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I’ve played my part, and I plan to get out of here, one way or another.
Maybe then, after things quiet down, I could call Layla again. Hook up. Have more hot sex—and fuck, even in my sorry state I get hard at the thought of her.
Hard and warm inside.
This is all wrong. I can’t call her again, can’t hang out with her or fuck her. Taking down the Organization is a process that will take years, and even if it happens faster... She’ll always be in danger around me.
And what will you do? Live like a hermit all your life? Never finding happiness with a girl? Never having a family?
Dammit. Never had those thoughts before. Always lived for the moment. Guess this kidnapping kinda reshaped my mindscape.
I run my hands through my hair, scratch at my scalp. I’m a tough guy. Grandpa saw to that. But goddammit, I need a hot shower and a hot meal, in that order.
Also need to piss and find some water to drink. There has to be a bathroom around here, and since I’m not tied up anymore, I push myself upright, keeping a groan between my teeth.
I reach the wall and keep a hand on it for steadiness as I limp along, walking the length of the basement.
Fuck, my body is one giant bruise. I take slow, geriatric steps, waiting for my fucking muscles to relax a little and allow me full body movement.
This damn dizziness isn’t helping. God, I hope I didn’t get a concussion. Concussions suck, and I should know. I never told Layla, or the guys, that the accident that left me just a little bit deafer wasn’t as insignificant as I pretended.
I mean, to get your eardrum perforated and fucked up so badly your hearing goes down by thirty percent from its already low capacity is no small deal, and the concussion was bad enough to keep me in bed for quite a few days and depressed for a good while longer.
Mix it up with the shit going down with the Organization, with my parents on trial and the nightmares about it, and the coincidental discovery that I have more responsibilities than I ever imagined I’d have at this age… Well, let’s just say it wasn’t an easy time.
If it hadn’t been for Hot Body… if it hadn’t been for Layla, I honestly don’t know how I’d have made it through that strange time. She’ll never know that her body, her hold on me was my lifeline for so many months. That the thought of seeing her again was what kept me floating.
Don’t show weakness. Ever. That’s what my grandpa taught me, and it’s a habit too ingrained to break.
Damn good thing, too, with everything that’s been going on. I’ve never been so torn between what I should do and what I fucking need before. And I fucking needed her then.
Just like I do now.
Stopping, I slam my fist into the wall and try to control myself. This isn’t about what I want. It’s as if the hits I took to the head weakened my resolve, my will.
Fuck you, Hawk. You’re not three. You don’t always get what you want. Is the safety of those you love not enough? Should it all go down the drain because you decided you need a girl—a hot, sexy, kind girl, sure, a sassy, funny girl—but so what?
Suck it up.
So I get going once more, hugging the wall, and the next door to my left has TOILET written on it in bold black letter. I shove at it.
It doesn’t budge.
Dammit!
Okay. Upstairs. Layla went through the door, so it’s probably unlocked. No reason to lock all the doors when the warehouse main is as tight as a safe, right?
They know I can’t escape, damn them.
Ah there. Another door with a TOILET sign on it, and when I shove at it, it opens and I stumble inside.
First thing I notice is the sink.
Water.
I stumble to the counter holding the sink and turn the water on full blast, then shove my hands under the cool flow and splash my face. I rub the water over my swollen jaw, over my filthy beard, swallow some and let it travel down my parched throat.
God fuck, it feels good.
