When she doesn’t respond, I hope she sees the logic in this. She wants out of here, too.
“Fine.” She wriggles so that her front is facing my hands. “There. I’m going to lean down so that you can reach for the transponder.”
“Good. Lay down flat so I can reach you.”
“Obviously.”
I grunt at her, but she only falls to her belly and pushes her chest up against my hands. I swipe along her cleavage, feeling for the hard, cold transponder, and keep my touch as chaste as I can. She’s a Montavio sister after all, and it’s a shitty idea to do anything that might piss her brothers off.
Still, I don’t miss the feel of her silky skin against my fingers or the way her breathing hitches when I touch her.
This is a woman unaccustomed to being touched by a man who knows how to.
I wish I didn't know that.
I'm tempted to push, to make this more than just an exploration down her breasts looking for a damn object. So she knows that I’m controlling this, I’m the one in charge.
But just because I have asshole thoughts doesn't mean I have to act on them.
Not all the time anyway.
This woman’s still not only my prisoner but my ward. Our status and roles demand that I protect her at all costs, even if the tables have turned a little bit. For now.
When we escape, however…
Finally, I feel the transponder. I slide it between my thumb and forefinger, and don't waste any time. Orlando said it would be set up so three taps will signal our location, just like our cell phones. It’s a high-tech little number with a thumbprint ID, so not only will they know where we are, they’ll know I was the one to activate the signal. I slide my thumb to unlock it, then quickly hit the button on the side three times. I watch as it silently goes from red to a flash of green, then pull away from her.
Voices are getting louder in the hallway. I don't want them to know yet that we've unfastened our bond. I sit up quickly.
"Sit up. Make sure they can't see the lead of the rope.” She scrambles as fast as she can with her wrists still bound. But she loses her balance and falls, landing hard on her shoulder.
"L," she whispers. I reach for her, and with my hands behind my back, help her sit up clumsily as the doorknob turns. I feel for the rope and tuck it behind myself just in time as the door swings open.
"Food.” Someone marches in with a tray. The smell isn’t all that appetizing, something savory but overly processed, like a warmed-up MRE. Nonna would have a fit. I’m half ashamed my mouth waters, but it’s been hours since I’ve eaten.
“How are we supposed to eat with our wrists bound?” Vivia asks.
The guy only chuckles. “You think I didn’t think of that?” He fists her by the hair, and she stifles a gasp. My body tenses, but I can’t do anything about it right now.
He touches her as if it’s his right. I’ll remember that, too.
He takes a knife from his belt and undoes her rope, then the one holding us together. I hold the end tight, so he doesn’t feel the slack and thinks we’re still bound. Then he opens a closet door and shoves her and the tray inside. “Eat. You have one minute.” He slams the door behind her. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the tattered end of the rope we unfastened. I grab the end and quickly tuck it into my palm. It’s thin and supple and will do the job I need well.
“Vivia,” I yell to the closet.
He kicks me. “Shut up.”
“Best weapon,” I yell back at her, earning me a fist punch from the asshole. I hope she remembers. Untied hands are going to come in handy if she’s smart about it.
I hope she’s got some of the Montavio fight in her. We’ll need it.
* * *