Page 16 of Ruthless Savior
“He did,” Ida confirms. “I think this is everything you could need right now, but if there’s anything else?—”
“A razor.” I swallow hard. “I need to shave my legs. Am I allowed to have a razor?” That question, more than anything else, makes me feel like I really am a prisoner.
“I’ll see what I can do. Is there anything else, Miss?—”
“Murphy.” I give her the name without thinking, and I’m reminded that Ronan said if I gave him my mother’s contact information, he’d have someone call her. I wonder if I should. Is it selfish to hold out until I can talk to her myself? Do I trust him to actually tell my mother I’m safe, and not threaten or extort her?
My teeth dig deeper into my lower lip. I don’t know this man at all. For all I know, he’s in cahoots with Neil or Rocco, trying to get me to trust him so that…
I don’t know. I can’t puzzle out what that endgame might be. I’m out of my depth and barely treading water, and that fear bubbles up in me again, everything in me grasping to find something I can control.
Giving him information about my mom is something I can control—whether he contacts her now or later, when I find out if he’ll let me do it instead—I decide to hold it back, for now. I’mnot sure how long I’ve been gone, but a few more hours aren't going to make that much of a difference.
“What time is it?” I manage.
“A little after three. Plenty of time for you to bathe and get dressed. Mr. O’Malley likes to eat dinner around seven.”
“I’ll bring you up towels and a razor, if Mr. O’Malley is alright with that.” She casts an appraising eye over me. “Those clothes should fit. The dress and jeans might be a little long on you.”
I look at the clothes she brought after she leaves the room. There are pairs of jeans, both dark wash, that are designer label—everything is designer, I realize, after I finish pawing through the stack. There’s a silk sleeveless blouse in a deep green, another silk shirt with long sleeves that’s a soft cream color. A black dress with a leather and gold chain belt. The toiletries are from a brand I don’t recognize, something French. I crack the lid of the shampoo and sniff it—it smells like honey and almond. So does the body butter, which, when I open the sealed jar, is so thick and rich that a part of me can’t wait to put it on my skin. It all looks expensive and feminine, distinctly elegant, and I know I’m touching someone else’s things. It feels very strange.
“Whose are these?” I ask Ida when she comes back with two fluffy towels, a robe, and—thank god—a razor. Not just because I have plans for stashing it away in case Ronan decides to visit me in the middle of the night, but because my legs feel stubbly and awful. I gesture at the clothes.
She presses her lips together. “You should talk to Mr. O’Malley.”
Well, that’s a weirdly evasive answer. I try a different question. “Why is he doing this?”
“Helping you?” Ida gives me that kind smile again. “Because he may be mafia, Miss Murphy, but underneath all of it, he’s a good man.”
Mafia. The word sends a shuddering chill through me.What the fuck?“What do you mean, he’smafia?”
“Again, these are questions you should be asking Mr. O’Malley,” she says calmly. “I know him well, but I’m just the staff, Miss Murphy. I can’t answer these things for you.”
“Of course not.” I bite my tongue, hearing how sharp the words sounded. This isn’t Ida’s fault, and she’s being kind to me. I shouldn’t take that for granted.
“From what I know, he did save you,” she says calmly, looking at me with an unflappable expression. “You should remember that, when you think he’s someone to be afraid of. Unless you’re on the wrong side of his business, he’s not someone for you to fear.”
She leaves then, locking the door behind her, and I take the towels, razor, and toiletries into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I shed the silky camisole and shorts, leaving them on the cool tiles as I look around the bathroom.
It’s insane. Itisthe size of my bedroom back home, just about, with what looks like marble tiles on the floor, gold-veined marble countertops, porcelain bowl sinks, and a clawfoot tub next to a window that overlooks the snowy property outside. There’s a separate standing shower, and I turn the water on as hot as I can stand, stepping into it with a gasp as it stings my skin.
The shower has multiple heads and settings that I don't understand, with controls that look like they belong on a spaceship. But the water is hot and the pressure is perfect, and for just a few minutes I let myself pretend that this is normal—that I'm someone who belongs in a place like this.
I never even thought I’d stay in a hotel this fancy. Maybe one day, if I really worked my way up the finance ladder. It’s not like I grew up in poverty—my mom and I were always comfortable,until the cancer, but this is something else. I knew people lived like this, but I couldn’t really imagine it.
The shower feels like heaven. I scrub away all the sweat and grime, washing myself twice until my skin is pink and tender, and I wash my hair twice too, reveling in the feeling of smooth legs and clean hair and skin. The shower smells like honey-scented steam, and it’s all enough to make me let my guard down a little—I’m so blissfully relaxed.
I wonder if that’s part of his plan, but I feel so good that it’s hard to think about it for long.
When the tips of my fingers are wrinkly and the water has started to turn cool, I step out of the shower and dry off, letting out a sigh of pleasure at the softness of the fluffy towel. It all feels starkly luxurious after the conditions I was kept in at Neil’s and Rocco’s, and I swear silently to myself that I’ll never take any comforts, not the ones here or the ones I have back home, for granted ever again.
I know what it’s like to be in something truly horrible, now. My chest tightens as I think of the other women at Neil’s, the ones I heard crying through the garage wall. Who knows what happened to them? Maybe Ronan does, and I resolve to ask.
Ida’s words come back to me.He really did save you. But saved me for what? And what does he expect in return?
There's only one way to find out. And that’s to go down and have dinner with the man who is seemingly keeping me captive.
I smear myself in the honey-and-almond-scented body butter, letting out a soft sound of pleasure as it sinks into my skin. I feel utterly pampered as I wrap myself in the fluffy robe and go back out into the bedroom, warm and sleepy again from the shower and how relaxed I am. I see that Ida changed the bedding, leaving the bed clean and neatly made, and I spy a laundry hamper in the open closet where the clothes have beenput up. I go back and get the silky sleep clothes, dropping them into the hamper with a small laugh at myself.
