Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
It’s my fucking fault for asking. What did I think she would say? But her assessment—accurate though it may be—puts my hackles up. And rather than be an asshole, I decide it’s time to leave.
“I gotta work. You’ll stay here. I’m keeping you close until I figure out what to do with you.”
She shoots to her feet. “What’s to figure out?” She spreads her hands. “I promise I won’t say a word.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your word for it.” I say as I walk to the bedroom and grab the phone out of the drawer where I stashed it. “As soon as I’m sure of it, I’ll let you go.”
She looks at the phone in my hand, wariness clouding her features. “Are you going to tie me up again?”
I arch a brow. “Do I need to?”
“Uh, no. Nope. Huh uh.”
I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s going to walk right out of here as soon as I leave. What she doesn’t know is that I put a security guy on the door. She won’t be going anywhere. Not unless I want her to.
“Good. Watch some TV. Relax. I’ll be back to check on you.”
She sucks on her lower lip as she watches me leave. I throw a wink from the door, but I’m not feeling as jaunty as it probably looks.
In fact, I’m uneasy about the whole thing. About leaving Corey prisoner. And also about letting her go. And I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me, but I think I’m actually concerned about her state of mind—her happiness.
No, it’s more than that.
I’m fucking worried she’ll never forgive me for this.
And that is downright unlike me.
* * *
Corey
First thing I do after Stefano leaves is get in the shower and turn the water on hot. I need time to think.
Do I just leave? Is he testing me here? It seems like a mafia thing to test people. He’s deciding if I’m trustworthy based on whether I follow his directions and stay put?
On the other hand, I’m his fucking prisoner! And if I have a chance to get away I should, right?
Only what then? I’m not going to the cops. I meant what I told him. I would never in a million years get on a witness stand against a Tacone. That’s suicide. I don’t care if there is a witness relocation program. Besides, Sondra’s marrying his brother. These guys really are about to become family by marriage. I’m not going to snitch on my family.
And yeah, Sondra’s boyfriend would be more family to me than my own dad. Easily.
So yeah, let’s say I bolt. Then what? I want to keep my job here. I have no desire to go to the cops. I also have no desire to have Stefano Tacone put me on his wanted list.
Sort of seems like I stay put. Besides my lack of freedom, I’m not suffering here. I’ve been fed. He said he’s sending clothing. I’ve had my sexual needs tended in a blow-my-mind kinda way.
I shampoo and condition my hair. Unfortunately, there’s no razor. I’m sure if I asked him for one, he’d bring it.
Which is sort of fun.
When I get over being freaked out about what’s happening, it’s actually quite fun. Thrilling, even.
I turn off the water and grab a towel.
A tap sounds at the door.
Shit. Must be the clothes. I wrap the towel under my armpits and open the front door a crack.
“Oh, sorry, ma’am.” A security guard turns red in the face as he thrusts a Bellissimo bag toward me. “They brought this for you.” He averts his gaze, staring past my shoulder instead of looking at me.
“Are you guarding this door?” I demand, suddenly outraged. I spent all that time deciding not to leave and it turns out I had no choice, anyway.
Fucking Tacone.
The guard turns even redder. “Mr. Tacone’s orders, ma’am. I’m sorry.” He drops the bag inside the suite and pulls the door shut in my face.
Harumph.
I pick up the bag and rummage through it. It’s a tank top and yoga pants. No panties. It will have to do. I get dressed and make the bed, for lack of anything better to do. And because I’m one of those neat freaks who prefers things to be in their place.
Then I set back and do as Stefano suggested—watch TV. What the hell, there’s nothing better to do.
At 1:00 p.m., room service arrives with a variety of lunch options. At 3:00 p.m., Stefano finally returns.
I bite back the “it took you long enough” in favor of something more amicable. “How are things out there?”
“Fine.” He looks around the room as if for clues for what I’ve been up to. “What do you need here? Anything?”
Oh shit. He’s just stopping in. Ready to head back out any minute. I don’t want to stay cooped up here all day alone.