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I need to get out of here.I took a few slow deep breaths, in and out, to calm my rising panic. I couldn’t afford to have a panic attack. Not here. I repeated the phrase in my head—Need to get out of here, need to get out of here—until it became a chant. As Ansel fell asleep, I slowly scooted my body closer to the other side of the bed without realizing it. What was I going to do? Escape through the door? If Ansel didn’t stop me, the other two would.
Before I realized what my body was doing, my hand was under the mattress. My fingers wrapped around the screwdriver.
Without thinking of a plan, I was working only on instinct now, I moved to the other side of the bed. Right next to where Ansel was sleeping. Though it was dark, the window provided enough light for me to make out the strong column of his neck.
Just don’t think about it. Be quick. My hands gripped tighter around the screwdriver. I could almost see the light pulsing of his carotid, signaling silently to me—Stab here! Stab here!
Did I actually have the guts to hurt him? Sure, I had just seen him torture someone, but this was different . . . I was different. That’s what separated me from these assholes. I actually had a conscience.
I didn’t get the chance to deliberate long because Ansel’s eyes shot open. My heart jumped into my throat as his steely eyes met mine. It frightened me enough that I tipped over the edge of the bed, landing hard on his chest. The screwdriver fell out of my hand, rolling under the bed and into the darkness. We both groaned from the sudden impact. I yelped, pushing off him to climb back on the bed, but his arm held me firmly in place against his chest.
We were both too surprised to speak. I bit down on a gasp as I felt his firm cock between his legs pressing against me. Every instinct screamed at me to run as my body flared with a strange mixture of heat and fear. How was I still attracted to his body, even after what I had just seen?
“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly, breaking the silence, those gray eyes never leaving mine.
I felt like a fish as my mouth opened and closed, but still no sound came out of my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I finally managed.
His eyes slowly roved down my body, landing just below my neck. Through the shirt, he could see my cleavage as my bare breasts pushed up against his chest. “I have ways to help with that,” he said slowly, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. His hand brushed against my ass, light as a feather. When it made another pass, he squeezed my ass, crushing my pelvis against his erect penis. I gasped as clenching heat filled my lower abdomen, my clit throbbing lightly, demanding more friction. “I could make you feel really good, lass. We never finished what we started in the alley, did we?”
“Please let me go.”
He smirked, removing his hand from my ass. I scrambled onto the bed and covered my head with the blanket. But my cheeks were so red, I bet he could see my face glowing even under the blanket.
“Sweet dreams, Skye,” he said, that evil smirk still in his voice.
Chapter nine
Iwokeuplatethe next morning. Ansel was already gone and Liam, or somebody, had left my breakfast tray outside my door. When I opened the door to grab the tray, I noticed the ground floor had been cleaned of any dried blood. Any sign that the goblin was there had been cleaned up. Except for the metal chair. I stared at it for a long moment, my veins filling with ice, before closing the door behind me. I didn’t bother grabbing the tray; I wasn’t particularly hungry this morning.
I wasted no time getting to work. The screwdriver was still under the bed after falling out of my hand last night, and I spent the next few hours removing the first screw. It was a lot harder than I was expecting. I had to stand on my toes like a lopsided ballerina while squeezing my arm through the bars to reach the screw. I was tall for being fae but why hadn’t I been born with my arms a few inches longer? The hardest part though, was holding this pose while holding a screwdriver with sweaty palms. If I dropped it, that would be the end of this plan; the grating on the fire escape was big enough for this screwdriver.
Liam and Demie were a non-issue, luckily. I just had to keep my ear open for the sound of footsteps on the metal landing outside my door. I should be out before Ansel comes tonight; I thought when I first started. But after thirty minutes of work and my right shoulder burning from exertion, and the first screw not even halfway out of the wall, I quickly realized this was going to take me a lot longer than a few hours. A few days, probably.
After Liam brought me lunch—I didn’t bother engaging in conversation this time—I took a break on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I needed a break. I had only spent about an hour on the window, and my entire upper body was throbbing with overexertion. I could barely lift the fork to my mouth when I ate my lunch. Not even my boxercise class could give me this kind of a muscle pump.
I stared at the ceiling, replaying what Ansel had said last night during the interrogation. The name Gregor had been floating around in the air, the first night I met Ansel, he had asked me if I was working for Gregor. And though Ansel hadn’t explicitly said it out loud, it was pretty obvious the “dangerous orc” he was hiding from was Gregor. More dangerous than Ansel? The thought would have made me laugh if I hadn’t seen Ansel torture and physically harm a goblin last night. I should be afraid of him, and I guess I was to an extent, yet even after seeing what happened last night, my body flared with heat whenever I was near him. Pure, unfiltered attraction. It didn’t make sense. My brain and vagina had gotten their wires crossed, sending each other mixed signals and causing my body to short circuit, or I really was experiencing Stockholm syndrome. Those were the only plausible explanations I could come up with.
I pushed the thoughts away. I could revisit this when I was home and safe in my own bed. I bet my therapist could provide some insight (actually we had some serious unpacking to do once I survived this traumatic experience), but until then, I needed to focus all physical and mental energy on escaping.
“Ansel dropped off some stuff for you,” Liam said when he brought my dinner tray, a paper bag tucked under his arm. He dropped the tray on the dresser before tossing the bag to me on the bed. It fell over, some clothes falling out in front of me. I picked up the closest item between my two fingers like it was a bug I had found crawling on my arm. “He said if any of the clothes don’t fit, he’ll take it back for the right size.”
My eyes widened in horror when I saw the underwear—lacy thongs with frills on the front. I swallowed hard, my eyes flicking to Liam’s face. But he was already outside, closing the door behind him. Plus, what would I even say? Hey, I would like to raise a complaint. Your boss is making me feel uncomfortable by buying me sexy underwear. Can you talk to him please?
I pushed the pile of underwear far away from me. I would worry about that later. Dumping out the rest of the bag on my lap, I rifled through the clothes Ansel had bought me. It was mostly leisurewear wear—cropped sweatshirts with matching sweatpants—a pair of flip flops, face wash, some magazines, and other feminine products he thought I would like. I almost smiled when I saw the box of tampons. I don’t think Carter ever bought me tampons, and I was unsure whether I should be grateful to Ansel or weirded out; more to unbox with my therapist, I guess.
My heart plummeted into my stomach when I spotted the almost sheer bodysuit and mini leather skirt. Whatever kinds of thoughts I had about the box of tampons was quickly forgotten, replaced by a row of curse words running through my mind. The frilly panties were one thing, but if he thought he could dress me up like his slutty little doll to parade around his room for his own sick entertainment, well . . . he was getting a screwdriver to the balls.
When Ansel returned a few hours later, I was still sitting on the bed, wearing the tan sweatshirt and sweatpants. The clothes I had tried on were a little baggier, but they would do the job. Better than having to wear his oversized shirt as a dress. I only wished he had bought me a pair of sneakers to wear when I made my great escape. But what kidnapper bought their captive sneakers? It only sent mixed signals.
“What?” I said, peering over the magazine I was flipping through to glare at him. I had caught him staring when I thought he wasn’t looking.
He turned his head away, the image of innocence, as he removed his belt from his black jeans and stuffed it in his top drawer. “Nothing,” he said. “You just look nice. I’m glad to see the clothes fit.”
I scoffed, closing the magazine with a snap. I wasn’t pleased about my midriff on display with the outfit, but it was comfortable. And soft. But I was still salty about the slutty outfit. “I’m guessing you want me to thank you?”
The corner of his mouth lifted into a half a smirk, but he didn’t answer. I wanted to smack and kiss that smugness off his face at the same time. And that only made me angrier.
