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6
FRANKIE
I thinkthe worst part is not knowing what’s going on in the house. I can hear them talking and moving stuff around downstairs, but I have no idea what they’re up to.
At least it’s a comfortable bed, but I’m still tied up. I can’t exactly bring myself to be grateful.
Right now, I can’t even be grateful I’m alive. Is that wrong? But who could blame me? I have no say in anything; I can’t even pee in private. And I’m basically their sex slave—unless the stuff that happened overnight was a mistake or a one-off sort of thing.
Something tells me it wasn’t. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nothing comes for free. They could’ve killed me, but instead, they brought me here. So now I owe them. Yet, I still don’t know what they’re doing. What they have in mind other than sex.
Why did they accept a hit job in the first place? Is that what they do for a living? I’m in the home of two hitmen who, what? Grew a conscience at the last minute?
What if they decide I’m not worth the trouble? What if they kill me anyway? I’m not sure whether that would be a good or a bad thing. Because if this is the rest of my life, I don’t want any part of it. I can’t imagine being tied up all day just to be used at night.
Tears start forming in my eyes, and the only thing keeping them at bay is remembering how they treated me after they fucked me last night. They cleaned me up and tucked me in, making sure I was somewhat comfortable as they slept beside me. Something about being sandwiched between them was comforting, like nothing could get to me. I know it’s probably something my mind makes up. They only took me for selfish reasons, not because they would actually protect me.
Hours have passed since breakfast. I have no idea how many. There isn’t much of anything besides furniture, nothing personal, nothing to tell me anything about who Mason is. Evan’s room was the same, come to think of it. I might as well be in a furniture store, tied up to a display bed. Yet the house is so big, so nice, the appliances in the kitchen shining and new. But it doesn’t look like they’re ever used.
Who are these guys?
I’m so bored, so desperate for anything to take my mind off what’s happened to me that even these two seem interesting and worth getting to know. I guess if I’m going to be here for a while, I might as well.
It’s sleep I need more than anything, though, considering I spent most of the morning thinking and dreading instead of sleeping. I’m struggling not to cry because I can’t use my hands to wipe away my tears or blow my stuffy nose.
I must doze off at some point because I wake with a start when the bedroom door opens.
Evan marches in, scowling the way he always does. “I made you a sandwich.” He leaves a paper plate on the bed with what looks and smells like tuna salad on white bread. “I figured you would be hungry.”
“Is it lunchtime?”
He looks around, still scowling. “Right. No clock. Yeah, it’s past one.” When I wiggle my hands around, he takes the hint and unties me. I have to shake my hands out to get the blood flowing again before picking up one half of the sandwich.
“So, what have you been doing today?” I ask before taking a bite.
To my surprise, he laughs. When all I do is look at him, chewing, he laughs again. “Are you honestly asking?”
“Yeah. I hear you guys moving around a lot downstairs. I can hear you talking, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. It sounds like you’ve been busy, and I’m… ahm, bored.”
“Yeah, we’re busy.” He ignores my last statement, and I can practically see a wall coming down between us. So he’s not going to share anything.
I take a different route. “Today is Christmas Eve, isn’t it?”
“All day long.”
My throat tightens as pain blooms in my chest. I do my best to push them both back while eating, keeping my eyes down so he can’t see the tears that sprang into them all of a sudden. “I have to admit, this isn’t where I figured I would be spending it.”
He snickers like it’s funny. “What were your plans?”
“I didn’t really have any.”
“No family or anything like that?” There’s interest in his voice, and it occurs to me that he would need to know. After all, there might be somebody looking for me. Somebody who isn’t Dimitri.
But there isn’t. “No. I’ve been on my own for a few years now.”
“Friends?”
“Not really. I was never any good at making friends… or keeping them. Maybe a couple of girls at the club, but we were more acquaintances than anything. I’m too awkward.” I can’t believe I just admitted that. Then again, the man has seen more of me than any man ever did before him, so why bother keeping anything to myself?
