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The voices go quiet about ten minutes later and I turn my back to the door, then slide down to the floor. Resting my head back, I close my eyes.
What am I going to do?
He’s right, I can’t smash the windows. I probably couldn’t anyway, and if I was successful, I’d fall to my death.
Tears prickle my eyes.
I’m a prisoner here, but next week I’ll be trapped in a marriage to a man I don’t like. Assuming Maddox lets me go.
The only glimmer of hope I have is that Pierce is aware of his insane son and has worked out where I am, or that the authorities are looking for me and will eventually negotiate my release.
Surely, he can’t want money. He doesn’t appear to need it. Unless he’s in financial trouble. Perhaps Pierce removed him from his will. This must be some disagreement with his father. I wonder if I can promise him something if he lets me go. I have to try.
What is his plan for me?
To kill me if he doesn’t get his way?
Maddox doesn’t look like a killer. Then again, neither did Ted Bundy. God, why do I know so much about psychopaths? Damn Netflix.
Oh...another idea takes form and I start to question my own sanity. I may not have slept with many men in my life, but I know desire when I see it.
I could seduce him.
You have zero seduction skills, idiot.
I frown into the empty room.
That’s when I hear the footsteps. My head shoots up and next minute I’m catapulted across the floor and slam into a cabinet.
“What the hell are you doing sitting on the floor?” Maddox growls from the doorway as I scramble to my feet, nursing my hand and rubbing my shoulder.
“Don’t you knock?” I snap.
“You're my fucking prisoner. I’m not asking for your permission to enter.” He glares.
Fair call.
“Still,” I mutter and walk to the bed, sitting on the end.
That really did hurt.
“How's your hand?” He shuts the door behind him, and suddenly, the room feels ridiculously small.
His enormous frame fills the space, and I tug in a breath, searching for my best seductive move now that I've decided that's my best chance of getting out of here.
I come up blank. I have no moves.
“Sore.” I blink, awkwardly trying to flutter my eyes. “Same as my shoulder now, thank you very much.”
Maddox narrows his own eyes as he walks over, then crouches before me.
“Is your hand infected?” As he unwraps the bandage, my gaze roams his broad shoulders and the way his black shirt pulls taunt against his muscular arms.
God, he’s a very good-looking man.
I see a few tattoos peeking out of his shirt and swallow audibly.
Ugh. Hopefully, he thinks it’s because he’s hurting my hand. Not making my panties moist.