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With what I’ve been able to find, my plan is to go with the scorched earth approach.
Personally, it’s my favorite tactic and I imagine it’ll work well in this situation.
I hadn’t been sure which angle to take on convincing her to marry me. Honestly, I hadn’t really thought it through at all. But somewhere between capturing her in my arms, and walking through my front door, I decided it was the only option.
And I’m surprisingly settled on the idea.
From the first moment I saw her, I was attracted to her. I hated that she was with that fucker Leland. I hate that she fell into his web, the same way Aspen did. And part of me is a little disgusted knowing that she’s been with him. But she’s mine now. And I’ll remove every memory she’s ever had of that dumb bastard, one touch at a time.
And, as my wife, no one can ever force her to testify against me in the disappearance of Leland Reed. And no one can ever come after her for being a witness, because no one touches what belongs to me. No one would fucking dare.
Outing myself as one of the heads of The Alliance made my life a little more complicated, made it a little more unsafe. But it did something else too, it let people know just how dangerous I truly am.
Switching my focus away from her family and acquaintances, I dig deeper into Savannah Jane Oates.
I have enough here to compel her to marry me, letting her think I’ll start disappearing people from her life until she does what I want. But I want to know more about her.
Ineedto know more about my future wife.
CHAPTER13
Savannah
Steam still swirlsin the air as I drag a comb through my damp hair.
The giant tub tried calling my name, but the idea of lounging naked, waiting for someone to maybe come knock on the door, took all the appeal out of taking a bath. So, I settled for cleaning off in the giant shower stall.
I had been tempted to just pull on the comfy clothes in the privacy of the dark closet and crawl under the covers, but I felt too disgusting to sleep.
As someone who’s often covered in paint, you’d think I wouldn’t be such a clean freak, but I can’t stand the feeling of dried sweat on my skin. So, I dragged the big armchair into the bathroom and wedged it behind the door, as an extra level of protection between my nakedness and King.
I know he’d still be able to get through if he wanted to, but it made me feel better. And the fact that there’s not one of those little finger pad things, but rather a regular locking handle, on the bathroom door, made me feel a little bit better too.
Once I figured out how to turn everything on, I showered quickly but thoroughly.Notlingering over the fact that all his shower items smelled all sexy and masculine. Then, after I turned the water off, I quickly retrieved the towel I’d found, drying and dressing behind the privacy of the frosted glass.
It was weird to be dressed in a strange man’s clothes, after using the same man’s soap, but at this point, we’re kinda past boundaries. So, when the first drawer next to the sink offered up a comb, I used it.
Dropping the comb on the counter, I twist a fresh towel around my hair and decide to dig through the rest of his things.
The next cabinet door reveals an electric toothbrush and toothpaste.
I bite my lip. What’s worse––dirty teeth or using someone else’s toothbrush?
With no clear answer to that question, I open the next cupboard, and the next, until every door and drawer is open, like the bathroom is haunted by a poltergeist.
With a small turn of luck, I find a pack of new toothbrush heads, so I rip it open and replace the old one with a new one and brush my teeth while I catalog everything else.
More internal debate plays out before I use a piece of the torn-up cardboard from the toothbrush head packaging to scrape the top layer off of King’s deodorant then reach under my borrowed shirt and rub it onto my armpits. He also has some expensive looking face creams, so I shamelessly apply those as well before untwisting my hair and massaging delicious smelling hair oil into my scalp.
If I’m going to be held prisoner, and possibly end up being murdered by the end of the weekend, I might as well enjoy the small things.
My hair has a natural wave to it and I’d love to braid it before going to bed, but I didn’t come across any hair ties in my snooping. A stupid foolish corner of my brain preens at that, happy that there’s no evidence of other women in this room.
Other women.As thoughIam his woman now.
Slamming the door on that line of thinking, I drag the big armchair away from the door and exit the bathroom.
With nothing left to do, I climb into bed.