Page 33 of Beautiful Scars

I work through my memories, willing the haze surrounding last night to lift and reveal its secrets.

The club. Dancing. Bitches at the bar. Cillian saving me.

I glance across at him. He’s wearing a deep frown, his arms crossed over his chest. Was he wearing those clothes last night? Why hasn’t he changed yet? They look rumpled, like he slept in them. He made sure I was scrubbed and fed, but it looks like he could use sleep, a shower, and about three bowls of cereal. And coffee.

Damn, now I want that coffee so bad.

So that’s what he was wearing last night. But he had a suit jacket on too. Took me to that table in the corner, the private VIP section kind of thing. Talking. I sat on his lap—

Oh my God, I was practicallybeggingsomeone to kidnap me.

My spoon tinkles as I drop it into the bowl. Milk splashes out and lands on my hand. Cillian happens to look over at me as I lick it off like a cat.

Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant.

He growls out something indecipherable, storms around the kitchen island, and drags me off the stool.

“Hey!” I yelp out as his fingers dig hard into my flesh.

“Let’s get something straight, Meisie,” he grates out in a low voice. “There’s nothing you can do that’s going to change your situation.” He pauses on the threshold of the narrow passage we took to get here and shakes me. “Do you understand?”

As soon as I tip my head back and stare up at him, my stomach drops to my toes. His green eyes are near black, his mouth set in a hard, unwavering line.

What the hell did I do? Was I taking too long with my breakfast or something? Does he realize it took me forever to find the cereal in the ocean of milk he poured for me?

But all I say is, “Yes.”

He studies me for a moment, scanning my face as if searching for a lie. Then he yanks me after him as he stalks back to the dungeon.

Oh God.

OhfuckingGod.

Cillian storms down the stairs with me and up to the bed. He whirls me around. When he lets go of my arm, I go flying against the bed. My shins knock against the base, making me yelp as pain shoots through my legs.

There’s no time to turn around. No chance to defend myself.

With my hands pressed to the mattress to steady myself, ass peeking out of the dress shirt he made me put on, I brace myself for the inevitable.

“Soon, darlin’,” he growls. “Soon.”

I swing around, my heart hammering in my chest as he disappears behind the closet and up the stairs.

My legs give out. I sit on the side of the bed in my red-tinged dungeon and hug myself.

As my heartbeat slowly returns to normal, I fist my hands and thump them into the mattress beside me.

I don’t know how, but I’m getting myself out of this mess. One way or the other, by the end of the day, I’ll be free.

Now that I’ve had a chance to look around, it’s starting to dawn on me that I can’t just hit my kidnapper over the head and hope to escape. I have no idea where I am—am I even still in Edinburgh?

He mentioned a brother. Is his brother here in the house or somewhere else?

No, making a run for it and hoping for the best is not going to cut it.

I yank down the hem of my too-short pajamas as I climb reluctantly onto the bed. Thank God he doesn’t seem remotely interested in me. That would have made this whole ordeal so much worse.

I snort to myself.