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He smirks. “He runs the assassins in this country, if anyone knows who the hitman was, it’s him.”
“Then what will you do?” I ask.
“To the hitman? Track him down and make an example of him,” he answers, so matter-of-fact and honest, that I’m not even surprised. “Kenzo, make sure she doesn’t get out this time.”
“I’m not a fucking dog,” I mutter.
“Then stop acting like a bitch.” Ryder smirks, and my mouth drops. That motherfucker—I should have stabbed him with the fork, not Diesel. “There are new clothes in your room for you, and if you behave, I might even get you something to keep you busy.”
“Well, aren’t you just the best kidnappers ever?” I deadpan, and Kenzo chuckles next to me.
“Don’t worry, darling, I can keep you busy.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I snarl, even though my heart slams in my chest.
“I have a knife as well as a fork,” I warn, and he laughs, those dice running through his fingers like always.
Ryder gets to his feet, unbuttoning his shirt as he does, and my eyes widen. What the—holy fuck. He undoes the top two buttons, showcasing golden skin…covered in tattoos. When he rolls his sleeves up to his forearms, displaying large veins and muscles, I feel my mouth drop open at the tattoos covering him from the wrist up. I did not see that coming. His suit hides a lot. “I’m going to the gym, be ready to leave at three AM,” he tells the others, and then strides away, leaving me there as I drool.
Get yourself together.
I snap my head around to see Kenzo smirking at me, catching me salivating over him. Shit. He leans closer. “Want to bet I know what you’re thinking about right now, darling?”
I try to stab him with the knife, but he’s really fast and gracefully leaps from his chair, winking at me before walking away. That leaves me with Diesel and Garrett. Nope, wait. Garrett gets up and stalks away without even a backwards glance. Okay, so Diesel and me again. I look over to see him prodding the bleeding stab wounds on his hands, his tongue caught between his teeth in concentration.
Okay then.
Maybe I’ll just—I slip from the table and head back to my room while he isn’t looking. Shutting the door, I spot the bags on the bed and snort. Fucking asshole, I bet he bought me fancy dresses and pant suits. That’s what rich people wear, right?
Wandering around the room, I try to ignore the bags and my curiosity, but I keep looking back at them. Fuck it. Striding over, I grab the first bag and open it, pulling out the jeans inside.
I hold up the pants, my heart thundering. There are styled rips down the front and frayed edges. They are a deep black, and they feel expensive and luxurious, but look like the ones I have on today. Shaking my head, I pull open the other bags. I find some plain vests, some band t-shirts and vests, as well as some oversized dresses and shirts. All in my style, black and edgy. There are even some ripped loose pajamas in there, as well as some soft ones.
Tearing open the next bag, I find panties and bras in my size. How the hell did he know my exact size?
All that’s left is a bag and a box. I opened the bag first to find two dresses. One is a silky, red, almost holographic material with spaghetti straps, which is short and tight. And really fucking nice. The next dress is black. Its back is cut out and replaced with lace, and the front neckline is a really low V. It’s hot as hell.
Overwhelmed, I open the box to find shoes. There are some new, kick ass boots as well as three pairs of heels. He thought of everything, literally everything, and it’s all so…me.
I didn’t expect that. Sighing, I throw myself back on the bed, unsure what to think. I frown when I feel something sharp digging into my hip. Reaching down, I extract a small bag I must have missed. When I peek inside, I spot makeup. I almost squeal as I tip it over to see the high-end brands tumbling free, all in my colours—red and purple lipsticks, dark eyeliner, and eyeshadow.
He thought of everything.
My hand catches on a small, black, velvet box at the bottom of the bag, and I pull it free, sitting up cross-legged as I flip open the jewellery box and gasp. There, nestled in the silk, are two golden snakes. They are clearly earrings with what looks like rubies for eyes, and the detail is insane. Golden scales drip across the bodies, and they’re so lifelike, I can almost imagine them slithering.
What does this mean? Why did he give these to me?
I thought I was just a prisoner, a debt, so why is he going out of his way to make me comfortable—apart from today’s lesson, which I guess I kind of deserved—and why are they doing this?
They stole me, I remind myself, but it feels weak, even to me. Did they? After all, they were just trying to collect their debt, it ain’t their fault my dad sold me. I mean, they could have said no, or just let me be free, but I guess they have a reputation to uphold.
Fuck, am I really questioning this?
Isn’t there a name for this, like Stockholm syndrome? I’m not becoming one of those girls who falls in love with her captors. Nope, not at all…but if they carry on giving me expensive makeup, I might just hate them a little less.
Maybe.
Stupid emotions, stupid hussy vagina. Rolling over, I get up and put away the clothes before kicking off my boots and jeans, and laying back on the bed in my vest and knickers.
My mind keeps going back to that kiss today. I mean, fuck, it was just a kiss, so why can’t I stop thinking about it? My hand drifts up on its own, touching my still sore lips. Everything about the Vipers hurts, even their pleasure.
