Firestorm (Sons of Templar MC #2)(14)
“What do you want from me?” I repeated, eyes darting around the tastefully decorated room for a weapon.
He ignored me yet again and nodded to a door in the corner of the room. “That’s a bathroom—got towels and a change of clothes. Clean yourself up, put on the clothes. You got twenty minutes.” He stared at me for a moment then turned to leave.
“Wait a second, *, why should I do a single thing you say? You f*cking kidnapped me,” I snapped, my temper rearing its head.
Blue Eyes stopped and turned slowly, his expression not cold or detached as it had been moments ago. It was dangerous, sinister.
“You’re going to do as I say because if I come back here in twenty minutes and you aren’t showered and dressed, I get to shower and dress you myself. I can assure you I will enjoy every second of it. I can’t promise you the same. Your choice, cara.”
My stomach dropped at his words; they were a promise and a sick grin decorated his face. He turned again and walked out of the room. I heard a click as he locked the door behind him.
“Fuck!” I yelled to the room. This was some serious shit. I pinched myself. “Ouch,” I hissed.
Okay, so I wasn’t dreaming or in a drug-induced hallucination. At least I didn’t think I was. I tried shrooms once and the trip I experienced was nothing like this. I had been convinced my hair was made of plastic and spent three hours crying because I wouldn’t be able to use a straightening iron without melting my hair. I swore off any kind of drugs after that.
I had to face the fact that this was all most likely real. I had been kidnapped by some well-dressed Italians. Glancing around at the décor which screamed money I deduced I was in some sort of mansion. It was reminiscent of my childhood home, a prison of a different kind. I darted toward the window and tried to push it up. It wouldn’t budge. Shit. I should’ve listened to Gwen and done those gym classes.
I looked through the glass and gathered I was at least two stories up. Men roamed the well-kept lawn with guns; there was not another house in sight. The sparse desert landscape seemed to stretch on forever. I decided I wouldn’t go unnoticed if I smashed the window and tried to climb down a drainpipe. Escape via window was out. I was locked in. I leaned against the wall and wracked my brain trying to think of a miraculous escape plan. But my lack of experience in kidnapping situations coupled with a whopping hangover hindered me. I assessed my options. Waste my twenty minutes turning this room upside down for weapons or secret passageways and subject myself to possible rape? Or I could shower, dress and prepare myself for what was coming. If they were going to kill me I doubted they would care about what I was wearing or my state of cleanliness. I deduced my life was not in immediate danger and my best bet was to comply. For now.
The bathroom was just as impressive as the room I had woken up in. Opulent with black granite flooring, a huge spa bath, and shower stall. A big window treated me with a view of a broad desert landscape and barren mountain ranges. I was in the middle of nowhere. I swallowed the panic at that thought and focused on the task at hand. One thing at a time. Turning into a blubbering mess would not do me any good.
After trying the window and searching the bathroom for any possible weapons, I got in the shower. The blissful hot water and amazing pressure did little to calm me but I busied myself with getting clean using the seriously expensive bath products.
Being mindful of my twenty minute time limit I stepped out of the shower and found the clothes I was to put on, a clingy Versace wrap dress and Stella McCartney underwear. I hoped the lingerie was not chosen with a purpose in mind. My stomach dropped. Holy shit, was I going to be sold into a sex slavery ring? My dad was not Liam Neeson; my chances of him recusing me were slim to none.
I failed to forget about my biker family. They would not hesitate to come and rescue me. I couldn’t control my yearning for one man in particular to be my knight riding a Harley. Too bad he didn’t know where I was. They all thought I was in New York. Even if he did know where I was I doubted he would come to my aid after the past year. He hated me. No, it was worse than hate. He was indifferent. I couldn’t think about him now. I had to focus on the more pressing scenario, the one that may involve me being sold into a sex slavery ring. No one was coming to save me; of that much I was sure. My family in Amber thought I was in New York and my family in New York couldn’t care less about where I was. I was on my own.
I put on the dress and accompanying heels before pulling my damp hair into a French braid. My reflection stared at me blankly as I regarded myself in the mirror. Free of makeup I looked vulnerable, my freckles making me look childlike. I didn’t need that. I needed my war paint to look strong. Stronger than I felt. A sharp knock on the door made me jump.
“Time’s up, Red.”
The bathroom door opened and Blue Eyes appeared, inspecting me in a way that made me want to hop right back in the shower.
“It’s a shame you had to be a good little girl and do what you were told. I was looking forward to teaching you a lesson, cara,” he sneered, grabbing my arm roughly and directing me out the door.
I noticed he was limping slightly and smirked. “It looks like you’re the one that got taught a lesson. Seems like your kidnapping skills aren’t up to par since you let a half-drunk woman put a hole in your expensive shoes. How’s your foot?” I asked sweetly. He stopped me abruptly and his grip on my arm tightened painfully.