Three

Charli

 

I wake abruptly, and as my eyes fly open and take in the unfamiliar surroundings, I sit up with alarm. Waking in strange places has become a common occurrence these days, but the sight of the luxurious guest room causes my pulse to jump with apprehension.

Last night wasn’t a nightmare? It was real?

Momentary panic engulfs me until I force myself to draw in a deep breath and think back upon everything that’d happened yesterday. I recall leaving the homeless shelter, finding the muffins, and walking blocks on end to put distance between myself and the pimp from the Bronx. At one point, I’d sensed someone following me, and I’d spent the afternoon trying to lose them. I’d thought I’d succeeded, and when the sun began to set, I started looking for a place to spend the night. One minute I’m crossing an alley, and then the next, I’m waking to a gun pointed at me.

The man’s face flashes in my mind, and I recall his facial features clearly. He’d been wearing a baseball cap with the black brim lowered over his forehead. Dark brows had hovered above brown eyes that had stared at me with a look of detachment, and I shiver from the memory. His nose had been straight, and a beard desperately in need of a trim had hidden his jawline. Still, even with the beard, I’d been able to tell that his facial structure was striking. Without the beard, I bet he’s a very attractive man.

No, an attractive criminal, I correct myself.

Upon regaining consciousness after I’d been snatched and drugged, I’d found myself staring up into the bearded man’s face. He was going to kill me. It was in his eyes, and his expression had been so cold. He’d been asking me questions, but I’d figured if I was going to die, I was going to meet it without giving him what he’d wanted.

As if that wasn’t scary enough, I’d then woken in a chair with a pounding headache, my hands still bound, and a behemoth of a blond giant watching over me. Again, I’d assumed the bearded man was going to kill me, but then once he’d figured out I was deaf, everything had changed. He’d left the room, and the blond giant had taken me—unwillingly—to this guest room of sorts, and had commanded that I shower and then sleep.

I glance down at the soft, white robe that I’d slipped on last night, and I quickly adjust the neckline where it’d been gaping open. After showering in the swankiest shower I’ve ever seen, I’d washed my clothes in one of the sinks before spreading out the clothing to dry overnight. I’d struggled with the decision to sleep in the robe, because there had been no guarantee I’d be safe throughout the night. But then I’d figured if someone was going to rape or hurt me, they would have done it by now. They’d certainly had plenty of chances.

So here I am, alone in this guestroom and confused as hell. I take a moment to look around the room, inspecting my surroundings. The blinds across the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, but sunlight still seeps in, brightening the room. The walls are a steel gray, and last night, I’d noted the wide, black panel that rose from the gray headboard of the bed to the top of the ceiling. It had an overhang, and there were two track lights bringing attention to the elegant, warm-colored abstract artwork hanging in the middle of the panel.

Two, rectangular nightstands are positioned on either side of the bed with modern, black, square-based lamps. Located near the windows that overlook the city below is a gray chair with a studded back to it, plush cushions, and a matching ottoman. The carpet is gray with white designs, and two double doors open and lead to the en suite bathroom. It’s the biggest one I’d ever seen, and it had not one but two sinks, and even a large jacuzzi tub.

I’m uncomfortable in such a wealthy environment, and I don’t understand how the man who’d looked like a lowlife crook fits into this puzzle. He’d seemed to be the one in charge, but he’d looked out of place within the luxurious office that I’d woken in.

A frown mars my face as I shift on the bed, my bare legs sliding across the whitest, silkiest sheets I’ve ever seen or felt. I slide back the velvety black comforter and rise from the bed, clutching the bathrobe to my body as I cross the plush carpet and open the blinds across the windows. The sunlight is bright, and I find myself squinting. Once my eyes adjust, I gaze down at the city below. I’m in a high-rise and at least a hundred floors up.

I turn from the view and look around the room again. When my eyes skim over the black chest with drawers situated at the foot of the bed, I note that there looks to be clothing folded neatly upon it. They hadn’t been there last night. The thought of someone coming into the room while I’d been sleeping—completely vulnerable—causes my body to stiffen.

Don’t panic, I warn myself.

Panicking can quickly become debilitating, and I’ve learned to think before reacting. If the bearded man was going to kill me, he would have already. I have no idea why he’d wanted to in the first place, but I’m assuming it had to do with why I’d been taken from the streets, and of course, whatever went on in that seedy warehouse. At the time, my entire focus had been on the man with the gun, so I hadn’t had a chance to scan my surroundings. If he assumes I’d witnessed something, what will he do with me now? None of this is adding up. By all accounts, I should be dead.

Desperate for something to focus on, I move to the chest at the end of the bed and pick up the delicate fabric on top of the pile. It’s a short-sleeved woman’s shirt in a soft bluish-green. The price tag is still attached, and my mouth just about drops. One hundred and fifty-nine dollars! The idea of spending that much on a shirt is ludicrous to me. I set the shirt down and pick up the white, slim-leg ankle pants. This time, when I glance at the tag, I’m not surprised to find that the pants are more expensive than the shirt. Upon reaching for the pants, a pair of delicate white sandals had been revealed. A narrow, white box is beneath the sandals, and I’m not curious enough to open it. Everything is my size, and I quickly set aside the clothing as if they’d burned me.

I just want my backpack with my own clothes and to leave this nightmare behind. Anxious to wear something familiar, I hurry through the double doors and enter the bathroom. The sight of the posh room still manages to bring me to a halt.

The walls are a rich brown, and light marble tiling leads to a jacuzzi on a platform situated in front of a large window that overlooks the city. To the left of the room is a long counter with two sinks, and above them is the biggest mirror I’ve ever laid eyes on. The room also contains a glass-enclosed shower with an enormous, round showerhead that had made me feel like I was standing in the rain.

I swallow, trying to calm the anxiety building in my gut and look around for my clothing, but everything I’d left out to dry is gone. I’ve lost the very last items that were familiar to me, and the knowledge brings a sting to my eyes. I have nothing left. Not even my own clothing.

I’d tried to stay awake last night, but too much had happened, and it’s likely that whatever I’d been drugged with had still been in my system. With a shaky hand, I press my fingers to my aching temple.

I’m briefly distracted by my reflection in the mirror, and I move closer to it. Now that my hair has been washed, my blonde hair gleams in the light, and my skin looks smooth and creamy. I lean forward and spy the faint bruise across my temple. Lovely.

Clothing. I need clothing, I remind myself as I try not to agonize over my meager belongings. Instead, I focus on the fact that someone will likely be coming for me soon, and I really don’t want to be in a bathrobe when they do. There’s no other option but to wear the clothing that had been left for me.

I return to the bedroom and reach for the clothing and sandals before hesitating. I don’t have panties or a bra. My eyes slide to the white box, and my nose wrinkles. I reluctantly open it, scowling. Nestled upon tissue paper is a white, lace bra and matching panties—in my size.

There is something so very wrong about how my morning is unfolding. Unfortunately, I need undergarments, so I snatch the scant pieces of fabric and rip off the tags, refusing to look at them. I slide on the panties beneath the robe before untying and slipping it off so that I can pull on the bra. After it’s secure, I peer down at myself. The lingerie fits perfectly. I’ve never worn anything this nice, and it feels strange.

With a shake of my head, I direct my attention on the situation instead of the clothing. I tug on the shirt and pants, and lastly, the sandals—all while my eyes remain locked on the door that leads out of the room. Last night, the blond man had been standing outside it, preventing me from leaving. Is he still there?

I cross the room and cautiously open it.

The blond man is leaning against the opposite wall across from the doorway. When I’d opened it, he’d straightened to his full, towering height. His brows lower as he gives me an unfriendly look. In the morning light, his blond hair now looks darker, maybe a light brown? His features are handsome enough, but his nose is a little strong for his face. As for his eyes, they are blue and icy cold. He’s no longer wearing the jeans and sweatshirt he’d been wearing yesterday. Instead, a simple suit has replaced them.

He takes a threatening step forward, reminding me that I’m just standing there, staring. Not one to wilt beneath a glare, I give him my middle finger before closing the door. I might be deaf, but I’m not stupid and can’t be pushed around.

Folding my arms over my chest, I look around the room. How long do I have to stay here? This is ridiculous. I want answers. Feeling curious, I walk to the window and peer down below, searching for anything on the side of the building that resembles a fire escape or something. There’s nothing. Just unending glass windows.

I make my way into the bathroom and climb into the jacuzzi to peer out the window located above it. No fire escape there, either. I won’t be leaving until I’m allowed. With one last glare around the extravagant room, I enter the bedroom and come to an abrupt halt.

A well-dressed man stands in the center of the room, a tray in hand. He’s tall, but then again, everyone is tall compared to me. His light blond hair is cut short, and his face is angular and attractive. Brown eyes are fixed on me, and there’s a look of authority in his gaze.

Who the hell is he?

He sets the tray on the chest at the end of the bed and faces me, making no move to come closer. When his lips begin to move, I quickly focus on them. “I’ve brought you breakfast. Eat.”

When he turns to leave, I hurry after him, my hands signing, wait!

He opens the door, but then briefly turns to look back at me, a hint of compassion entering his gaze. “You will be leaving after certain arrangements have been made. Until then, eat and remain in this room.” With that said, he leaves and closes the door.

I stand there, glowering. That’s it? With an exasperated look at the door, I turn and walk to the tray. When I see the omelet and smell the heavenly aroma, my stomach twinges with hunger. When was the last time I’d eaten anything that hadn’t been dug out of a dumpster? Hash browns are nestled next to the omelet, and beside them is a slice of toast with strawberry or blueberry jam spread across it. A glass of orange juice is positioned next to the plate.

My mouth begins to water, and an internal battle begins to ensue. I want to eat, but what if it’s drugged? I move to the bed and climb up on it, sitting cross-legged as I face the tray on the chest. I pick up the orange juice and peer at it closely, looking for specks of powder. I don’t see anything suspicious, but I still lift it above my head and squint at the bottom of the glass. No white residue at the bottom. I set it back down on the tray, debating what to do. My traitorous stomach begs me to fill it.

I’ve already concluded that they’re not going to kill me. They have no reason to drug me into submission, because really, what can I do? They outweigh me and are much stronger. Whether I like it or not, I’m at their mercy.

He’d said I’ll be leaving after arrangements have been made. The thought leaves me very uneasy. I have no idea what I’ll be walking into later, and a full belly would be more beneficial than an empty one.

Looks like I’m eating.

I pick up the fork, and after a hesitation, I dig into the omelet.