dressing quickly, I opened the door and walked out into the room, waiting for the next battle to begin.
He was texting on his phone, apparently oblivious to my return.
“Thank you,” I said, more out of habit than anything, and resumed my spot on the bed.
His head whipped up, eyes narrowed. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat and in two steps, he was in my face. The first thing that came was the strip of duct tape.
I didn’t even bother protesting. I didn’t have the energy. The second I saw the handcuff emerge from his back pocket, I gave him my wrist. He took it and held it, his thumb pressed along my pulse point, while he scrutinized my face. I studied his in return, memorizing each line, each little scar — things that would be an imperfection on anyone else only added to his lethal visage.
My compliance seemed to confuse him. He hesitated for another moment, eyeing me suspiciously, before securing the handcuff to the headboard. To further his confusion, I stretched my other arm out, waiting for the second cuff. It was coming anyway, so I might as well roll with it.
He muttered something under his breath in Russian, locking the second cuff quickly. Snatching the remote off the nightstand, he turned the TV on and flicked through the channels before landing on an action movie. Tossing the remote on the table by the window, he disappeared out the door without so much as a backward glance.
My head thunked back against the headboard.
18
Sasha
This fucking kid.One minute he’s mouthing off, refusing to do a damn thing I tell him, and the next he’s going along with the program without complaint. Rubbing my forehead in a laughable attempt at alleviating my headache, I set off down the stairs and jogged across the street to the pizza place.
While I waited for our food, Viktor called.
