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He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t believe me. You don’t believe your date was there to hurt you.”
I started packing the kit, my legs feeling suddenly unsteady. “It’s just hard to believe someone,” I said, snapping the lid shut, “when they have kidnapped you under the pretense of keeping you safe.” I removed the gloves, wrapping them around the bloody cotton balls without having to touch them.
“It’s because I’m an orc,” he said matter-of-fact.
I bristled, almost dropping the trash in my hands. “No! I’m not . . .” I sighed, closing my eyes for a moment. “I just would like some proof. Or if not, something to show I can trust you.” I leveled my eyes on his face. “Let me call my parents.”
The fine lines around his eyes deepened with sadness. “I can’t do that, lass.”
My chest tightened as my lower lip wobbled. “Why?”
He looked uncomfortable, and I knew this time it wasn’t from the pain. “You know why, Skye. But I did let your parents know you would be gone for a while, so they wouldn’t worry. And your work too.”
“You what?”
“I texted your parents and told them, as you, that you were going on a business trip and would be out of service for a while. For your work, I told your boss that you had a death in the family and would be out for a while.”
I could feel my mouth open enough to catch a fly. I closed it, trying to focus my thinking enough to speak as a million questions ping-ponged inside my head. “But how?” I finally managed to choke out.
“When I went to move your car today, I heard your phone ringing in the bottom of a dumpster.”
“How did you unlock it?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. I tried your birth year I got off your license. You work in IT, right? You should pick a stronger password next time.”
I felt nauseous. I had half-hoped if the window plan didn’t work that I could trust the police somehow using the fingerprints on my car to track my location to Ansel’s warehouse. It was far-fetched, but it was the only back-up I could think of.
The only mistake I had made was not taking into account that Ansel was a professional. It seemed he knew how to clean up a crime scene.
“Skye . . .” I had almost forgotten he was there, but the deep rumble of his voice was strong enough to pull me out of my impending spiral. I looked up at him through bleary eyes. His square jaw was set. All humor from his features were gone. “Until things are safe enough for you to go home, you’re just going to have to trust my word. You are safe as long as you’re under my care.”
I wanted to believe him. Oh goddess, I wanted to believe him so badly. But how could I? He was a stranger holding me prisoner. That was the biggest red flag, if there ever was one. “And how long will that be?”
He pressed his lips together, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t want to lie to you,” he said. He exhaled through his nose. “Right now? I don’t know.”
Of-fucking-course.
I knew I needed to be sweet, to give the impression I was submissive. Trusting. But I was so damn tired, all I wanted to do was go home and sleep in my own bed. “Is there anything else you need, or can I go to sleep now? I’m really tired.”
“There is one thing,” he said, sounding sheepish. He ran his hand through his long hair, wincing when his fingers snagged on a knot. “It hurts whenever I raise my arms. Can you brush my hair for me?”
Chapter eight
Iwantedtolaughat his request. Sure, I wanted to touch his hair—and learn how he kept it so smooth—as soon as I saw him, but this was crossing a line. I had no problem cleaning a bloody hole in his stomach, but hair brushing? Way too intimate. I had dated Carter for eight years and I had never brushed his hair. He didn’t even like me running my fingers through it.
To hell with building his trust. I was drawing a line in the sand—this would be a hard no.
But being a people-pleaser, I didn’t have the guts to say no. So, instead, I danced around the issue and said, “I’m surprised you trust me with a comb. Aren’t you worried I might try to hurt you with it?”
He handed me the comb. “If you’re creative enough to hurt me with just a comb, then I deserve my fate.”
I stared at it for a moment, turning it over in my hands.You know you want to touch him,a quiet voice whispered in the back of my mind. I looked up and just as I did, I noticed the silver necklace hanging around his neck. The one with the key he used to lock the room last night. Was I stealthy enough to brush his hair while slipping the necklace off his neck?
Definitely not, but this could help me learn what kind of clasp the necklace used. I might be able to use this info to slip the necklace off later too.
“Fine,” I grumbled finally. I knelt behind him on the mattress and placed the comb between my lips as I gathered all his hair behind his head with my hands. It was thick, both my hands could barely hold it all, and felt as soft as it looked. But even the softest hair could get tangled. My fingers brushed against his firm shoulders, making my heart flutter a little faster at the contact. His hair so black, it had the same iridescent blue sheen of a raven’s wing. I took a deep breath and started carefully picking through the first section of hair.
Ansel was quiet during the brushing, except for the occasional deep groan of satisfaction when the teeth of the comb accidentally scraped against his scalp. I had to be careful with the comb after that; the sound of his soft groan brought the blood rushing between my legs. I squirmed a little, the tightness in my lower abdomen bordering on uncomfortable. I was grateful he couldn’t see my face and discover what he could do to me with just the sound of his voice.
