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But it's so hard not to.
I’ve even been raiding the kitchen cupboards, surprised by the variety of snacks. All of the guys seem to be healthy to some extent considering their fit bodies, yet it looks like someone bought out a whole snack store.
The twizzlers are my favorite.
I often have them with my movies as well.
Some days I don’t bother with leaving my room and even then I still enjoy the freedom of knowing I have the option to. And yeah, I can’t go anywhere outside of the compound right now, but if this is how I’m going to spend my last months in captivity, then really I can’t do too much complaining.
It beats nearly getting killed every time I blink.
I don’t ever go near the basement or the hall on its own, avoiding Giovanni. I’m not sure how long this not so horrible nature of his is going to last and I don’t want to interrupt it just by being in his presence.
Plus that damn basement brings chills to my body every time I think about the time Giovanni had taken me there. Along with flashes of cuts and bruises on Maximo’s skin from his punishments that he’s received. Even as unstable and sometimes cruel he is, no one deserves what happens to him down in that room.
However, sometimes I go down to the gun range, working on my shots. A lot of the time, Enzo pops up, joining me, and not for the first time I wonder if the house is rigged with cameras. I wouldn’t be surprised.
Still, when Enzo joins me, I enjoy the moments more than I expect. He corrects me the same way he does when he’s teaching me but he isn’t nearly as tough and every now and then he cracks jokes and smiles at me, making my chest do that stupid fluttering shit all over again.
Just yesterday, I’d forgotten that the safety wasn’t on the gun and was waving it around as I explained something to Enzo. His eyes had widened before he’d wrestled it away from my hands, turning on the safety. He’d said I was going to kill him if I wasn’t careful but even then he’d smiled at me and my face had heated.
More often than not, I wonder if this new, more mellow side to the guard is being brought out due to his current distance from Maximo, both physically and emotionally. Because he’s never been as cruel as the two Costa brothers but there has always been an edge to him, and sometimes a quick temper that reared its ugly head.
Like when he’d threatened to toss me down the stairs. Or the day he’d damn near called me a slut after Maximo had forced himself on me.
That Enzo feels so far from the one I’ve gotten recently. Which I guess can be said for all the people in this house. None of them treat me the way they once did and while they still don’t treat me with kid gloves, at least their emotions and moods are tolerable.
And haven’t ended with me being drowned again.
I push the thoughts from my head as I move through the house, headed for the movie room. It’s mid day and so far I’ve only seen Amadeo. I’ve spent most of the day outside but I want to settle in and find something to watch before dinner.
I’m pulled to a stop when I run into something hard. I press a hand to my chest, rubbing at where the impact happened as hands wrap around my wrist.
My head snaps up and I find Giovanni watching me. “You need to pay more attention,” he admonishes me. But even as he says it, his eyes are moving over me, taking in my silk cheetah pajamas. The top is low cut, showing off my chest, the thin spaghetti straps exposing my shoulders and arms. The bottoms are loose and the legs hang past my ankles, almost too long.
I’m unsure of who picked them but I suspect it’s Maximo. He always picks the most comfortable outfits despite generally being the one to make me the most uncomfortable.
Giovanni raises a brow when I don’t say anything in response to him. “Not going to apologize?” he asks.
“I could ask you the same,” I tell him, stepping out of his grip. “Ifyouwere paying attention, then how did we still run into each other?” I raise a brow at him, enjoying how the little movement makes me feel powerful.
I’m really letting this sudden shift of freedom and power go to my head.
But I don’t dare take my words back, staring at Giovanni head on.
“Here we are again with you and that mouth,” he says and when his eyes move to my feet he blows out a long breath. “Where are your shoes?”
Oh.
We’re on this little thing again.
When I first came to the compound, Enzo told me to make sure that I’m wearing something on my feet at all times. When I’d ask why, the answer had been simple, it was a requirement from Giovanni
And I know it isn’t because he keeps trackers in all of them.
He also keeps a tracker in one of my arms, so there’s no reason to be pissed if I don’t have on my shoes to keep track of me.
No, this has to just be some weird itch of his.
