“Yeah, I would be pretty ashamed of myself too,” I snarled, imprinting his face into my memory, taking in every detail like I had with the other two. It was a very hopeful thing to do, something that was riding on a long shot. A really fucking long shot. I wanted to be able to describe every single detail of their faces if I escaped. If I needed to identify them in a lineup.
Or describe them to a very angry, possessive, deadly biker.
Like I said, a long shot.
I’d figured that the food wasn’t poisoned. What would be the point in bringing me all the way out here if they were going to poison the food? Plus, I was pregnant and starving and needed my strength.
I’d been dying for a shower, to scrub the touch of foreign men off my skin, but I hadn’t wanted to be that vulnerable. Hadn’t wanted Martin to walk by, possibly hearing the water running then getting ideas. So I settled for splashing water on my face, frowning at the angry red mark high on my cheek. Another Ashton man who had left a bruise on my face.
Then I got bored. It was kind of insane to get bored when you were a kidnapping victim, but they hadn’t left any reading material around. I didn’t have a phone to scroll through, no TV to watch. Again, I was pregnant, so I was exhausted all the time. In my life, before this happened, I took two-hour naps daily. There had been no nap today—or I guessed that was yesterday, squinting at the pitch black beyond the windows. There was no clock in here, but something told me it was around three. The night felt thick, heavy, foreboding.
My skin crawled with something.
It wasn’t just the unfamiliar bed, the unfamiliar sheets, or the overall situation. Something had woken me up. I threw the blankets off me and leapt out of bed, holding my stomach protectively.
The floorboards creaked as I tiptoed around the room, the sound puncturing the thick quiet. I froze when I heard it. A loud thump. Like a body hitting the floor. Even though I’d held my breath to listen better, my heart drowned out whatever sounds there might’ve been.
A footstep. I was certain I’d heard a footstep. Was that the low thump of motorcycle boots across Persian rugs? That was insane. It was close to impossible that he knew I was here. That he even knew I was missing in the first place.
But still, I hoped.
The chances of it being him were slim, which meant I was standing frozen and defenseless in the middle of the room while the footsteps got louder. They had definitely gotten louder. And they were coming my way.
Fuck.
I darted to the door at the last second, standing so that when it opened, I would be hidden. There wasn’t much purpose behind this, considering I wasn’t holding a weapon of any kind. But there was a chance I could quietly dart out the door while the person was walking farther into the room, looking for me. Or did that only happen in the movies?
My heart was a roar as the click of the lock echoed through the room, the jangle of the handle rattling my insides. The door opened with a squeak, and my body tensed even more. There it was. The thump. Of heavy footwear. Familiar footwear. But I couldn’t gamble my life and my child’s life on my talent for recognizing shoes by their thump. The door opened wider, and the wood got closer to me, masking me from whoever was entering. The air moved a little, and I inhaled. Musk. Cigarettes. Leather. Him.
I was frozen in place as the scents entered my nostrils. My sense of smell had rivaled a superhero’s lately, which had not been a good thing until this very moment. Until I smelled something that did not make my stomach roil.
Hades.
I still didn’t move from my spot behind the door. My mind could be playing tricks on me. The trauma could’ve caused a break in reality. Or I could be smelling what I wanted to smell, hearing what I wished to hear. Maybe it was really Martin coming to do what his eyes had promised earlier.
So I waited. For him to speak. For something else to confirm it was him. But he didn’t speak as he stepped farther into the room, and there wasn’t any light to make him anything other than a large, black shape.
I tasted blood as my teeth sank into my lip, desperate to call out to him.
There was a swish of blankets as he searched the bed. Then there were other thumps from farther down the hallway. I heard heavy items, or possibly bodies, hitting the floor. A whisper that sounded familiar. One that gave my heart a little more hope.