Page 22 of Property of Chux

Unbelievably gentle he continues at his task. His fingers work through my hair, slow circles easing over my temples, taking away the tension I didn’t even realize I was holding.

I tell myself I should fight this. I should pull away. I should hate the way my body melts into his like I was made to fit against him.

But I don’t move.

I don’t say a word.

Because for the first time since I saw that pallet of drugs at my back door…I don’t feel scared. And that might just be the most dangerous thing of all.

I keep my eyes closed, my body still as his fingers move through my hair, massaging slow, rhythmic circles over my scalp. I don’t fight it. Once again, it’s all of the things I should do and I don’t. I should do a lot of things. I should flinch away, roll to the other side of the bed, demand that he stop—but I don’t. Instead, my body betrays me, giving in to the warmth of his touch, the steady, controlled pressure of his fingers unwinding the fear that had been coiling in my chest since he locked me in here.

I feel my breathing slow, feel the tension in my jaw release.

"There you go," he murmurs, his voice soft, it barely cuts through the quiet.

I shouldn’t be surprised.

Chux is all rough edges, all hard stares and sharp words, all power and danger wrapped in ink and muscle.

But right now? He is everything I never imagined he could be.

Right now, his touch is gentle, his voice softer than I ever expected.

I want to tell myself it’s a trick. That this moment of comfort is just another way he’s keeping me in check. But exhaustion seeps into my bones, dragging me under, and I let it.

I don’t fight the warmth.

I don’t fight him.

For the first time in hours, maybe longer, I let my eyes close fully.

And I fall asleep in his arms.

Unfortunately morning comes, reality is back. I wake, the warmth is gone.

A cold, sharp fear replaces it.

I bolt upright, heart hammering, my breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. My eyes fly around the room, wild and desperate. Where am I? The events from before hit me like a freight train, slamming into my chest, making my stomach lurch.

I was locked in here.

I was taken under duress without a clue as to what is going on, to an unknown destination where I now shack up with a man who I don’t actually know anything about.

My hands tremble as I throw the blanket off, my bare feet hitting the cool floor.

How long was I asleep?

I frantically scan the small windows, but the sky outside taunts me giving me no real clue as to the time of day.

I reach for my phone—my last lifeline—but the zero signal bars mock me.

I am trapped.

My pulse pounds, the edges of my vision tunneling for a second before I force myself to breathe. Panicking won’t help. I try to mentally calm my nerves.

But the truth is so much worse than the panic. Because I don’t know how to get out. If I get honest I don’t know if Iwant to get out. What if the danger outside is worse than the attraction I have to a man I don’t know.

I press my fingers against my temples, trying to steady the pounding in my head. My mind is a mess—Konstantin, Chux, this whole damn situation that keeps pulling me deeper. But right now, there’s only one thing I can focus on.

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