Page 14 of Savage King

"Well?" I nudge.

"Well, what?"

With a sigh, I settle on, "Why am I here?" I’m aware that I'm fighting a losing battle about his clothes.

"It's safer," he replies, getting off the bed. “It's also more convenient, and it will keep your father in line."

There it is.

I may not be in a basement anymore. I may not be tied up, cut open, or hanging from a ceiling like a slaughtered animal, but I’m still a prisoner.

I only switched wardens.

"Can I… can I talk to him? Please?" I hate myself for adding the last part, for pleading, but I really, really would like to talk to my dad.

"Of course," he replies, moving toward the bathroom.

Giving me a full view of his naked backside, which is just as sexy as his front. Not that I'm looking. I'm too busy stopping my heart from jumping out of my chest because he said yes.

From the other side, in the bathroom, I hear the telltale sign of a man relieving his bladder. Wait, is that even possible with a hardon? And why would I even care right now?

Oh, maybe because it reminds me that my bladder is pretty full, too. Carefully, I slip my legs over the mattress' edge. I haven't forgotten how weak my knees are, but hopefully, they have regained some strength. I put my arms on the bed to distribute my weight better. I should be able to make it to the end of the bed like this. Slowly, I shuffle one foot in front of the other, while keeping a tight hold of the mattress. I'm so close, almost there, when something tugs on my arm, startling me so badly, I nearly cry out. With a loud clang, the same pole I held on to earlier falls to the ground, and I realize that it's attached to me via an IV line that’s running from the top of my hand all the way up to a half-empty bag of something. That's also when I notice that I'm wearing an oversized shirt that must undoubtedly belong to Antonio.

"Scarlet!"

Impossibly fast, Antonio comes rushing out of the bathroom. He sees me, half on the bed, the IV pole on the ground, and reaches my side just as my legs are about to give out for the second time. His arm slings around my waist, stopping me from hitting the ground again.

"You shouldn't be up," he chastises.

"I need to go pee." The words are out before I can stop them.God, please tell me I didn't just say that.

But he doesn't bat an eye. "Alright, let me help you."

The grip of his arm around my waist intensifies; with his other hand, he grabs the IV pole. "Ready?"

I'm not, but what choice do I have? My feet barely reach the ground; he's supporting my full weight as we slowly shuffle toward the bathroom.

"This won't do," he mutters, frustrated with our slow progress. We've only gone a few steps, and already, sweat drips down my back. He releases the pole and bends over. His free arm slips under my knees, and once again, he effortlessly pulls me up against his chest.

With my ear so close, I can hear the hardka-thumb, ka-thumbof his heart. The skin where he touches me prickles as low currents of electricity zap through me. Which it shouldn't. It really, really shouldn't. He's a mafia guy. He's holding me captive. He's a dangerous man. Very, very dangerous!

Then why am I feeling so safe?

Because you're doped out on morphine, something resembling rationality returns.

Hmm, I think I could get addicted to both. Him and the morphine,my mind giggles.

His masculine scent embraces me just like his arms. It smells of almonds, wood, and his very own spice. It's nearly intoxicating, and I'm not sure if my head is getting woozy from my ordeal or his closeness. And why the hell am I having these thoughts? He's my captor! He is keeping me hereagainstmy will.To keep you safe, the same voice as before whispers.Right, and the devil raises lambs. I shake my head. The real question though is, why am I so fucking attracted to him? Let's say he is onlykeeping me safe; he's still a criminal, a cold-blooded killer. He is still a mafia boss. He is everything my dad stands against. Everything I was taught to despise. To that, my little voice remains suspiciouslyquiet, and just when I think I won that little battle, it pipes back up,an extremely sexy, handsome criminal and killer.

The object of my musings pushes the pole forward with his foot, and we make our way to the bathroom. There, he deposits me on the toilet after opening the lid, also with his foot—an athletic move that totally belies his massive, muscular form.

I'm still in awe at how he is holding me while standing on one leg. Otherwise, I would have been mortified.

"Call me when you're done or if you need anything," he says and leaves the bathroom, closing the door until it's only slightly ajar.

Business, right, I remind myself. I start by pulling my panties down, or at least attempting to, because… I'm not wearing any panties! I'm wearing a man's oversized shirt—hisshirt—and nothing else!

My hair is still damp and has been put into a braid. I sniff my armpits… almond and wood. Unfuckingbelievable! He must have bathed me last night while I was out.

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