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I immediately lit another cigarette and held the smoke in as long as I could, until my lungs burned from the nicotine and the lack of oxygen.
Expelling the smoke in a steady stream, I tipped my head against the bannister and closed my eyes. I knew I needed to leave America for a while, but it was clear I needed to go home, to Russia. As soon as this was done, that’s what I was going to do. The West was perverted. It mademeperverted and that was not ok.
I’d just made my decision when a door creaked next to me. My eyes flew open and shot to our room. Roan didn’t appear, yet he clearly opened the door. Not a crack. Full on, open. Was he insane? He had to have been. First the blowjob, now this. That explained everything. He was a fucking lunatic. No wonder gays were sent to psychiatric hospitals.
Getting to my feet, I approached the room carefully, waiting for him or something else to come flying out at me. That’s when I caught sight of his foot on the bed. My gaze traveled up his now-clothed leg, over his shirtless midsection, and landed on his face. He was laying on his side with an arm tucked under his head, facing the door, yet his eyes were closed. There was no way he was asleep that fucking quick.
Kicking the door open the rest of the way, I smirked when he jerked upright, eyes wide.
“Why is the door open?” I snapped, leaning against the frame.
“It’s hot in here.”
“Turn the air on.”
“It’s busted.”
I took a final drag from my cigarette and crushed it under my heel before striding over to the air conditioner.
Sure enough, the AC was blowing hot air instead of cold. There was enough gunk clogging the inside it probably fried the compressor. Or it was out of refrigerant. Either way, it was a problem I couldn’t exactly fix at the moment.
The bottom of my stomach fell out the second I realized the door was wide open and there was literally nothing stopping Roan. He could bolt at any time, but so far he hadn’t moved. I didn’t want to run to it in case it gave him the idea. If he managed to get away from me, I was fucked. I was built for hurting people, not running a goddamn marathon.
Roan cleared his throat quietly before speaking. “Can I ask you something?”
I looked up sharply, moving back to block the doorway as nonchalantly as I could. “Nyet.” Not that a “No” ever stopped him before.
“What happens if my dad doesn’t give you the money? Can someone else give it to you?”
I cocked my head. “We didn’t ask for money.”
He pushed himself into a sitting position slowly, his blond brows knitting together. “You kidnapped me for a ransom. Right?”
Resuming my casual lean against the doorframe, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Currency comes in all forms.”
“What did you ask for?”
I chuckled, raising my brows at him. Was he serious? “Why? Are you going to give it to me?”
“Maybe if you tell me what it is…” He looked so innocent, so unassuming, despite his obvious attempt at wheedling information out of me. I needed to shut that shit down. Now.
“Or maybe I’ll break your jaw so you stop asking questions.”
That damnable smirk was back, along with an impish sparkle in his eyes. “If you break my jaw, I can’t give you any more blowjobs.”
Unfolding my arms, I took a step toward him, my hands clenched at my sides. “Do not say another fucking word about that. In fact, conversation is over completely.”
He blinked once, back to being the picture of innocence, all wide eyes and pouty lips. “Why? I thought you liked it?”
It took three steps to reach the bed.
Two seconds to pull back my fist.
And one punch to the side of his jaw to knock his smart ass out.
Exhaling a deep breath, I scrubbed my hands over my face. This is why I preferred killing to kidnapping. Get in, get out. Done. Now I was stuck with an unconscious hostage, a motel room to pack, and zero insight from the boss as far as what the next step was.
Guess it was time to improvise.
