Page 24 of Devious Madness

“If you wanted to fly under the radar, you shouldn’t have brought us here. One of those travel motels would have been better.” I line up my shoes in front of the nightstand and move my bag to the side.

The room is too nice not to be extra careful about how I take care of it.

“So we can get bedbugs and sleep under a scratchy blanket?” He scoffs as he eats a handful more of fries.

“Didn’t see you as being such a snob.” I pull back the thick, heavy blankets and get ready to climb up into the massive of the bed.

It’s not that I haven’t slept on good beds before, but this one looks it was made for royalty.

“Come here,” he says, crooking his finger at me.

“Why?” I already have one knee on the mattress, ready to hoist myself up, when he makes his demand.

He blinks, like he’s never been asked that question before.

“Because I said to come here.” Maybe he hasn’t been asked before; his tone definitely suggests he’s not happy with the question.

“You can come here.” I finish climbing up onto the bed and plop onto the softest mattress I’ve ever touched.

I may not leave with him in the morning and just take my chances of being found by Marco or the determined detective right here.

Without another word, he marches over to my side of the bed and snaps me up from the bed as though I’m nothing more than a toddler. He carries me over to the lamp on the table where the food is laid out and stands me next to it.

“You can’t just pick me up like that.” I shove his hands away when he puts me on my feet.

His jaw clenches. I’m on borrowed time, I think, from seeing his actual temper.

“I want to see the cut on your forehead.” He grabs hold of my chin, gentling his touch when I wince, and turns my face toward the light.

“It’s bruised pretty nasty, right?” I hit my face on a headboard once when I was a kid having a pillow fight at a slumber party. It was all green and yellow and gross for a week.

“Does it hurt much?” He prods it with a soft touch.

“Only when big, neanderthal men manhandle my face.” I push his hand away when he keeps poking.

He frowns then lifts his hands up to the bandage.

“I don’t think you should take it off.” I try to turn away, but he grabs my face again, careful not to touch the bruise, and holds me steady while he peels the bandage away.

“In the morning, we’ll wash it and put some ointment on it,” he says, as if he’s some concerned second party and not my kidnapper.

Lightly he touches the skin around the wound. It’s tender, but what’s more unsettling is the warm current that runs just below my skin, rushing straight to my core. When I move my eyes to his mouth, the warmth kicks up to full heat. He hasn’t shaved today, and dark scruff covers his jawline.

A jaw that’s chiseled and tenses the longer he stares at my wound.

Once he puts the bandage back down and presses the tape back in place, I step back from him. I definitely need space. Apparently, Stockholm’s syndrome starts fast with me.

Not surprising considering how fast I seem to jump into relationships. But that ended with Nico.

You date enough dumbasses, eventually you see the light.

Unfortunately, it took my boyfriend getting shot and dragging me into this mess with a mob boss for me to get a glimmer of it.

“That asshole got off easy,” Rurik mutters, hooking his hands on his hips while glaring down at me. “You should have left the fight to Charlie, though. Getting in the middle was dangerous.”

“Are you mad at me for getting punched and knocked out?” I can’t be hearing him right.

“You need to watch your surroundings better.” He nods.

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