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GENEVIEVE
The bed in my room isn’t comfortable. The mattress is lumpy, and no matter how much I try to cover up, there always seems to be a draft in the room. It’s freezing in here, and the dust isn’t helping matters. If my allergies were worse, I’d be a snivelling mess. Thankfully, I only sneeze every so often. I managed to clean the bed off and get the majority of the dust beaten out of the blanket, but the room is still just so dusty, it’s impossible to clean it without proper supplies. Perhaps I could ask them for cleaning supplies. That wouldn’t be too much to ask, right? It’s not like I’m asking them to clean it for me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling in thought. There’s no way to tell time in this room. After everything that happened with Gage, I’ve been staying in my room or, more accurately, hiding. I don’t know if it’s from fear of running into him or because I don’t want to be reminded of how much I’ve lost my mind. Maybe both. Maybe I’m a coward after all.
There’s a light knock on the old door, and I turn my head just in time to see it open the barest amount before Eric sticks his head in. I can’t help the smile that pulls at my lips. There’s something…playful about Eric. Every time he’s around, I want to laugh and tease and flirt. It’s not so easy with the others, but with Eric, it’s second nature.
“You sleeping?” he asks, raising his brow. Clearly I’m not, but maybe he can’t see my face.
“Nope.” I turn on my side. “Can’t sleep.”
“Well, doll, that’s because you don’t have the proper cuddle buddy,” he teases before coming fully into the room and closing the door behind him. “That’s a problem I can remedy.”
Snorting, I make room for him on the bed. I probably shouldn’t allow such closeness between us. I’m still engaged, and Chaz, despite his cheating, is looking for me, if the news is right. I shouldn’t be cuddling up to my kidnappers. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about fucking them.
Maybe I really am crazy after all. I’ve gone around the bend. It’s the only possible explanation.
Eric’s warmth immediately envelops me and takes away the chill I’ve been holding under the threadbare blanket, so I cuddle closer, throwing all caution to the wind. It’s just survival. I can’t keep being so cold without getting hypothermia, and cuddling with Eric is keeping me from losing my toes and fingers.
That’s all.
“How do you still smell good?” Eric mumbles into my hair. “Shouldn’t you smell like ass?”
“There was some soap in the bathroom,” I defend. “Thankfully, I’m allowed to shower, even if I’m not allowed to leave.”
Eric becomes tense at the reminder that I’m a prisoner, but after a moment, his shoulders relax. “Chin up, buttercup. Before long, you’ll be back in that cushy apartment, and we’ll all be just a bad dream.”
I hold him tighter, but I don’t argue. I’m not sure this will all be just a bad dream. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the four men who stole me, but I know the dreams will be less doom and gloom and more X-rated.
“Yeah,” I mumble, soaking in his warmth, relishing it. I’m an idiot. Here I am, caring about these men, and they aren’t men I should be caring about. They are thieves, and now kidnappers. Hell, they assaulted me to get me here. And here I am, cuddling one of the bastards.
But he smells so good…
It doesn’t take long for Eric to fall asleep. Apparently, I’m just as comforting to him as he is to me. I lie here for long minutes, listening to the soft snoring before it dawns on me that this is it.
This is my opportunity.
It takes everything in me not to let my excitement do anything more than speed up my heart rate. I don’t jump out of bed and act. I use a few moments to take stock of everything, like our positions. Eric has his arms around me, but as he falls into deeper sleep, they grow loose enough where I think I can wiggle out. None of this matters, however, if he doesn’t have his phone on him.
Slowly, I run my hand along his hip and down to his pants. The lump I find in his pocket makes my heart rate spike higher. He has it—his phone is right here. If I can get it out, I can call for help.
With slow movements honed on the streets while learning to pickpocket to survive, I reach my fingers into Eric’s pocket and trace the edge of the cell phone. I move carefully so he doesn’t feel my movement, preferring to take my time rather than rush through it. That’s the trick. The slower you move, the less they suspect you’re trying to steal from them. It’s the grab and dash thieves that end up getting caught.
The edge of the phone crests his pocket, and I wiggle it gently until it eases from the tight confines. The moment it slides free, I stare at it in surprise, as if I hadn’t believed I’d be able to do it. Still, I need to get myself from his arms and find somewhere to call. I shift my body, moving so Eric’s arms fall to the mattress as I escape. I shove his phone into the waistband of the shorts I’m wearing and roll my shirt down over it. I stand, staring at Eric as he sleeps for far too long. For some reason, I feel as if I’m betraying him, but that’s a silly thing. They kidnapped me. I’m just doing what I need to in order to survive.
Shoving the guilt away, I move over to the door and ease it open, checking the hallway for any movement. I can’t talk on the phone in my room, not with Eric sleeping. Seeing the door to the bathroom ajar and knowing it’s unoccupied, I rush across the floor on quiet feet and close that door behind me, then I look down at the treasure I procured after taking it from my waistband. I press the power button and the screen lights up.
No password.
This is too easy. What kind of foolish man kidnaps a woman and then doesn’t password protect his phone? It doesn’t make any sense.
My finger hovers over the buttons, the temptation to call the police strong, but something keeps me from dialling the emergency number. It would be so easy. I could tell them names, some sort of location, give them a lead on where I could be, and they’d come find me. I have enough power and influence to ensure they’ll come, but…I don’t want the guys to go to jail.
Call me an idiot or some sort of lovestruck fool, but I don’t want them locked behind bars.
So, staring at the keypad, I slowly type out the numbers I would have rather never typed again.
It rings once, twice, but on the third ring, he answers.
