Page 55 of Unhinged Cravings
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I rubbed my sore thighs, enjoying the soreness like I would have a good workout. It was proof that last night had been real and amazing. Good God, had it been amazing. That man was made to please women, and the thought stirred the green coils of jealousy. I rubbed the sleepers from my eyes and made my way to the bathroom, chastising myself for being jealous when I was just as bad.
After assuring Emerson had indeed left me, I tiptoed down the stairs, pulling my shirt down further to cover the lace undies I’d retrieved from where he’d thrown them. A glance toward the garage had me flinching. The same guard who had creeped me outwas standing there, his hands folded in front of him, his brown eyes so dark I mistook them for black. I had no clue what it was about him, but my instincts told me to be far away from him. Which seemed strange since I was in a house owned by a notorious mob boss and surrounded by his men, who were just as brutal and quick to kill. No one else gave me the creeps like this guy did.
I backed away and turned around, making sure my steps were quick. No one was in the main room as I passed through, and I didn’t see Emerson on the deck. The door to his office was wide open, the office empty, so I hurried to my room to shower and change. Wherever he was, I was sure he was off doing whatever illegal things he did.
“How does that not freak you out?” I asked myself as I pulled my hair up in the clips Jill had gotten me—cute little butterflies with colorful rhinestones decorating the silver. After hopping in the shower, I checked out the bruises on my hips and thighs, not ugly or hurtful but a sign that he’d brought the aggression I loved and left his mark on me. My stomach flipped at the sight, and I rolled my eyes at it.
In revolt, it growled, so I gave it a scalding look before I left the room, my bare feet chilly on the tile floor. I spent the morning watching television and munching on the sweet potato chips I found in the kitchen. For someone with so much money, Emerson’s pantry was sorely lacking good snack options.
Never once in the hours I wandered the house and the deck, watched movies and raided his kitchen, did it ever cross my mind to run again. I was content to forget there was an expiration date to this arrangement. That in days, my uncle and his boss would be here to trade for me or kill for me. It was almost like I didn’t want to face the reality, to comprehend the fact that this wasn’t the plot of some romance book where I knew the ending would be happy. Because the truth was too difficult to admit—there was no happy ending in this. I was falling for Greyson Tides’ enemy, a man whohad kidnapped me with the intention of kidnapping Greyson’s wife. It didn’t matter that he had taken me in her place. Her husband would want retribution.
I flopped my head back on the couch and stared at the vaulted ceiling, thinking it was such a waste of space and how a nice loft would make better use of the upper windows. A small studio where I could paint with the view as my backdrop. My fingers twitched in the movement of my paintbrush, missing it. Knowing how competitive the art space was, I had opted to focus my master’s on museum work, still a competitive space, but it had seemed the more realistic option. Now I rarely had time to draw or paint.
Turning the television off, I snuck into Emerson’s office. I tugged on the drawers, discovering he kept them all locked but the middle one. Finding a ballpoint pen, I snagged a notebook from deep in the drawer. It was old, with pages torn from it and otherwise empty. Passing through the main room, I pushed the sliding glass doors open and stepped onto the deck. A guard stood at the end of the deck; another made his rounds below on the far right side of the house.
“Ah, this is where he has you guys hiding. I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone.” Even if he had widened the cage bars, it was still a cage.
He only nodded, then canvassed the area, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses.
The sun was fantastic on my skin, but I knew to stay on the shaded edge of the deck. Scooting the table over some, I sat and tucked my legs under me, pulling the cute skirt I was wearing down to cover my thighs. I stared at the blank page. It had been too long since I’d sketched. My years between graduating and starting grad school had given me a taste of how brutal the art scene was. I’d scraped by until I’d given up and started taking odd jobs through the years. My uncle had hated it, trying over and over to give me money, but I had left the account he establishedfor me untouched. I needed to figure myself out on my own. He had done so much for me, and now it was my turn. But his offer two years ago to pay for an apartment and grad school, an offer he’d given multiple times, and I had turned down just as many, was too tempting this last time.
By then, the lead in my pencils had gone dull and my desire to draw had lost its luster.
The first lines of the horizon marred the paper, the pen scratching uncomfortably in my hand. But then they continued, taking form until I had duplicated the view before me on the page. I sat back, flexing my fingers, and stared at the sketch. When was the last time I’d sat quietly? Given my head the space to allow creativity to spark? Too long. For so many years, drawing, like reading, had been my escape and then it had been a reminder, and I’d left it behind.
Lifting my eyes to the ocean, the waves crashing against the shore, I realized this was the first time my mind had been quiet. Calm and at peace. I could have blamed it on the meds, but I had taken them for years and still the noise, the constant thoughts, continued to come. Flipping the page, I let my pen lead the way, forms taking shape until I had filled a quarter of the book with sketches.
The shade had receded, the sun too harsh, so I rose and stretched, leaving the notebook and pen with every intention of returning later, once the sun shifted again. My stomach rumbled, and I realized I hadn’t eaten lunch, only snacks. I trudged into the kitchen, finding one of Emerson’s men there, grabbing water.
“So, you guys are human,” I joked.
He squinted in confusion, and I motioned to the water.
“I never see you guys do anything but stand around and look scary.”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be good for us to look anything but threatening.”
“Wow, and you talk. I thought Breaker and Pack were the only ones who still had their tongues.”
“Only the rookies lose their tongues.”
“Did you just make a joke?” I asked, pushing past him to grab some lunchmeat from the fridge, which could have fit three of my fridges in it.
“Don’t let the boss know that.” He gave me a wink, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. This guy was not typical of the men who worked for Emerson, but at least he wasn’t the creepy guy.
“Secret’s safe with me,” I said, pulling some turkey out. After rummaging through the condiments, I found something resembling mayonnaise but fancied up with some healthy shit that I usually avoided at all costs. “Who puts avocado in mayo?” I grumbled.
“Guys like Cade Slaughter.”
My head jerked toward him. Slaughter? That was the last name Emerson used? But it was the candor this guy had that caused the reaction. There was something off about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it other than he seemed to be flirting with me, and I knew that was off-limits because even his boss had difficulty allowing himself to do it. This guy was asking for a beating if he continued. As strange as his behavior seemed, it was still nice to talk to someone. I’d been alone all day and with no idea when Emerson would return, this was a pleasant reprieve.
“Where is your boss, anyway?” I asked, curious if his men knew.
“Last I heard, he was at the club.”
My gut twisted, my hand squeezing the bottle too hard so that a giant mound of mayonnaise-like substance flooded my bread. “Shit,” I mumbled, placing the bottle on the counter and wiping the extra goo from my bread. It shouldn’t have bothered me that he was at the club, but I suspected what went on there behind private doors. What he’d done for years with women he met there.Maybe last night had been nothing. Maybe I was just another notch in his belt, another conquest.
“Having trouble?” the guy asked.
