Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

“Seven.”

I hesitated, not really wanting to know. I didn’t want to think about being trapped in a dark, confined space for any amount of time. “How long were you in there?”

“About six hours, I’m told. It seemed . . . longer.”

“Holy shit. You couldn’t get out? No one could hear you banging or yelling?” He’d said the cabinet was solid.

“The thing was in the basement. I tried to get out, believe me. I kicked the backboard loose, which was good. That kept the air from going bad.”

I clenched my hand on his, getting him to pause. “Oh my God, you could have died. Did she realize that?”

“Yeah, my father made it plenty clear to her. She probably came closer to dying that day than I did. I’d never seen him so mad.”

Silas’s hand twisted, and suddenly our fingers were laced together. It seemed wrong to move away while he was sharing the story. Hell, it seemed wrong to do anything but listen, as he’d done for me.

“I don’t blame Caroline. She was just a kid too, and kids do stupid things. I probably deserved it.”

My head snapped toward him. “Are you fucking kidding?”

“I was a pretty mean little shit.” His smile was guilty. “Anyway, that’s why I prefer noise. Music, television, whatever. The quiet gets to me.”

He needed anything to convince him he wasn’t trapped in the silence. My gaze left his and went up to the ceiling. “I’m sure.” What was I supposed to follow up with? “What about the dark?”

“We were playing with flashlights. That’s how she got me to go in there.”

I blinked and struggled with the vision of a boy locked inside a thick, wood box, screaming and kicking to no avail, one small beam of light to keep him company. How long had he tried before he’d given up?

“That had to be awful.”

“It wasn’t great. After I realized no one could hear me and I couldn’t get out, I tried to keep busy so I wouldn’t think about it.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I played mental games and shit. Looked for images in the pattern in the woodgrain.”

Jesus. Even now he was looking for images buried in patterns. My heart thudded painfully. It gave all of his artwork deeper meaning. Made it more beautiful, even the patterned tattoo he’d placed on me.

I swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. It was a long time ago.”

When the conversation lapsed, I closed my eyes. What the hell was I doing? It sure as hell wasn’t fair to let him think this could lead to anything. I was undercover, and if he found out, he’d go straight to Joseph and destroy the operation my co-workers and I had spent months on. Plus, I wasn’t going to get involved while UC ever again.

My body felt heavy with sleep, and both the comforter and the thick arm on me were warm. I knew I should go. I shouldn’t have let him snuggle close, hold my hand, or share the painful memory which had shaped his life. Yet, I couldn’t move. His breathing deepened and slowed to a languid pace, and the weight of his arm grew as he fell asleep.

I swore I’d rest just another minute. Let him get deeper under, and then I’d slip away, but one minute became two. Two minutes turned into five, and then it was too late. I gave in to yet another thing I shouldn’t have, and fell asleep.

I startled awake. Something chimed that sounded exactly like my phone when I got a text message. No, it was my phone, chirping across the room. Where the fuck was I?

The man next to me sighed in his sleep as I pushed his hand off and sat upright. Silas stirred, but didn’t wake. There weren’t any windows in the studio. Oh my God, what time was it?

I cringed as my bare feet padded across the icy floor and hurried to my purse. I dug the phone out, and scrolled to Shane’s text message under the fake heading of ‘Uncle Phil’.

Crap. I hadn’t checked in with him after the showing was over. He had to be wondering how my meeting with Roland had gone, and he wouldn’t text unless he was worried. Holy fuck, it was two a.m. My thumbs tapped out a quick message saying everything was fine and I’d see him in the morning.

I was still naked, and shivered. Clothes were scooped up and tugged back in place, and all the while I watched Silas for signs of waking. The covers were pushed down to his waist, and his hair fell across his eyes. He looked stunning. Still formidable with the ink spilling across his skin and those muscles beneath it, but peaceful, too.

I couldn’t stay, but did I wake him?