Enforcer’s Obsession

Chapter 6

SIX

Hope

“Not a fucking sound,” the strange man standing in the doorway of Nico’s bedroom said.

His voice was brimming with menace, and there had been a time I would have reacted in fear.

Not now, though.

Even still, I couldn’t deny I was nervous. But I somehow managed to keep my outward composure, though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hide in terror or scream in anger.

Another glance at the man told me hiding was probably the best choice.

He wasn’t as large as Nico and not nearly as intimidating, but he was bulky and broad, and he looked like he could do serious damage.

Worse, he didn’t look like he would mind doing so.

He was dressed nicely. His slacks were clearly expensive, and the button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows was still crisp and unwrinkled.

But it didn’t matter how fancy his clothes were.

It didn’t even matter how nicely trimmed his short dark hair was, how expensive the gold necklace around his neck looked, nor that his thick fingers had clean, trimmed nails.

This man was a savage, and there was no way I was going to test him.

“Sorry. I’ll be quiet,” I whispered.

The words almost choked me but they shouldn’t have.

It wasn’t like I was a stranger to apologizing for things I hadn’t done.

Just like I wasn’t a stranger to hoping my words would appease men who were eager to hurt me.

He glared at me. “If you’re looking for a way out, you’re not gonna find it. So stay quiet, and don’t make me come up here again,” he said.

“I won’t,” I responded.

He looked at me, practically daring me to contradict him, but I didn’t.

Instead I waited, my heart rate increasing as the seconds ticked by.

And then, finally, he closed the door.

I let out a shuddering breath, the jiggle of my breasts less noticeable under the loose but somehow still too tight T-shirt than it had been in the paper gown.

Just something else to add to my discomfort.

No bra.

Underwear.

No socks.

Weirdly, that might have been the most troublesome thing.

I never, ever went without socks, and I missed them.

I drifted over to the dresser and opened the drawers, not surprised to see everything neatly arranged.

I found socks, nice black ones in the top drawer, and considered for a moment.

Which would be worse—no socks, or someone else’s?

My nose crinkled at the thought of wearing someone else’s socks. That reaction made the decision for me.

I laughed at myself, then turned in a semicircle.

And just like that, realized I had reached my breaking point.

I saw people die today.

I had been kidnapped.

Thrown into a trunk like cattle.

And it was this, the thought of wearing some stranger socks that might be the thing that sent me over the edge.

Laughter started to bubble up in my throat, but I ruthlessly pushed it down.

There wasn’t a single thing funny about this, but I could barely contain the urge laugh. At least until it hit me that this might be the last time I would get to laugh.

No.

One day, my mother’s last laugh had come, but I swore it wouldn’t come for me.

Not here.

Not like this.

Feeling resolved, I moved around the room again, more quietly this time.

I suspected that…goon was listening, but I wouldn’t do anything to draw any more of his attention.

He’d taken my clothes, but I refused to leave myself completely undefended.

But a six-week self-defense course at the local community center would mean less than nothing in the face of a man like that. So taking him on a one-to-one was out of the question, to say nothing of his boss.

It occurred to me that I wasn’t sure how I knew that the man who had brought me here was the boss, but there was no doubt about it.

Just as I have no shot of taking him on either.

Like always, I would have to rely on my brains for my escape.

And my calm as well.

For now, I tried to look for the silver lining.

At least I didn’t have to worry about my mother, knowing that my fear for others so often outweighed my concern for myself.

So maybe that was an upside.

Yay trauma! Coming in strong when I need you.

I didn’t stop my laugh this time, but cut it off as quickly as I could.

Then circled the room for probably the thousandth time.

When I’d started walking, the floor had been cold and felt weird since the only thing that ever touched my feet was my beloved socks.

By now, the floor was warm, the path that I was treading heating up as I moved.

With one exception, this was the most beautiful room I had ever been in.

Absolutely gorgeous.

One of the walls was almost completely covered by a huge window that gave a full view of the sparkling lights of the city. From this vantage, I was high enough to see everything, but not so high that I felt nauseous.

The furniture, two identical dressers and a massive, massive bed were clearly custom and the floors were polished to a high shine and clearly well-maintained.

In addition to being beautiful, this was also the most masculine room I had ever seen. All dark and severe, no touches of softness anywhere.

Well, except for the mattress, which looked fit for a king.

I stopped pacing, suddenly feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders.

You’re just crashing, Hope. The adrenaline is wearing off.

I whispered that admonition in my brain, but it didn’t stop the sudden exhaustion that made keeping my eyes open feel impossible.

That bed looked so welcoming, practically beckoned me, but I didn’t give it another look.

Instead, I settled in the corner, one that I had decided it was my favorite, and sat.

I squeezed myself into as tight of a ball as I could, my knees up, my back flush against the wall.

Not like there was any place to hide in this open, almost empty room. That knowledge didn’t stop me from trying, though. No, I burrowed into the corner seeking safety and comfort, even though I was old enough to know now that corners wouldn’t protect me.

It wasn’t like they had protected me back then.

But still.

It was something, and as I sat, the lights off, the room shrouded in darkness, I forced myself to think.

I had memorized the layout of this room and the parts of the place I had seen before, and, sadly, had found nothing that would help me escape.

Not even in from that beautiful window. Despite my best efforts, it hadn’t budged even millimeter.

The bathroom had no window, and I knew if I opened the bedroom door, the goon would be waiting for me.

I looked toward the closet, but then dismissed it.

The best I could hope to find there was a weapon and my earlier search had come up empty.

Leaving me with an incontrovertible truth: there was no way out of this room.

Not yet.

But I reminded myself I had been in bad positions before. Had persevered over people who wished me harm.

Knew that I could do it again.

I would do it again.

I felt myself drifting, but jerked up, reminding myself that I needed to stay alert.

Be ready.

Don’t let him catch you…

Hope

“Am I interrupting your rest, bellissima?”

At the sound of his voice, I practically flew out of my skin.

Which made no sense, because he hadn’t even yelled.

In fact, I wasn’t sure he had done anything more than whisper.

No matter.

I’d gone from a fitful sleep to complete alertness in the blink of an eye.

But at least I wasn’t disoriented.

I knew exactly where I was and exactly who had spoken.

“How do I respond to that?” I said.

There was no trace of drowsiness in my voice, which was shocking to me.

My head was starting to pound, and again I felt a surge of adrenaline, one that I knew would leave me jittery, even more so than I already was.

“Well, you could answer truthfully,” he said.

“Okay, so in that case, you interrupted my sleep. If you could call it that.”

“What would you call it?” he said.

“I wouldn’t say I fell asleep so much as lost consciousness from the shock of being kidnapped by some brute.”

He chuckled, the sound smooth, deep, and I stood from where I had been jammed in the corner, suddenly realizing my vulnerability.

I felt my neck start to flame with annoyance, emotion I knew there was no place for.

But I’d rather him slap me than laugh at me.

“Why are you in here?” I asked.

“That’s your question instead of asking me why I won’t let you go?” he said.

He was standing there, looking as impenetrable as a brick wall.

I couldn’t help but notice the way his shirt molded to his body and hating myself for it.

Couldn’t deny it either, though.

But it was of no matter.

He was as vicious as the goon, maybe even more so.

I was sure of that.

He wasn’t as traditionally handsome or as well put together as the goon either. The goon had a level of refinement that this man didn’t. And I hated myself for that element of edge so appealing.

But what I noticed and how I reacted to it didn’t change my reality.

No matter how much I wanted this wild, dangerous man to kiss me, I needed to get out of here.

I refocused on the man. “If I asked you to let me go, would you?” I said.

“No,” he responded.

I wasn’t even disappointed.

I had known his answer, which was why I hadn’t bothered to ask the question. Something I pointed out to him.

“That’s why I didn’t ask. Because I knew the answer,” I said.

He lifted one corner of his mouth, though his expression was not exactly what I would call a smile.

“So are you going to answer my actual question now?” I said a moment later.

“And what’s that?” he said, that little not smile still on his face.

“Why are you in here?”

He shrugged, his massive shoulders making the casual move look ridiculous.

“The answer should be obvious. This is my bedroom,” he said.

As if to underscore the point, he moved deeper into the room.

I noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, the absence somehow making him look homey and simultaneously underscoring his lethality.

“Well, I’m in here now, and I’m not in the mood for company,” I said.

It was strange, me picking this particular fight, but I was nervous, and I needed him away for me—far, far away from me.

“What, you want me to sleep on the couch?”

I didn’t give a fuck where he slept, but decided not to point that out to him.

Instead I went with a much more bland, “Well, given the circumstances, specifically my involuntary commitment here and your responsibility for it, sleeping on the couch seems like the polite thing to do,” I said.

He laughed, the sound of rumbling out of his chest. “Polite?”

“You know the word,” I said.

He smiled again, the expression wolfish, and I wanted to shrink further into the corner, not like I had anywhere to go.

“Do I strike you as the polite type?” he asked.

“I…” I wasn’t sure how to respond.

Should I be honest, or should I say nothing.

“No, you don’t,” I finally said, deciding on honesty. “But I was hoping…”

“So then you are smart,” he said when I trailed off.

He walked toward me, and I watched as he emptied his pockets and took off his watch.

The last thing he removed was his gun, a huge, black, scary-looking thing that I had somehow missed.

It seemed almost like a toy in his hands, but I knew it was anything but.

“So can I go somewhere else?” I asked.

I’d said nothing until he removed his hand from the gun, nerves and excitement warring inside of me.

He studied me, his gaze slow, leisurely as he took me in.

“No. I have to keep you close. Make sure you don’t escape,” he said.

“That’s really not necessary,” I said, hoping I sounded strong and not timid.

“I going to shower. Then we rest,” he said.

We?

The question was playing in my head, but I didn’t ask it.

Instead I watched as he walked into the bathroom, not sure whether to believe my eyes.

The gun was still there, practically beckoning me.

Or tempting you to your doom.

It was hard to ignore the truth of those words.

This man was meticulous, and brutal.

There was no way he had left the gun here on accident.

Unless…

It had been a long day.

Long enough that I had fallen asleep in my kidnapper’s bedroom.

Sure, he was clearly used to this kind of thing, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t make a mistake.

He’d been gone for hours doing God knew what.

Maybe he was tired.

Maybe something today had finally, finally gone my way.

That feeling, something too much like hope, grew in my chest.

I’d felt that feeling before.

Been betrayed by it.

But I latched onto it now. Listened to the faint sound of the shower, counting the seconds.

Making my decision.

I sprung out of my corner like a sprinter leaving the blocks.

I made it to the dresser in what felt like a split second and grabbed the gun.

The weight was heavy, but also familiar in my hand.

I’d held a gun before, and I hated them.

Just as I hated the kind of men who used them.

But I didn’t allow that hatred to blind me.

I’d seen firsthand what guns could do and one of the first things I’d done when I had gotten free of that monster was get lessons on how to handle them.

By the time I learned to use a gun, that knowledge was of no help to my mother, but I’d felt better. And while I still hated them and, in truth, was afraid of them, I didn’t let any of that deter me right now.

Instead, I held the gun tight, both hands around the butt, waiting as the shower turned off.

My heart was thundering, racing so fast that I thought it might explode.

Or even worse, that it might make it impossible for me to hear him.

He turned on the light, one single bulb with lighting the entire room.

It was enough.

I heard the door creak, then lifted my arms, trying to be ready.

He stepped out, his huge form illuminated from the back by the bathroom light.

“What have you gotten into, Hope?” he said.

He was standing there, and then he wasn’t standing, he was walking toward me, one small step at a time approaching me like he had not a care in the world.

“Let me go,” I said, keeping my voice even and firm.

“We discussed this, bella . The answer is no,” he said.

He got closer, and I realized that he was naked, though I refused to let my gaze linger, much as it wanted to.

Told myself that the physical reaction to him, that the way my pussy was clenching with unfamiliar need was only adrenaline.

“I won’t ask so nicely next time,” I said, extending my hands.

“Trouble, are you going to shoot me?” He actually smiled, the first real smile I had seen from him.

“My name is not Trouble,” I said, the sound too much like a pout for my liking.

“It may not be your name, but that’s what you are. Nothing but,” he said.

“Trouble?” I huffed. “Me? I’m a fucking vet tech. I take care of strays. I go to night school. I don’t do anything to anybody. It’s not?—”

I cut off quickly, knowing that I was losing my cool.

He didn’t give a shit who I was, just like he didn’t give a shit how I got here.

So I couldn’t be desperate.

And more importantly, I needed to remember that I was the one with the leverage now.

“Now put on some clothes and walk me out of here,” I said.

“You’re not gonna shoot me,” he said, stepping closer.

“I will,” I responded, my voice not wavering.

I hoped I wouldn’t have to, but I wouldn’t let my inaction lead to my demise.

I’d gone through too much, had lost too much to let my own fear and weakness bring me to my end.

“You won’t,” he said.

He was so close now that if I stretched my arms, the gun would touch his chest.

Not an instant later, I realized he was close enough to wrestle the gun out of my hands.

Click.

I pulled the trigger almost instantaneously after that realization hit me and then waited.

Looked down at the gun when nothing happened, and pulled the trigger again.

And again.

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Nico smirked. “You can’t shoot me with no bullets, Trouble,” he said. Then he shrugged and plucked the gun out of my hands.

My fingers fell away effortlessly, because I knew there was no point in struggling.

“So you’re not a complete novice, but you don’t know the difference between the weight of a gun with bullets versus the weight of a gun with an empty magazine.”

I realized in that moment that he was still walking, and I was too.

Found myself back in that corner.

But I wasn’t alone.

“You would’ve shot me, bellisima,” he whispered.

His huge body was towering over me.

I met his eyes, realized that they weren’t black as I had thought on first glance, but instead a deep rich brown, the color sparking in a way that was in contrast with his bland tone.

“I am surprised, but not entirely disappointed,” he said.

“Wh-what does that mean?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“But now you have to be punished,” he whispered instead of answering my question.