But nope, nothing.
I didn’t even know why I was thinking these thoughts, strange rationalizations and conclusions that had nothing to do with—and wouldn’t aid in—helping me figure out what was going on or how to get out of the situation. Maybe it was a form of survival, my mind trying to occupy me with something other than what a shitstorm I was really in?
We stared at each other for a moment, this tension starting to fill me. His stare was intense and dark. Although he wasn’t standing or acting in a threatening manner, I started to shift on the cushion, acutely aware of his gaze on me.
“I want my purse and my phone,” I said, and I was surprised, even proud, at how strong my voice was. “I want to get the hell out of here.” He didn’t say anything, didn’t even react to my words. I assumed he probably expected this from me. He finally sighed and lifted his hand to run his palm over the back of his head.
“I can’t let you leave. You know that.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging from the act.
I found his pose annoying.
“And I can’t give you back your phone for obvious reasons.”
I leaned back on the couch and made a deep, frustrated sound in the back of my throat. I should be terrified, and a part of me was, but a stronger part was just annoyed. “If you think I’m going to say anything, rat you guys out, I’m not.” Of course, if I were in his situation, I wouldn’t believe me, but still, I said that obvious statement.
Again, his expression remained blank. “Wouldn’t anyone in your position say the same thing?”
“Obviously, but I’m telling you the truth. Last night, I was on my way home to leave the city. I don’t stay in one place too long, not because I’m running from something or someone, but because I’m a free spirit.” I had no idea why I was telling him any of this—maybe to convince him I wasn’t a threat. “Listen, I don’t care who you guys are or what you do. I focus on me, and that’s it. So when I say I’m not going to tell the cops or anyone, I mean just that.” My voice was strong, my conviction ringing in the words.
He tilted his head to the side as if my words were finally having some kind of effect on him despite his expression still being like a brick wall. “That may be true, and I might have even believed you in another circumstance, but right now, until I can figure something else out, until my brother is fully going to make it out of this alive—” He shook his head. “—I can’t let you leave, and I can’t give your phone.”
I set the brush down beside me and curled my hands into tight fists beside my thighs, feeling my anger rise. “So you’re keeping me here against my will? It’s illegal. Everything you’ve done is illegal.” I clenched my teeth. “It’s not fucking right.”
He smirked then, the only actual, visible reaction he’d given me since I started talking.
“That’s the least of my worries, or the least illegal thing I’ve ever done, sweetheart.” The way he said that endearment was condescending, as if he were speaking to a child, enunciating each word so it really stuck. “I’m not gonna hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. And once I figure out what to do, once it’s all said and done, you’re free to leave. You have my word.”
Like that made any difference to me or meant anything. Like I was supposed to believe him just because he “gave me his word.”
He said nothing else as he turned and left.
I leaned forward again. “Frankie.” It was the first time I said anyone’s name here out loud.
He stopped when he had his hand on the doorknob and looked back at me.
“What makes you confident in leaving me alone here with your brother? Aren’t you afraid I’ll retaliate, hurt him to get back at you?” Of course, I’d never do that, never thought about it until this one moment, and that was only because I wanted to get under his skin, to hurt him like he was hurting me.
There was the window I could try to escape through, but the damn bars stopped any hope of that with their swirly iron designs, meant to look pretty and artistic, but it was a prison all the same.
I expected him to lash out—the same way I had—but he just sighed heavily, his shoulders slouching, that weariness on his face increasing tenfold. “If I thought for one minute you were a threat to my brother, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He looked at Wilder, but he kept his emotions masked. “Besides—” He glanced at me again. “I see the way you look at him. There’s compassion. You may not know him, but you want him to live as much as I do.“ And with that last sentence, he left me alone, his words ringing very true.
Chapter Ten
Wilder
I smelled something sweet and floral, this aroma that had everything in me waking up. The pain was unimaginable, had my heart racing, my body roaring out. I latched onto that scent, letting it wash through me. It calmed me in a sense, and right now any distraction aside from the agony was what I clung onto.
I heard a moan, realized it came from me. I turned my head to where I smelled the scent, where it was stronger. I groaned again as even that slight movement had pain lancing through me like fire was racing over my exposed flesh.
Someone touched my arm, fingers sliding down to my hand. Someone held my hand. A female. I could tell that much from the gentle hold, the too-soft skin. It wasn’t Amelia or Kimber. I could tell that much from the touch and feel.
Who touched me, who gave me comfort?
The scent was all around me, so strong I felt that pain go away as if I were drugged, intoxicated.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Fuck, my throat was tight, my lips dry. “Wa—” I couldn’t get the words out, but a second later, there was a straw to my lips. I sucked, drawing the cold water into my parched mouth, almost moaning at the euphoria that one sip provided.
I turned my head when I was done, and the hand was once again wrapped around mine. Then I heard the sweetest fucking sound I ever heard. She hummed then softly sang to me. I tried in vain to open my eyes, to see who this was. She was my very own fucking angel, and I wanted her smell, warmth, and the sound of her to wash over me, seep through me.
Darkness claimed me over and over again, giving me a reprieve from the pain, but when I’d come to, it was to hear her, smell her... feel her.
I didn’t know who she was, but I knew I’d never let her go.
Chapter Eleven
Zoey
I’d been picking at my breakfast when I heard Wilder start to groan and shift on the bed. I could see from his facial expression he was in pain, and I didn’t even hesitate as I found myself rushing over to him. I sunk to my knees in front of the bed, slid my hands and fingers along his forearm, and finally took his hand in mine. He stilled momentarily, turned his head toward me, and, although he didn’t open his eyes, I felt like he was watching me.
I held my breath, not sure what to do, if I should call out for help. I was just about to, when he made a deep noise in the back of his throat. And then he started to talk, mumbling incoherently. I couldn’t understand him, but the way he licked his lips, his mouth seeming so dry, I assumed maybe he was thirsty. Thankfully, there was a small water bottle and a straw on the table, as if someone anticipated him waking and needing a drink.