Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
He knows her name. I didn’t tell him her name. I know that. I wouldn’t have.
“Dex did not even enter the facility,” he continues casually, switching his grip to keep both of my wrists in one of his hands and reaching into his pocket to take out his phone.
No. Wait.
It’s not his phone he’s taking out. It’s mine!
He whistles some tune and starts scrolling. I drag my gaze up to his. “How the hell did you get my password?”
“I guess you’re not the only one who’s learning how to hack into people’s lives and getting your hands on things that don’t belong to you,” he says, no mocking laughter in his expression this time. I keep my mouth shut. “Face ID. You can add that to your repertoire, I suppose.”
“Give me my phone.”
“Say please.”
“Please give me my fucking phone.”
“For a pretty girl you have a very ugly mouth.”
That makes me stop momentarily because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I’m not pretty. Not with the slash across my face.
When he releases my hands, though, I come back to what’s important. I flip him off after he tosses the phone onto my lap. I pick it up, keeping my arms pinned to my sides so the blanket doesn’t slide off.
He takes my damaged hand, surprising me with his gentleness as he studies the stitches. “Take it easy with this hand,” he says seriously, and, keeping hold of it, he takes out some of the things I saw in the suturing kit from his pocket. I watch, surprised yet again by this man’s actions when he rips the packaging off an alcohol swab and pats the skin around the stitches, cleaning it. “I mean it,” he says, letting me pull my hand away. “You need to let that heal. You don’t want me to have to re-do those stitches.”
I turn my attention to my phone and realize why he was so easy about handing it over. When I hold it up to my face, it doesn’t recognize me. When I try to punch in my passcode, I understand exactly what he’s done. He took over my phone. And he didn’t simply add his credentials to it but he removed mine altogether so I can’t access my own phone.
Stupid Face ID.
I drop the phone onto my lap and look up at him, tugging the blanket closer. His gaze is sharp, intent, and I remember how it felt to have my hand resting on his hard thigh. How he worked so deftly at stitching me up. How relaxed and confident he’d been. When I recall his fingers on other more intimate parts of my body, my face heats up. I clear my throat and glance away, reminding myself that I am his prisoner. That he is my enemy. Not to mention he is a man who can easily overpower me. Isn’t the chain at my throat evidence of that? I should be using my energy to figure out how to extricate myself from this situation, not get all freaking swoony over my kidnapper’s skillful suturing skills. Christ. What is wrong with me?
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“And you need a shower.” Before I can respond, he reaches down to unlock the chain from the bed.
I gather up the comforter which is too heavy to lug along and contemplate how I’m going to get up off the bed and make it to the bathroom while I keep myself covered. He smiles that arrogant smile which I guess is more like a smirk. I swear, his composure through all this is the most unsettling thing.
He lifts my chain like I’m a dog.
“Come, Blue,” he says like a man would say to his dog as he readies to take it for a walk. To add insult to injury, he makes some sound like a gitty up.
“I’m not your pet.”
“You should be so lucky. Up. Or down on all fours is fine too. It might be my preference, actually.”
I get to my feet, tugging the duvet around myself. I take a step but stop because I’m caught. I glance down and I’m very sure the toe of his shoe didn’t accidentally step on a corner of the blanket. I meet his eyes, give him a glare. He just smiles like he has no idea. I have no choice but to drop it. He shrugs a shoulder and begins to walk toward what I guess must be the bathroom and I stumble behind him, my lead too short.
When we get to the bathroom, he walks me inside, follows me and only then does he close the door. Only problem is he’s on the wrong side of it.
He releases my chain, and it drops heavy and cool between my breasts. His gaze follows its movement as it sways then settles before his eyes return to mine.