“Thirsty?” He questions, helping me shift into a sitting position on the couch I am on.
I want to tell him no, that I don’t want a damn thing from him, but my throat is dry and the water bottle in his hand is too appealing. I bob my head up and down and he twists the cap off breaking the seal.
Hopefully this is a sign he doesn’t plan to drug me again. Not that I trust him in the slightest.
Holding the bottle to my lips he tilts it upward with care.
How can someone so cruel…so monstrous be so gentle?
The room temperature water soothes me, and I feel more alert.
When I pull back he sets the bottle on the coffee table behind him.
As the water settles on my stomach I take him in as he seems to be doing the same as his eyes study mine.
His smoky eyes are lighter than they were before. Softer. Warm even.
Tattoos cover his hands and travel up his arms, disappearing underneath the sleeves of his black t-shirt. The name on his patch is scrolled over his left hand in a cursive font. A closer look at his ink reveals an eerie scene. His name is shaded onto a tombstone and the graveyard scene plays out on his forearm complete with a grim reaper and his scythe. It’s mesmerizing and scary. Whoever did the artwork is talented.
There is a light scar over his top lip matching another on his right temple which is hidden slightly beneath the unruly mane that needs a good trim. His unkept beard could use a shave as well.
Glancing around the room, I realize this must be his place. The room resembles what should be a living room but this a room of mismatched furniture and garbage.
It smells too. Like rotting food.
Raising my brow at him I ask, “So, what are you going to do with me?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” He grins and strokes his beard.
“You ever think about shaving that thing off?”
He looks at me stunned. “Shave my beard?”
“Yeah. It is kinda gross.”
He rocks back, resting on his calves. “My beard’s not gross.”
“It totally is. I can’t tell what you look like under that scruff.”
He swallows and lets out a breath. “Chicks dig the beard.” He beams with pride, rubbing his fingers through the wirey whiskers.
“Maybe the desperate ones,” I say with a grin and rub my wrists together, wincing when the pain registers from the rope burning my skin. “Could you?” I hold my hands up.
“I could but I won’t.” He chuckles with a shake of his head and gets up from the floor that I can’t tell what it looks like there is so much trash.
“If it’s money you want I have it. My dad will pay…”
His eyes darken. “Money. I don’t need your rich daddy’s fuckin’ money,” he says with an offended snort.
“If not money then what do you want with me?”
He shrugs. “Trying to figure you out.”
“Thought you already did that. Said I was spoiled and what was it I needed…my pussy spanked. I believe those were your words. But you aren’t the man for the job or did you change your mind?” I smirk.
A low growl vibrates from his chest before he glowers at me and stalks off down the hall of what I realize now is a trailer and slams a door shut.
“Someone has a temper,” I mutter to myself and begin searching the room for anything I can use to free myself.