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My first instinct is panic, and I flail and splash, somehow finding a strength I didn’t know I had.
“Shhh... it’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Don’t panic.”
Strong arms wrap around me, and I stop thrashing around for long enough to realize no one is trying to waterboard or drown me.
Once I relax, the fight leaves me as limp as a noodle, but I do become aware of the deep, fragranced water that is both cleansing, as well as soothing my aching muscles. It’s nothing short of heaven, and I almost want to lap it up.
As if he reads my mind, my savior brings a glass of cool, wonderful water to my lips. I want to drink it all, greedy to assuage my parched throat, but that Irish-accented voice, laced with concern, dissuades me. “Easy love. Just small sips for now.”
Instinctively, I obey.
Strong, sure hands run a soft, lathered sponge over me and massage my arms and shoulders until I feel blessedly clean, and my muscles aren’t screaming quite so loudly anymore.
When he’s done, he plucks me out of the water like I’m no more than a feather, and swaddles me in a huge, fluffy towel before drying me off.
“Need to pee,” I croak, not even embarrassed when he hovers as I empty my bladder. Soiling myself would have been mortifying. This… not so much.
I’m seriously flagging, and my legs don’t want to hold me up, but somehow, I find myself laid on a beautifully soft bed, a t-shirt pulled over my head, and a pair of boxers covering me. It feels wonderfully familiar, despite the mush in my brain.
As the sheets are pulled over me, I want to melt into this heavenly mattress and sleep forever, but the sense of the body that’s cared for me so sweetly pulling away causes me to panic.
“Don’t go!” In my head I shout it out, but in reality, it’s nothing more than a feeble croak. “Please.”
“Okay, pet. I’ll be right here.” There’s a rustle, and for a moment, he’s gone, and I want to cry. But before that happens, he’s there again, pulling me close, enveloping me in warmth. Sheltering me and making me feel like everything in my world is right again. I curl into his hard body, clutching at him and holding him close so I don’t lose the peace of mind he brings with him, which I'm so desperate for.
Strong arms wind around me, and I finally give in to the overwhelming fatigue that grasps at me with greedy fingers and sink into blessed nothingness.
* * *
I must have slept like the dead because the next time I wake there’s late day sun streaming through the windows, but at least my mind is blessedly clear once again.
I try to process how I feel, but I’m still ambivalent about it all. Until yesterday - was it yesterday or the day before when I’d attempted my ill-advised escape? - either way, until then, I’d felt relatively safe here in the Irish mob’s compound. Now, I’m beginning to appreciate how naive I’ve been.
The truth is, I’m nothing more than a prisoner.
Recent events have hammered home just how true that is. It’s sad to say, but I’ve become complacent in the short time I’ve been here.
Even sadder is, despite what happened in that cell, I’ve still been treated better here than I was in the place that is supposed to be my home.
And that’s why my head is so messed up.
If I had a choice between being here and being sent back to Vito Rossi, then there’s no comparison. I’d rather be a prisoner here than live a life tied to that monster.
That doesn’t mean I won’t try to escape again though, no matter how much Callum tried to guilt trip me. Freedom has always been the goal. It’s what keeps me going.
And I should be grateful to him because what occurred is a reminder that I’m just a commodity. Though I’m not sure I have much value beyond the way in which I was taken will prove the biggest insult to the Viper imaginable. I understand all of that, but I don’t really know what purpose my continued captivity holds.
As far as I’m aware, there have been no demands from Vito for my return. But something like that is typical Vito. He’s a master of mind games. If someone took his most prized possession it would amuse him to ignore it and let them stew and second guess his response.
And I am far from his most prized possession.
His embarrassment at having his wedding disrupted though, that’s the sort of offense he won’t take kindly to.
Of course, there may have been demands I’m not privy to, but I think Ciaran might have mentioned it.
I’d like to think if time drags on without any word, the Irish will go ahead and cut me free because there’s no justification for keeping me any longer. But I’d be even stupider to imagine the Viper won’t want me back. Not for myself, but to prove he has that control.
He’d keep me locked up for no other reason than to him, I’m his property. He may not want me for anything more than the significance of my last name, but he’ll never let anyone else have me, either. Not unless he decides to sell me on because he got some benefit from it.
