Page 32 of Fight
Is that too much to ask for?
“You’re practically naked under my shirt,” he points out. “My house is also locked up tight, and the only one who controls it is me. And?—”
I don’t hear another word other than I’m trapped as I stumble down the stairs to the main floor.
“So I am a prisoner,” I mutter even as he continues to speak. “Fucking awesome.”
“What? No! Stop putting words in my mouth, you infernal woman,” Tommy groans. Blowing out a breath, I struggle to continue down the stairs on trembling legs that suddenly don’t want to work.
I’m pushing myself too hard, but I don’t know what else to do.
“If you’re going to insist on going downstairs, can I help you at least?” he asks. I ignore him, dropping to my ass and pushing myself down each step, because I don’t need his stupid help.
“Cerenity!”
“Don’t say my name,” I tell him. “I’m sore as fuck, and still don’t really understand how I’m here. The end of the night is really hard to remember.”
“Bum scooting down the fucking stairs isn’t going to help how sore you are,” Tommy complains. “You’re so damn stubborn. Fine, I was working at one in the morning with my associate, Jasper, who you know, and we heard screaming. Someone, who I assume is Arthur, threw you into the dumpster outside my gym and left you. We fished you out of there. Your arms were tied behind your back and they closed the top of the container. There’s no way you would have been able to get out.”
Stopping my bum scooting, I carefully turn to look up at him. Ugh, my neck hurts and he’s really fucking tall. Tommy crouches down on the step he’s standing on as if realizing my issue. I don’t want to feel even a twinge of gratitude toward him right now, and he’s fucking that up.
“So you pulled me out of the dumpster that Arthur and his dickhead friends threw me into?” I ask, hating how weak my voice sounds.
“Yes, and I need you to tell me what they looked like so I can take care of them all,” he growls. “You can’t leave until they’re all dead, Bluebell.”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” I ask, shaking my head.
Tommy smirks as he tugs on my tangled hair. I’m sure it looks disgusting and there’s probably garbage in it. God, this is what my life has come to.
“Your hair is a very interesting color,” he teases me. “Now why can’t you stay like a good girl?”
Rolling my eyes despite the way my pussy contracts and slicks, I shake my head. I ignore how Tommy’s pupils expand with desire, because I’m not the slightest bit desirable right now. Biology is a liar.
“I’m not a dog, Tommy,” I remind him. “I’m not going to roll over and let you rub my tummy for saving me. You also live in Chicago, and that’s not anywhere near where I live. I have a life and Augustine to get back to.”
“Is that your mate?” he asks, eyes narrowing.
I’m tempted to lie, because it may help push him along toward releasing me before letting go of the idea. Mafia men have no problems taking what doesn’t belong to them.
“He’s my best friend and family,” I tell him. “He’s got to be losing his damn mind. We live together, and I didn’t come home.”
Lunging forward, he scoops me up into his arms, walking me down the rest of the stairs.
“I’ll look into getting in touch with him, but I have a meeting soon. You need a shower, because you smell like hot garbage,” Tommy says, wrinkling his nose as he throws open the door to a bathroom downstairs.
Flushing because he’s not wrong, I open my mouth as he turns on the water and then shoves me inside. Gasping, I drop onto my ass because my legs are wobbly, but it effectively makes me forget that he didn’t say he would definitely call Auggie.
“Ow!” I yell at his back as he walks out.
“I never said I was a gentleman, Bluebell! Take a fucking shower!” he yells over his shoulder as he continues on.
“Fucking alphas,” I mutter, pulling off the wet T-shirt and tossing it out the open shower door. I let the cold water hit my skin as I get the willpower to slowly stand. My legs are wobblier than a newborn horse right now, alerting me to the fact that I’m in no shape to run away again.
Sighing, I shut the door next to me, reaching for the shower faucet to warm up the temperature of the water. I may as well be clean before I start plotting my way out of here. There’s body wash, shampoo, and conditioner in this shower stall in a flowery scent, making me wonder if he has women over here often.
Deciding I don’t care, I squeeze out some body wash and start on scrubbing my body. There’s liquid stitches on the worst of the knife and glass cuts on my body, so I clean around them, even as I wince.
“We’ve had an adventure, my girl,” I mutter to myself as I wash my body.