Chapter Five
Roxanna
“Thanks, darling,” he says to me with a crooked smile before closing the door behind him.
Holy shit, the man’s a psychopath.
And even so, he’s still hot. Burning with an intense heat that is as sexy as it is frightening.
I don’t know what kind of game he’s running, but it seems like move he’s making is just digging himself a deeper hole. That, and he’s doing his damnedest to rattle me.
Which means, if I’m going to make things even between us — which is probably the best I can hope for, considering I’ve stabbed him, smashed his head with a bottle, and he’s hardly even shaken up — I’m going to have to play dirty.
I’m going to have to hit him in a way that would rattle any man.
I spend at least an hour in the chair, trying to come up with some kind of plan. My fingers go numb from loss of circulation, and so does everything below my knee.
But I think I’ve got things figured out.
Eventually, just like he promised, he comes back.
“You doing alright? Need a bathroom break or anything?”
I nod.
I don’t really, but it’ll be good to at least stretch my legs.
“Take it easy. Don’t try and walk on your own, just let me help you, alright?” he says as he cuts my legs loose and helps me up. My hands are still tied behind my back, but at least I can move around now.
Leaning into him, he helps me down the hallway to the bathroom and shuts the door behind us. The bathroom is decently clean — which is kind of surprising, since I’m sure this guy lives alone — and there’s even toilet paper. The good kind. I even see a box of moisturized tissues.
He cuts my hands free.
“Go ahead,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.
I take the gag out of my mouth and stare at him. “With you here? No way. I’m not going to let you watch me go to the bathroom.”
He lets out a sigh. “I’ll turn around.”
“You’ll still be like three feet away while I’m peeing,” I say. “Look, I know we’re kind of close here, what with you kidnapping me and, before that, me being ready to fuck you, but, sharing the bathroom while one of us is using it is kind of next level relationship stuff. And I don’t think we’re ready to go there.”
Nash rolls his eyes. “I’ve done it plenty of times in the service, and I’ve sure you’ve done it with some of your boyfriends. Just go, so we can get this over with.”
“What if I’m not just peeing?” I say, maintaining direct, uncomfortable eye contact with him.
I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation. But, somehow, I need this bathroom to myself.
“You mean…?”
“Maybe I do,” I say. “Are you ready to have those illusions you guys have about women shattered into a thousand pieces? Because I’ll do it. Right here, right now.”
“You’re joking.”
“Try me,” I say, then I snatch one of the moisturized tissues. “You’re probably going to need one of these once you start crying.”
He stares.
“You have two minutes. And I’m patting you down afterward. You try anything, and I’ll have you using a bucket. Got it?”
I nod. “Fine.”
He leaves and my brain goes into overdrive. I have to get this right.
First, I carefully open one of the bathroom drawers and, mercifully, it slides open on quiet hinges. It takes me only a second to spot my tool: a tiny pair of nail clippers. I snatch them up and hide them in my bra. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but these are desperate times.
Second, I use the toilet, because who knows how long it’ll be until next time.
Then I open the door.
He’s standing there, waiting. “You done?”
I put on my best, most concerned face. Under the circumstances, it doesn’t take much work to make myself worried as all hell.
“We have a problem,” I say.
“This whole night’s a fucking problem.”
“You’re telling me. But, I’m serious,” I say, hesitantly, casting my eyes down to the floor. “I need to know if you have any feminine products.”
His expression goes from impatient to exceptionally uncomfortable in the span of a blink. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Fuck no,” he says, shaking his head. “And no, I don’t have any. Why would I have those lying around?”
“I don’t know, maybe you should’ve thought about that if you’re going to kidnap a woman and keep her in captivity for a while and not be a total asshole about it,” I shoot back. “You put enough thought into it to put up soundproofing in a room, seems like the least you could do is make one measly trip to a store.”
“Do you really need them right now?” he says.
“Do you really want to find out?” I throw my challenge at him with my eyes as much as anything else.
And I can see it hits the mark.
“Fine. There's a drug store across the street. I’ll go get you some.”
Almost sullen, he grabs hold of me and force-marches me back down the hall and secures me to the chair. I wait until he’s got me tied up before I hit him again.
“You need to know the right kind to get. Do you have any paper or something to write it down?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” I answer. “Let me put it in a way you can understand, since I know you can’t be that bright — what with kidnapping a judge’s daughter and all — but lets say you were about to have sex. And you reach for where you normally keep your condoms, but you find out you’re out. So the woman — or man — you’re with says ‘no problem, I have a few spares you can use’ and they hand you one. Except it’s the wrong size, or the wrong material. Things might be a little uncomfortable for you, right?”
“Yes. Sure.”
“Imagine you have to wear that irritating condom for four hours. How happy would you be?”
He pulls out his phone and gives me a heated look that’s part irritation, part something that I can’t quite place. It’s fierce and, in any other circumstances, its the kind of look that’d make me weak in the knees. Instead, it makes me smile, because I know I’m about to send him on a wild and, incredibly embarrassing goose chase. “Ok, tell me, what kind do I need to buy?”
“Pure Woman Jasmine-scented Organic Ultra-Slim Gentle Glides,” I say.
“How the fuck is that a thing? Are you fucking with me?”
“Absolutely not. They’re easy to find. They’re in a pastel colored box with flowers on them. Daisies, I think.”
“God damn it. Fine.”
“Oh, and one other thing: there’s going to be two kinds — one with pearls, one without. I want the kind without.”
“What the fuck are pearls?”
“Little round things. Duh. Look, if you get lost, just ask someone for some help,” I say. “In fact, you might have to do that anyways. For some reason, they usually keep them behind the counter. I think it’s cause they’re organic. But don’t worry: pretty much every store should have them.”
I have no clue if these tampons actually exist. They might — who knows — right now, I just want some time and I know for a fact that, like all men when they’re lost, Nash will not ask for help.
Especially in this case.
He glowers at me. “I’ll be back. Don’t do anything stupid.”
I nod.
He leaves.
The front door slams shut, the thud reverberating through the whole apartment.
I wait for a second, straining my ears to hunt for the slightest sound until I’m sure he’s actually gone. Once I’m certain, I get to work.
I start by rocking side to side, each time pushing my chair a little further towards tipping over. Finally, I get it right, tipping myself sideways and landing on my shoulder with a heavy thud. It hurts.
Step one, complete.
Now that I’m on the ground and have a little more mobility, I start squirming and kicking until I have first one zip tied leg free of the chair, then another. Sweat drips from my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I push myself to keep going.
Squinting, I wiggle until I get my feet under myself and then I stand up, with my feet still tied behind my back. Then, crouching, I lower my zip tied hands until they’re touching the floor and then step over them so they’re now in front of me.
“Piece of cake,” I mutter as I fish the nail clippers out of my bra and start snipping away at the zip ties.
It’s time to get the fuck out of here.
I just need to hurry, because if Nash catches me like this, I’ll be dead for sure.