Page 6 of Tangled Roses
My kind of paradise and even as the memory resurfaces of my last movements, I still can’t stop gazing in wonder at the freaking room.
As I shake my head, I edge to the side of the bed and my bare feet curl in the luxurious white rug. I moan with delight because there is something so intoxicating about the way it’s caressing my weary feet.
I struggle to remember the events that led me here. I was walking. I’d been fired. It all comes crashing back up to the point I stumbled against someone and then remember nothing else.
Was I in a traffic collision and killed? Is this the halfway house to heaven and through those doors is the sheer drop to hell?
I’m so confused and then my eyes rest on the glass of water on the table beside the bed, along with a couple of white pills in a small crystal dish. There is a small white card, almost like a place name, which merely says,
Take these for your headache.
Instinctively, my fingers rest against my temple and the dull ache inside tells me whoever left these knew I’d feel like shit when I woke up.
Was I drugged?
What happened to me?
The fact I’m fully clothed is a welcome realization, meaning whoever brought me here obviously left me in this room. But why? I don’t understand and as I reach for the pills it strikes me that it may not be the best thing. What if this is more of the same? Something to make me sleep. I must be on my guard because whatever happened back there on the crowded sidewalk is definitely not good. I already sense that and so I ignore the painkillers and stand instead, grateful that my legs appear to be working.
I wander around the room in awe, marveling at the white sculptures and white paintings that are mere splashes of different shades of white paint. Somehow, they form a beautiful white flower and I shiver inside. Roses.
How I hate that flower.
My mouth is dry and I peer longingly at the glass of water, but until I know where I am and who brought me here, I’m leaving nothing to chance.
I edge toward the window and, as I peel back the drapes, I am met with a hard shutter that appears to be locked from the outside. The smallest crack in the wood allows the light to filter through, but that is the only indication there is civilization outside.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps outside and my heart lurches. Who is it? It must be the person who abducted me and I should prepare to fight for my freedom.
I glance around the room with wild energy because my inner voice is screaming at me to get the hell out of here.
My hand rests on a small white sculpture made of what appears to be stone and as I hold it behind me, I attempt to get my breathing under control.
As the door opens, I stare at the man who enters and swallow hard.
This is not looking good.
He is a beast of a man. Dressed entirely in black, his dark gaze sweeping the room and across my shaking body in a nanosecond. He has a malevolent gleam in his eye and a scar running the length of his face, which I am trying hard not to admire because he has a cruel beauty that fascinates me.
His dark hair is slightly long and his black eyes gleam as he says roughly, “Miss Adams.”
My fingers curl around the statue that I’m holding behind my back and before I can answer him, he says angrily, “Put the fucking statue down. It costs more than your life is worth.”
“What?”
I’m shocked as he nods toward the mirror behind me on the wall. “If you’re going to arm yourself with the element of surprise, don’t stand in front of a fucking floor-to-ceiling mirror.”
My hands shake as I set the statue back on the table and my voice wobbles as I whisper, “Who are you?”
“Luka. That is all you need to know.”
He peers around the room and his eyes rest on the pills beside the bed and he says with exasperation, “Take the fucking pills, Miss Adams. Your head will thank you for it.”
“But they could be drugs. I’m not taking them.”
“Of course they’re drugs.” He rolls his eyes. “Drugs are usually used to cure.”
“But–”