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CHAPTER THREE
MY EYES FLUTTER OPEN, the dim lighting overhead the first thing to reach my sight. I have no idea what time it is. Hell, I’m not even sure what day it is. I don’t know how long I was out after he drugged me and I woke up here.
After he left me, cuffed to the bed, I went through quite a few different emotions. Anger being the one I seemed to latch onto the most. I tugged on the restraint until my wrist bled and my hand ached unbearably, all the while screaming at the top of my lungs. Eventually I cried myself to sleep, though I have no idea how long ago that was either. Maybe it was hours ago, maybe it was only minutes. All I know is that I feel absolutely drained, to the point that I’m not sure I have the energy to climb out of bed and use the bathroom, which I desperately need to do.
As if just remembering that I can’t get up, I glance at my hand, the metal cuff still firmly in place. I try to move but wince when the restraint rubs against my red, swollen, blood stained wrist.
I push myself further upright as there’s a light knock on the door. My entire body goes rigid as the lock clicks and the knob turns, allowing someone to enter. I quickly scurry the rest of the way up the bed, clenching one of the bed pillows to my chest with my free hand, as if that’s somehow going to protect me.
Seconds later a man enters the room. I don’t know for sure, but I’m betting he’s the same man that was in the hallway earlier with Mateo, mainly based on the size of him. Tall, bulky, with biceps almost as big around as my head. He has dark hair that’s shaved close to his scalp and a large tattoo that spans the right side of his neck. I wouldn’t say he’s attractive, especially not in this situation, but he’s not ugly either. A little rough around the edges. A knot on the bridge of his nose. And more tattoos spanning the length of both of his arms.
His gaze slides to me and he gives me a stiff nod as he crosses the room toward me. I don’t even notice the plate of food in his hands until he sets it down on the nightstand to my right.
“I’m not hungry,” I clip, the sound of my own voice surprising me.
“Word of advice.” He straightens, looking me square in the eye. “When Mateo tells you to do something, you do it. And right now, he wants you to eat.”
“Well,heisn’t the boss of me and ifIdon’t want to eat, I won’t.” Internally, I’m screaming for myself to shut up, but in true Mila fashion, my mouth decides to work at the most inconvenient times.
“Your funeral,” he grumbles, turning back toward the door.
“Wait!” I call after him, waiting until he turns back toward me before gesturing to the handcuff. “Can you take this off?”
“Sorry, no can do.”
“He wants me to eat. I can’t do that like this.” I shake my arm, the metal clanging against the bedframe. “And unless he wants me to empty my bladder all over this bed, I need to go to the bathroom.”
He considers this for a moment before giving me a stiff nod. Making his way back toward me, he pulls a set of keys from his pocket, easily locating the one he’s looking for. But before he makes any attempt to unlock it, he pulls a gun out of the holster on his hip and points it directly at my leg.
“If you move, I will shoot you,” he warns, and by the look on his face, I have no doubt that he means it.
I nod, swallowing hard.
He leans forward, unlocking the cuff with one hand.
I hold in the sigh of relief that vibrates through me now that I’m able to move my arm for the first time in who knows how long. I twist my wrist, trying to return feeling to my fingers.
“Now eat.”
I don’t even have time to process his words before he’s exiting the room, the lock once again clicking into place seconds after the door latches.
My bladder protests violently, reminding me of my need to use the bathroom.
Pushing away from the headboard, I toss the pillow onto the bed and make a beeline for the bathroom. Flipping on the lights, I close the door and lock it behind me before pressing my back against the cool wood.
The bathroom is enormous. Decorated with floor to ceiling white tile and brushed nickel finishes, I swear it’s five times the size of my bathroom at home.
A large vanity stretches across the wall in front of me. Various toiletries litter the gray marble countertops, and double sinks sit below a large, framed mirror.
I catch sight of my reflection and instantly cringe. My hair is completely matted on one side and I have smeared mascara under both of my eyes. I look down at the oversized t-shirt and shorts that someone changed me into while I was unconscious and wonder why they felt the need to take my clothes. Did they think I was hiding a weapon in the hem of my dress or something?
I try not to think aboutwhochanged me, or what that person might have done while I was drugged and unable to fight them off. Grabbing the waistband of the shorts, I pull them out, a sigh of relief sliding past my lips when I realize I’m still wearing my own underwear. I check under the shirt next, finding I still have on my own bra as well.
I’m not sure why that makes me feel better, but it does.
I turn my gaze back up, looking for the toilet, which I don’t immediately see.
There’s a huge shower against the far wall, tiled with the same style tiles as the rest of the room, only these have a gray swirl pattern across them with a gray marbled floor that almost looks like glass. For all I know, it very well might be. Against the right side of the shower there’s a large clawfoot tub. Closed off by a large glass door, I immediately notice that the showerhead sits directly in the middle, suspended from the ceiling. I’ve heard of bathrooms where the shower and tub are all in one large space, but I’ve never actually seen it before.
