Page 48 of Hostile Secret
“This is where you’ll stay until I’m certain you understand that your disobedience has consequences.”
I press my palm to my racing heart, my exposed skin prickling in waves. Panic pumps through my arteries, the sensation hammering in my chest. “I’m not your prisoner. You’re not––”
“Too late.” He interrupts. “You’re already locked up.”
“Oh my God, Gio. Dré said you were ruthless but this––this is unbelievable.” I clamber to a stand, using the cold wall for support.
There’s a ghostly stillness. An unnerving calmness blanketing dark corners. Goosebumps scurry the length of my spine.
I lunge at him through the bars, grabbing onto his hands and suddenly realizing he’d taken my phone too.
Unfriendly steel divides us, but the connection of my skin on top of his electrifies every single hair follicle and energizes my skin cells.
Sparks rocket in every which way. I hate myself with a despicable passion for still craving him, even when I’m imprisoned in an airless black hole.
“Let me out of here… please.”
A halo of entrancing jade circles wide black pupils. It’s like looking down the barrels of two guns. I’m struggling not to explore the messed-up lust I have for him and mentally blame the alcohol in my veins.
No woman in her right mind would still want a guy like him. Not after this. Even if he’s a dangerously handsome man who’d saved me from a crowd of potential rapists.
I’m still in shock at how he’d systematically killed each one of them without a shred of indecisiveness. He just fired until they were all dead.
It shames me to admit my heart thumped for him when he’d shielded me from bullets and effortlessly carried me back to the car. He murdered those guys because of me… for me. For justice—or was it simply an act of duty?
“This is where you’ll sober up and think about the danger you put yourself in tonight.”
“So, what are you saying? I have to become a nun and stay in this cell for the rest of my life?” I hiccup. “Because I want to live and if that means hanging out with my friends or going to prom, then that's exactly what I’ll do.”
“Take your dress off.” His order takes me by surprise.
“Why?” I ask, raising my chin.
“Because it's filthy.”
“If you think I’m going to sleep in here, naked, then you can fuck off.” I inch back, my hands leaving his. “The dress stays on.”
“Let me remind you of the reason why you’re locked up in my ammunition bunker...” My mouth goes dry, and I wilt a little when he pauses. “You defied me, India. How long you spend in here after tonight is up to you.”
Thoughtlessly, I brush my fingertips over the blood spatters on my dress and hear him growl.
“The dress, India,” he snaps, his hoarse tone dismissive like the bars are for my protection––or maybe they’re for his benefit.
I slide the diamante straps off my shoulders one by one and shiver, aware of his wolfish inspection.
“It’s cold, Gio.” My voice haunts the silence.
“Off.”
I frown, taking a beat to consider what the consequences of staying dressed would be. Then decide he has the upper hand. He’s the only one who can free me, the man who defines the rules, and the guy who has my dog and my phone.
But in the fleeting seconds it takes me to process this unusual situation, he pulls a gun out from behind his back and points it in my direction. “Get over here.”
“I’m not okay with this, Gio,” I say in a rush of panic. “Dré won’t be okay with this either.”
Taking three short steps, I stop at the bars, face to face with his unreadable green eyes. I silently pray he doesn't notice the throbbing vein in my neck. The giveaway signaling that I’m nervous.
He won’t shoot me. I’m certain of it.
