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I make a quick call to Clive, telling him to expect Sarah. Then, because of my state of mind—as in, I’m not thinking straight—I try Freja again.Voicemail.That she’s not answering my calls makes me all kinds of nervous, especially when I’m currently helpless. “Fuck it.” I toss my phone aside, closing my eyes and fighting to find that calm. For Ava’s sake.Andfor mine.
An hour later, a whole fucking hour, I finally hear the front door close. I still haven’t found that calm I was searching for. “Jesse?”
“The bedroom,” I yell, struggling to sit up, my hand throbbing. “What’s taken you so fucking long?”
“Traffic.” Sarah appears in the doorway, and her curious look soon turns into one of surprise as she takes in my body on the bed, her stare working up from my dick to the headboard where my dead arm hangs. Her mouth falls open.
“Don’t ask,” I snap, pulling the sheets across my naked lap. “The key’s over there.” I motion to the cabinet across the room, and she looks, frowning.
“What’s—”
“I said, don’t ask.” I take my hand to my face and scrub down the bristle. “Just get the key, get over here, and free me.”
Her head tilts, her indignation fierce. I know what’s coming, so I hurry things along.
“Please,” I add through gritted teeth.
She walks across the room and collects the key. “Where’s Ava?” she asks, coming to the bed.
“At work.”
“Oh.” I can see the explanation of my situation slowly filtering into her head as she kneels on the edge and leans in to release me. “She left you here like this?”
“Sarah,” I say, trying to keep my cool. “I told you not to ask.”
She stops just shy of the lock, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t be an arsehole, Jesse. I’m here, and she isn’t.”
“Yes, because she’s wise.” It would be Ava handcuffed to this bed now if she’d freed me, and I’d torture her until she cried with frustration.
“What happened?”
Jesus Christ. It’s clear that if I want to be out of here anytime soon, I need to feed her inquisitiveness. “Ava handcuffed me to the bed and tortured my age out of me.” I yank at the cuffs as Sarah recoils. “So, yes, she now knows how old I am.”
“And she’s gone.” She just had to get that in, didn’t she? And now the fury and panic are back with a vengeance, not that they left me. My hand drops to the mattress with force, and I wince, having to pick it up with my other to rub some life back into it, pins and needles riddling me.
“Shit,” I curse, flexing, rolling, rubbing. It takes a good couple of minutes to work it back to life, and the moment I start to get some feeling again, I shift to the edge of the bed, pulling the sheets with me. My move reveals the massive dildo beneath the tangled covers. It’s like a red flag to a bull. I dive at it, swipe it up, and launch it at the wall on a roar. It smashes to smithereens, and Sarah jumps a mile into the air.
I grab my phone and dial Ava, for what purpose I don’t know. She won’t answer, but she’ll know I’m free. I hope she’s trembling.
“Is that all?” Sarah asks, failing to hide her amusement and satisfaction.
“Yes.” Stomping to the shower, I turn the knob and step under the spray before it’s warmed up, hoping the cold might shock away some of this unreasonable rage. Unreasonable? No, it’s not unreasonable. It’s perfectly reasonable. Ava deliberately put me through hell, forced information out of me, and now she’s run. It’s done nothing to reassure me that my fear is unfounded, and that’s a dose of anger to the melting pot of emotions that I’m way beyond controlling.And, of course, it had to be Sarah to un-cuff me. Sarah to see me so vulnerable because of something Ava did. And Sarah here in our bedroom now? It just feels so fucking wrong.
“Calmed down?” she asks, stepping into the bathroom, gazing around casually.
“Do I look calm?” I turn away from her, giving her the view of my arse instead of my dick, willing on the hotter water to steam up the glass and take her view away altogether. “You can go now.” I grimace. “And thanks.”
“No problem. I hope you figure things out.”
Liar.
I wash my hair, scrub my body and my teeth, all the time muttering and cursing to myself. With a towel wrapped around me, I go to the dressing room and pull out my best gray suit and a blue shirt. My armor. And Ava’s downfall. I reach for my chin and feel at the stubble. No time. I have more important things to do than shave. Or pick a tie. I go to the mirror, fastening the cuffs of my shirt before tweaking my hair.
I look dangerously handsome. But I feel dangerous too. “Fuck.” I need to calm the hell down before I see Ava.
I strip down and find my running shorts and trainers.
Run.
