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Walking over, I hit the lever, watching the water go down and come back up.
Well, that was one thing, at least.
A bathroom.
Not glamorous, but necessary.
I was just about to turn back out of the room when something long-buried in my memory clicked. Some video I’d seen on social media about self-defense. Hairspray or perfume in the eyes. A broken mirror for sharp pieces to stab or slice someone with. And the top of the toilet tank. To knock someone out with.
Now, I couldn’t exactly walk around with the toilet tank lid hidden behind my back. But I could try to stash it somewhere that Matteo couldn’t see, but I could easily grab it if I found an opening to do so.
And what were the chances that he would even notice it had gone missing? No one thought to check for their toilet tank lid.
Decision made and weapon acquired, I picked it up and made my way back into the main space, looking around for somewhere to stash it.
But there weren’t really any good options.
So I went with the only one I had.
Inside the old dryer with its solid door, so you couldn’t see inside.
Hopefully, he didn’t attempt to do any laundry while I was in the basement, or my plan would go to hell. But at least I knew where it was. If I could somehow distract him for long enough for me to grab it, I could whack him with it and make a run for it.
If he was being honest with me and his mafia friends didn’t know about me, then I had no reason to believe I would encounter anyone else on my way out of the place. The drive hadn’t seemed all that long, either. I figured we still had to be in Navesink Bank somewhere. And if that was the case, I was pretty sure I could find my way around pretty easily.
I hadn’t been a native of the area, but I am a complete insomniac. And when I can’t sleep, I tend to drive until I get sleepy enough to go home and get a little sleep. So I’d done my fair share of joyriding in Navesink Bank. Windows down in the summer, music thumping softly. In the winter, taking sips of the hot chocolate I made for the ride. I’d probably driven every main and backroad in the town fifty times over.
So once I got out, I just had to get my bearings, then run like hell. If I was lucky, I could get somewhere public for safety reasons while he was likely looking for me, then get right to the police station as soon as possible.
Feeling mildly better about my plan, I walked over toward the staircase in my bare feet, then sat down on the second lowest step.
It was cold.
And I got moodier by the moment as I sat there because of it.
By the time I heard footsteps above me again, I was feeling pretty grumbly.
Matteo moved through the house, away from me, and I got up to follow his movements, wanting to see if I could hear anything that might let me know what he was up to.
I heard beeping.
A coffee maker, maybe?
It had to be getting closer to morning than evening at that point. Coffee would make sense.
From there, I followed the footsteps as they led toward the back of the house. There was nothing for a second before I heard water running.
He was going to take a shower.
After cleaning up a crime scene.
And what did my stupid ass think about?
What he looked like under his clothes.
I know!
I couldn’t fathom why my mind would go there when the man had kidnapped me and tossed me in his basement. But go there it did.
His clothes were typically pretty fitted, so it didn’t leave a whole heck of a lot to the imagination. He was slim, but I was sure there were muscles under those sweaters and Henleys. My mind pictured those wide shoulders tapering to his narrow waist with some etches of muscles along the way that I could sink a finger between.
Ugh.
God.
No.
What was wrong with me?
Shaking my head, I moved away from the shower noises above me when the steady thumping slowed down as the water started to splash off the man I had no business picturing naked.
It was only maybe ten more minutes before the shower cut off, and the footsteps resumed, going back toward where I thought I’d heard the coffee maker, staying in that area for a few more minutes, then making their way in my direction.
The heavy object in front of the door slid across the floor.
The door unlocked.
And then he was coming back down the stairs looking fresh in a white tee and black lightweight pajama pants with his long hair pulled back into a bun at the crown of his head. His eyes were heavy-lidded, though, and his olive-toned skin seemed paler than usual.
