Page 3 of Sinner's Malice
His eyes were hard. He still hadn’t said a fucking word to me, but I knew what he wanted me to do. Leaning forward, I moved my hair out of the way as he began to wash the years of blood, men, and death off my body. I could have told him he would need another bottle of soap to do that. Nothing would fully erase the life I’d lived.
He filled the tub three times before he was satisfied I was finally clean. Through it all, he was diligent, meticulous, careful, making sure that he cleaned and washed every spot on my body.
He left nothing out.
Not. One. Inch.
Pleased with his efforts, he stood, holding a towel in front of him, waiting for me to comply.
Still, he said nothing.
Waiting for me to choose.
I stood before him while he dried every inch of my body, even my hair, which was too long and desperately needed a cut.But he didn’t seem to mind. Not even when he pointed to a small bench, asking me to sit in his silent way. He stood behind me for what felt like hours, meticulously removing every knot, every tangle from my hair, until he could smoothly run a comb through it.
By the time he was done with me, I could barely keep my eyes open. All I wanted to do was sleep for weeks, undisturbed, and never wake up. Carrying me to the enormous bed, he placed me on it, then reached for the soft plush comforter at the end and covered me up. Rolling onto my side, I snuggled deeper into the softest bed I had ever slept on and smiled up at him.
I was asleep before I could even utter the words thank you.
A knock at the door roused me from my slumber.
Stretching, I yawned slowly, opening my eyes to find bright sunlight shining around the room. Sitting up, I didn’t see the large, tattooed man anywhere. However, what I found was a black fluffy robe placed neatly at the foot of the bed. Reaching for it, I slipped from the bed and covered my naked body when I heard the knock again.
Leaving the enormous bedroom, I walked into a spacious and beautifully decorated living room. Everything was all white and clean. Even the carpet, white and plush, looked like no one had ever walked it before.
Someone knocked again.
Slowly cracking the door open, I peeked out to find a hotel concierge waiting with a trolley in front of her.
She smiled warmly. “Good morning, Miss. I’ve been instructed to bring you breakfast.”
Unsure she had the right room, I muttered, “I didn’t order anything.”
“It was the gentlemen, Miss. He gave specific instructions on your care before he left.”
“He left?”
“Yes, Miss. May I come in?”
Nodding, I stepped aside, held tight to the robe, and warily observed the woman roll in the trolley over to the small table near the corner. Walking behind her, I watched as she carefully laid out plates of food, glasses filled with orange juice, apple juice, and water. She even walked over to a chair, pulled it out, and waited for me to sit, before helping me scoot the chair closer to the table.
Smiling, she handed me a fork and said, “My name is Tracy. I will be your personal concierge for the duration of your stay. If there is anything you need, I will get it for you. The gentlemen was very specific that you receive three healthy meals a day and whatever else you need, I’m to ensure you get it.”
“Um,” I muttered, looking around the expensive room. “I can’t pay for any of this.”
“The gentlemen took care of everything, Miss. The room is yours for the rest of the week. He also told me that several packages will arrive later today. When they do, I will lay them out for you.”
“I don’t understand,” I said just as my stomach grumbled, looking at all the delicious food. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything.
When Tracy said nothing, I looked up at her and saw her concern. Without asking, she pulled out the chair next to me and sat. “Several of the staff saw you come in last night. We were worried. A few of us wanted to call the police, but we didn’t, knowing that Mr. Scott would take care of everything. I am sosorry for what happened to you. I want you to know that no one here will harm you. You are safe here.”
“Mr. Scott?”
Tracy nodded. “The gentleman who brought you here. He frequents our hotel often. He’s a quiet man, rarely ever talks, but he’s kind. What is your name?”
“Arianwen.”
“And how old are you, Arianwen?”