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I can’t feel sympathy for this woman. I can’t feel anything for her. I need to steel myself against my reaction to her. She might look like my angel, but that’s just attraction.
It’s not true.
I have a job to do. One last job and then I’m out. I need to keep my eye on the end game here.
I release my hold on Keyera, taking several steps back. I rub a hand over the back of my neck, refusing to meet her gaze.
"Breakfast will be ready soon then?" I grunt out. When she doesn't answer, I muster up the strength to look at her. Keyera's eyes are wide and her brow is furrowed in confusion. Those pretty pink lips of hers are parted slightly like she can't believe what just happened. I can't, either.
“Y-yeah,” she whispers before blinking rapidly and shaking her head. “Best in the state, I’m tellin’ ya.”
I try and fail to keep the smirk on my face hidden. I’m so fucked.
SIX
Keyera
I wakebefore Locke the next day. My bladder is full and I’m too hot. The oversized T-shirt is twisted and bunched up around my stomach, the pajama pants hanging low on my hips.
My hand is still tied to the bedframe, though at least he switched to my left hand instead of my right. Locke even preemptively wrapped my wrist in gauze before securing me to the bed.
Still, it’s my instinct at this point to try and get out of my restraints. I tug on it, but there’s no give. It does rattle the bedframe though and that has Locke’s eyes shooting open. I give him a smile that feels more like a grimace.
“I really need to go to the bathroom,” I tell him and he nods, standing and grabbing the pliers from his pocket.
He clips the plastic and I sigh, flexing my wrist to get blood circulation back in my fingers. Locke gives me space, letting me stand and stretch before he trails after me to the bathroom. He stands outside like always as I take care of business. As I’m washing my hands, I decide to try my luck.
“I bet another shower would feel good.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as I rinse my hands off and I could swear that he’s smiling.
"Uh-huh," he murmurs.
“And I’m already in the bathroom,” I helpfully point out. “I can make us breakfast after,” I offer, trying to sweeten the deal.
He kind of huffs out a laugh and I know I’ve won. It shouldn’t feel this good to poke and prod the giant of a man, especially one who is trying to kidnap me, but there’s no denying the warmth that floods through me at his barely disguised amusement.
“Go ahead,” he relents. “I’m standing right here, though.”
“I expect nothing less,” I tease.
Locke tries his hardest to glare at me, but his gray eyes soften, barely crinkling at the corners, letting me know he’s trying not to smile.
Once his back is turned, I slip inside the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack as per his demands. I strip off the baggy clothes and turn the shower on, cranking the water all the way up. I can’t stop the moan as I step beneath the spray, letting the water ease the aches from being tied up.
I see Locke shift in the doorframe, his back straightening and his shoulders tensing. He’s not looking at me, but I swear I can still feel his eyes on me somehow. Like he’s picturing me in the shower. I won’t lie, the thought of him being attracted to me in any way has me rubbing my thighs together to relieve the constant pressure I seem to have whenever I think about Locke.
Trying to clear my head of those wayward thoughts, I decide to strike up another conversation to humanize myself. That’s what all the crime shows tell you to do.
If I’m being honest, though, I mostly just want to hear Locke’s voice as he tells me more about himself. Something in me wants to figure him out, to light up those dark shadows in his beautiful gray eyes and see what he looks like without the weight of his past, his debt hanging over his head.
“This bathroom is one of the reasons why I decided to rent this place,” I call out over the water. “Well, that and the price. It was the only thing in my price range.”
“Yeah, it’s nice,” he says, not looking over his shoulder at the room.
“What’s your apartment like in New York?” I try again.
“It’s fine.”
“Is it small? Aren’t all apartments in New York supposed to be cramped with, like, the bathroom in the kitchen or something?” I ask, giving a small laugh.
