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“Fuck—you—” I managed to get out before Demie pressed the rag against my mouth. I sealed my lips together, holding my breath, but I was no match for the powerful fumes. The strong, burning smell of astringent filled my nose. The corners of my vision began to darken as every tensed muscle in my body relaxed. My head slumped backwards into the crook of Ansel’s shoulder. That was the last thing I remembered before I was engulfed by pitch darkness.
I woke up with the worst hangover of my life. From my toes to the hair on my head, everything ached. It took effort to open my eyes, especially when all I wanted to do was keep them closed to not set off this throbbing headache anymore. But when I did, and my eyes adjusted to the light, I found myself in a small room. The room was bare that it felt almost sterile, like a hospital or like someone had recently moved into it and were still waiting for the moving boxes to arrive. There was a bed pushed up against the wall and a dresser, and that was about it. Had I woken up in a hospital? I definitely ached enough to need one. I looked down at my body, surprised to see my favorite black dress and not a hospital gown.
I tried pushing myself up to a sitting position, but something cold and sharp yanked my wrist, rubbing against the skin. Metal clinked against metal. I looked down at my wrist and gasped at the handcuff attached to it.
I instinctively jerked away, the handcuff pulling painfully against my skin again. I tested the metal, carefully raising my hand so as to not hurt myself. It was connected to the corner of the metal bed frame.
Reality came rushing back to me like a car screeching towards me on the wrong side of the highway. Suddenly, it felt like the handcuff had moved to my neck. I clawed at the skin with my free hand, and though nothing was there, my windpipe constricted tighter and tighter like someone was choking me.
Breathe. Breathe. It’s just a panic attack. You’ve had these before. Just breathe.
My spiked heartbeat eventually slowed, followed by my ragged breathing. But my chest and neck still burned, and I was as exhausted as a marathon runner, minus the runner’s high. I laid there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling until I heard the doorknob turning. I sat up as much as my chained arm would let me, pressing my back flush against the wall.
Ansel stepped into the room, holding a tray in his arm, and closing the door behind him with the heel of his boot. “You’re awake,” he said, giving me a polite smile. I stared at the tray in his hand; he was too tall for me to see what was on it.
It could be food . . . or it could be an array of surgical tools used for cutting his victims into tiny, unidentifiable pieces. Was that his claim-to-fame? He liked to cut up his victims?
Ansel walked around the bed, bringing the tray closer, but stopped suddenly. He pressed his lips together, suddenly becoming very interested in the ceiling. He cleared his throat, nodding his chin towards my body, but still kept his eyes heavenward.
What is he doing—
I looked down my body. All the scooting in bed had pushed the hem of my skirt almost to my waist. I suddenly remembered I wasn’t wearing anything underneath—I had gone commando for easier access—and I was practically giving him a free show with front row tickets. I pressed my knees together, smoothing down my skirt as far as it would stretch with my free hand. “Sorry,” I murmured automatically. I winced. Why was I apologizing? He kidnapped me.
He set down the tray on the bed. My shoulders slumped with relief. It was food. Thank the goddess. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his green pointed ears slightly red. “Best thing I’ve seen in a long time. How are you feeling?”
Like I’ve just spent the whole day at a five-star spa. What do you think, asshole?“Why am I here, orc? What do you want with me?”
“My name is Ansel,” he grumbled. “Notorc.”
I squeezed my eyes for a moment. Honey attracts more flies than vinegar, and he doesn’t seem completely insane despite my earlier judgement, so there was still hope. When I opened my eyes, I put on the best customer service face I had. “I think there has been a big misunderstanding here. If you let me go, I promise I won’t say anything to the police. I’ll wipe the entire conversation I had with that guy on the dating app too. There will be no electronic trail whatsoever. I’ll wipe my phone. Wipe my cloud. I know how to do that kind of thing. I work in IT. Please. I promise.” He stood a foot away from the edge of the bed, watching me closely as my rambling turned into hysterical sobbing. So much for putting on my best face. When my words had turned into unintelligible sobbing sounds, he took a step forward, handing me a tissue.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whispered, as I took the tissue from his hand.
He stared at me for a long moment with a neutral expression. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he finally said. “I would never hurt a woman.” He sounded so honest, I wanted to believe him. He turned his back to me and opened the top drawer of the dresser, retrieving a stack of clean clothes. He removed the shirt speckled with my dick appointment’s blood. I suppressed a gasp at the wall of muscles on his back that tapered down to his waist. He was even more beautiful underneath the clothes—
Get your head straight. He kidnapped you, remember?
I caught the glimpse of a small tattoo—a Celtic circle—in the corner of his back, just over his right shoulder blade, before he pulled on a clean shirt. “What were you doing in that alley?” he asked, once again turning to face me. He straightened his shirt over the hard muscles of his abdomen, covering the trail of dark hair leading from his navel.
“I had a date with you know—him—before you . . .” I cut myself off. If I said it out loud, I would probably throw up. And I already felt shitty enough.
He tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. “You had a date with someone, and you don’t know their name?”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head.
The corner of his mouth twitched, but he suppressed his smile. “Did your date say anything else? Like if he had other business to attend to? Or why he was running late?”
I paused. That sounded vaguely familiar, but it was so hard to remember when my head was throbbing to the tempo of a jackhammer. “I think so. He wanted to meet me first because he had some business to take care of later. But then I got stuck at work and showed up late."
The mattress creaked as Ansel sat on the edge, but he didn’t move any closer than that. He stared off in the distance for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Finally, he shook his head softly. “A date right before an ambush. He was time effective; I’ll give him that. Effective, but stupid.”
I straightened in my spot on the bed. My wrist burned from the pull of the chain, but I didn’t care. “Hey, he was probably a nice guy, and you just murdered him in cold blood—”
Ansel jerked his chin towards me and raised his dark brow. “Cold blood?” he said, an amused smile on his face. “Let me tell you how I know your date.” The last word hissed out of his mouth like it tasted vile on his perfect lips. “He works for a very dangerous orc. Black rock—ever heard of it? Well, this dangerous orc is the main distributor for the drug in this city. He hires dealers like your date to sling drugs around the city—”
“I wasn’t there to buy drugs,” I insisted quickly. “Plus, you’re very quick to judge. I’m pretty sure murder brings more jail time than drug trafficking.”
“What about sex trafficking? How much jail time does that bring?”
