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CHAPTER FIVE
~Jules~
Thank God, when my consciousness begins to stir, my head isn’t pounding anymore, and even though my throat is bruised and tender, I no longer have to breathe shallow breaths. I must have enough painkillers flowing through my system by now, breaking the cycle of pain. I don’t ever want to feel that level of agony again. I feel like I’m in a cyclone going in reverse, and now I’m sorting through the destructive aftermath it left in its wake, making my way back to the present. Slowly, I open my eyes to rediscover I’m not at home in my bedroom. Memories of the past twenty-four hours come flooding back to the forefront of my mind, drowning me in a tide of storm surges.
It’s quiet in the room, and as I strain my ears listening for sounds, I hear nothing. I don’t know what to think of my situation. Was this a hostage situation, and they want a ransom? Or was I truly abducted, never to taste the freedoms that are now out of my reach? What in the hell do these men want with me, anyway? I don’t think they want to hurt me, even though I was brutally strangled during my capture. The two men I woke up to before were savagely pissed when they found out how vicious my kidnappers were. If they did want to abuse me, why would they have given me a nice bed, pain medicine, or spend the night in my room out of concern for my wellbeing?
I’m confused about what to think of Green Eyes, with the way he tenderly touched and stroked me. The concern in his eyes seemed to speak volumes of remorse, even though he looked every bit the part of a coldblooded killer. Oddly, though, he made me feel surprisingly comfortable.
The hard muscles that rippled on that man’s body were purely fascinating; even his neck was roped with muscles. While I’d only ever seen Jake’s eight-pack, I would take bets Travis sported his own set under his shirt. His hair was cut short and was a beautiful, deep, dark brown. He had an overgrown five o’clock shadow that outlined his strong jaw. The poor guy had spent the last twenty-four hours taking care of me. The scruffy dusting of hair on his face worked for him, but I had a feeling any look would work for this man. There had been moments I felt butterflies fluttering around in my belly, and I’ve never been more confused in my life. I’m not sure what all of that means.
Clearing my thoughts, I open my eyes to the same dim lighting; it’s casting shadows throughout the entire room. At first glance of my prison cell, it appears as if I’m in a luxury hotel room, not one of those roach motels for fifty bucks a night. Scanning the room, to my right I find a full, private bathroom. Straight ahead is a sitting area with a large print sofa, and just behind the sofa to its right is a little kitchenette with a small eating table, microwave, and refrigerator. It’s fully-furnished and decorated with paintings and fake plants spread throughout the room, just like I’m staying in a top-dollar hotel suite.
All of the walls are a creamy taupe, and I spy a colorful, large framed print in the kitchen area that catches me eye. I squint, arching my neck forward as if a few inches will make a difference in being able to make out the print. It couldn’t be, could it? From this distance, it looks like a large-scale replica of the one-of-a-kind ocean scape painting I have back in Massachusetts. The room is too dark to see it clearly from where I lay, but the likelihood of it being a reproduction is nil. I shake my head dismissing the absurd thought. I slowly glance around the rest of the quarters, noticing everything has been well decorated with a perfect balance of symmetry, color, and fashion in every part of the room. Everything appears neat, clean, and smells fresh, including the soft comforter wrapped around my body. I close my eyes and scold myself for having these thoughts. Really, Jules? Like you really need to let yourself be distracted looking at balance, color, and symmetry at a time like this! What I need to do is find a way out of here and not let myself become preoccupied with decor, fabrics, and paintings.
I see an IV bag hanging on the wall to my right, and as I follow the line, I see it’s no longer connected to me. It looks as if they might have disconnected the IV while I was asleep. I sigh in relief; I hate needles, they give me the willies. Looking down to my right arm, I discover a cannula taped over and violating the vein in my right arm. Crap! I clench my fists, wanting it out of my body. There is a small alarm clock illuminated beside me on the nightstand and it’s almost 5:30pm. Due to the drugs the men gave me, I’ve slept an entire day away. I guess I should be grateful; I would hate to have been forced to live through that nightmare without pain medication and rest.
