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Not now, not ever.
Not if I want to survive.
Chapter Seventeen
ROXY
The next morning, I learn Ryder wasn’t lying, they’re gone. As soon as I step out of my room, I know it—it’s too quiet. Too empty. Sighing, and ignoring the fact I’m disappointed, I decide to have some breakfast. I might as well eat their food if they are keeping me prisoner.
I had taken a long bath this morning, shaving when I got bored before slipping into one of the new t-shirt dresses Ryder bought me. It has a skull and a snake wrapped around it on the front, and it’s low-cut and hangs to my knees. Pairing it with my new heeled kick ass boots, which reach mid-calf, I think I look pretty good. I even put on some makeup, telling myself the whole time it was for me, to feel like myself again. Maybe if I dressed like it, I might actually be it.
But a small part of my psyche calls me a liar, accuses me of wanting to look good for them. I kill that tiny piece. Who says your inner self is right all the time? Really, she’s just a snotty, stuck-up bitch.
I don’t see Kenzo anywhere, but I find some breakfast left on the table for me and a warm carafe of coffee. So I sit and eat, but I find myself jumping in the quiet, expecting one of them to leap out at me. After I’ve finished, I sigh, already bored.
Throwing myself down on the sofa, I take the tablet and try to figure out how to turn on their TV. Why can’t these people just have a normal control like everyone else? I finally get it to switch on and find the horror channel, settling in to watch the film. I wonder if they have popcorn.
That’s when it hits me, I’m just sitting here. Why aren’t I trying to escape? My eyes go to the door, but after yesterday, it doesn’t seem like the best way to try and leave. My head still aches from smashing it into the window, and though they checked it over and it’s scabbed, it’s still a stark reminder. Not to mention, I don’t want D to ‘teach me another lesson.’ I don’t think I would survive it. Not right now.
Sighing, I turn my head, just as I hear footsteps behind me. I whirl around and spot Kenzo coming towards me. He doesn’t have his tablet, like usual, but he’s tucking his phone into his grey sweatpants.
That’s not what has me staring though. No, definitely not the very impressive bulge in the joggers or the fact that those loose, low riding grey sweatpants are made purely to tease women. No, it’s the fact he’s shirtless.
As in I can see everything. Including the bar through his right nipple and the tribal style tattoos dotted across his shoulders. He heads to the kitchen, and I gasp at the tattoo on his back. It’s a snake with red eyes, wrapped around a skull, and takes up his entire back. It’s stunning artwork, not to mention the chiselled muscles underneath. “You want a drink, darling?” he calls, and I snap my eyes to his to see he’s turned and is smirking at me. “Or just to drool instead?”
Asshole.
So what that he has abs carved from stone or that delicious V, a light splattering of hair leading down to his joggers and across his seriously impressive chest? Or that his shoulders are so wide that all I can imagine is raking my nails across them as he moves above me? Pinning me to the sofa and letting me feel all those muscles…I forgot my train of thought.
Fucking joggers and their magical abilities.
At least it’s more material for my spank bank.
He grabs two ice-cold waters, and I watch the droplets of condensation race down his arms. Lucky bastards. Strolling my way, he leaps over the back of the sofa in a really impressive display of strength and hands me one. I snort and take it, trying not to reveal how much his showing off is getting to me.
No, stay strong. Pussy power…that came out wrong.
I turn away to stop myself from staring at him, and try to focus on the movie, but I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. His arm is stretched across the back of the sofa, his fingers almost touching me. He’s leaning back with his legs spread, and his other hand is tucked into the waistband of his joggers, pushing them even lower.
Fuck.
It’s like one of those thirst trap images you see online that makes you go ‘dayummm.’ I’ve definitely liked a few Instagram models’ photos that don’t even touch him right now. The worst bit? He knows it. There’s a smirk playing around his stupid lips, and he turns, catching me staring. “Don’t you want to watch the movie? Because if you want to do something else, darling, I’m down.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, tucking my hands under my ass to stop myself from reaching out and petting his muscles. That’s right. Petting them.
He chuckles and leans closer, his mouth almost at my ear. “You sure? We could wager on it…”
“You fucking gambling addict,” I mutter.
“Only when you’re involved. What do you say, darling? Want to play a game?” he whispers seductively.
“What would I win?” I hedge, while internally shouting at myself.
“The thing you want most…” My eyes go to his cock, and he laughs harder. I should take this bottle of water and ram it down his charming fucking throat. But then his next words have me perking up and forgetting about making the snake deep throat a bottle. “Your freedom.”
My gaze snaps to his. “You’re messing with me.”
“I could be, or maybe I’m just that sure I’ll win.” He shrugs, watching me with those dark eyes.
