Page 56 of Game of Revenge

I had too much time to think, but the TV helped keep my thoughts occupied. The last thing I wanted to do was face my feelings or what was to come.

I realized that there was a phone upstairs—a phone I had used before and could use again—and yet there I was, ignoring a golden opportunity, enjoying the amenities of my captor’s beach house while tending to his wounds—wounds he had gotten while using his body as a literal shield to protect me.

There was so much to process there that I didn’t know where to start. Why wasn’t I calling anyone for help? I could call Iris, give her the address. Alejandro was hurt, and there were no guards with him. But I wasn’t going to do anything. I knew that. At least not until I was sure Alejandro was going to be okay. Only then could I make an attempt to go back to my life—whatever was left of it.

The idea did not fill me with as much drive or excitement as it should have. If I didn’t do something while I had a chance, though, I might be stuck in Mexico forever, living a life that wasn’t mine.

For some reason, even after the horrible attack just a few days ago, that possibility was no longer as scary as it should have been. I missed my life, my friends, Martha, and maybe even George, but here, I was unexpectedly finding something I didn’t know I needed, something I didn’t think existed, and I didn’t know what to do with that realization.

Around ten p.m., I went back up to check on Alejandro as I had done all day. He wasn’t sleeping anymore as he had for most of the day; he was trying to get up. I ran to him, attempting to push him back on the bed.

“I do need to use the bathroom once in a while, you know,” he protested angrily.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

I helped him get up and walked with him to the bathroom door. I could tell that his strength was coming back. He walked faster and stood taller, but he needed at least a few more days, according to the doctor, to let his body heal.

Alejandro gave me a death stare when I tried to follow him to the bathroom, and he closed the door in my face.

I found him so frustrating, but I understood. I patiently waited for him, but he didn’t let me walk him back to the bed.

I helped him change his bandages, take his pain medication, and finally lie in bed. As I was about to let him sleep, Alejandro grabbed my hand in his and forced me to sit down by his side on the bed.

“Why are you taking such good care of me?”

As I looked into those already sleepy eyes, my stomach tensed. I was tempted to say out loud what I hadn’t even admitted to myself yet, but I couldn’t bring myself to.

“It would be quite boring around here without you.”

Alejandro laughed, that guttural honest laugh that always made me feel so whole, his gaze creating a blanket of warmth all around me.

“That’s all?” he insisted, searching my eyes. I didn’t understand what for.

“Uh…yes,” I answered, looking away, unable to handle the intensity of what I felt. “Well, I am going to go get some sleep,” I announced as I started to get up.

“No,” he said, refusing to let go of my hand. “Please, stay with me,” he whispered, his tone deepened.

My heart swelled, threatening to swallow me whole. I couldn’t let his words get to me; I just couldn’t.

I tried to leave again, but he wasn’t letting me go, his thumb rubbing my wrist. I could see that he was going to fall asleep any minute, the drugs already taking effect. So, I decided to stay for a bit, enjoying the feeling of my hand in his, waiting for him to drift away for a few hours.

It was six a.m. when I opened my eyes and realized I had slept in his bed—again. He, thankfully, seemed unaware. I snuck back into my room to shower, change, and continue sleeping since I was too exhausted to do anything else.

The day started with the sound of the waves calling to me and the sun warming my arm. I lazily opened my eyes. The last few nights had been a bit better, with me relaxing a bit at seeing Alejandro making progress, his wound healing, and thus being able to fall asleep for close to full nights in my room.

That morning, though, I found myself lying in Alejandro’s arms, perfectly nestled, my head resting on his chest, his hand possessively going around my waist, holding me close. A moan left my lips, as I decided to embrace the perfect comfort I felt, until I realized that he was awake, holding his phone with his left hand. I jerked back, lifting onto my arm. Alejandro smiled the most sensually teasing morning smile I had ever seen on him.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

My cheeks flushed lightly. I turned away and quickly got off the bed. Without a word, I went back to my room. I could smell him on me, my senses prickling, my body getting aroused. How did I end up in his arms? But I couldn’t help smiling when I remembered the feeling of his warm skin against mine.

I showered but had to wear one of the shirts I had stolen from him again with my now worn jeans. When I was done, I went to see him. He was sitting in front of the desk in his room with a notepad, talking on the phone. I almost screamed at him because he wasn’t in bed, but I knew it would be futile. I got closer and stared at him until he lifted his head up.

“Te llamo luego,” he said before hanging up the phone.

He looked refreshed. He had clearly showered and changed his clothes, going for a pair of white pants and a light-blue shirt with rolled up sleeves. He still looked rugged with his beard unshaven, giving him a bit of a wild-man look that made my stomach tense and my hair raise.

Every inch of his body looked like fulfilling sex to me, my mind drifting to the forbidden. I shook my head to stop myself from continuing down that path.